![Cover image for post Gone with the smoke [Claude&Francois], by burnhouse](https://s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/images.prod.theprose.com/post--image-1483815897.png)
Gone with the smoke [Claude&Francois]
[trigger warning for mentions of violence and suicide]
Could you hurt someone because you care? I couldn't.
Could you give up a promise because you love? I did.
I’m writing to never forget, but I don’t want to remember. The letters here, that’d never turn into spoken words, stand as I wish to place them. I can mix them up, form a whole new world out of them, a whole new memory.
There’s no need for that.
It has been a beautiful world, tainted with flaws that are us, it’s been made up of sunshine and storms, just like we are. The memory’s been made of the same pattern. Isn't everything that there is a wide, harshly framed diptych depicting our lives as a mosaic of highs and lows; it makes black and white nonexistent, turning them into all varieties of gray that often cling to the shades of more vivid colors.
You were the brightest piece of stained glass in the growing masterpiece of my life, but the grays surrounding eventually washed over you, and you pulled me to drown in it with you.
Before that day, the only way I'd taste your lips was over a cigarette, and that evening was the last time we shared one. The fog outside seemed equal to the smoke filling our lungs and swaying around us. The after-rain air was something you longed to inhale, instead. I knew you dreamed about it, always did, getting outside and letting the drops wash away the 'imprisoned' off your skin. I dreamed about it, too. Still do.
There was a difference between our dreams. You've gotten off the path, I've remained close to the fence. My hand could have no longer reached yours, but you've kept running and calling my name. Naturally, I followed. Careful, with my flashlight on, I searched for you, found you - so close to the Dream, and got back with but a shadow.
It's hilarious how close we were cramped together, in that toilet stall. Knowing how distant you actually were had my spirit crushed even more; between your physical persona and my leaking dark thoughts. I didn't even attempt to hide an obvious fact - I've been crying ever since I made the promise. My heart's been crying more than my eyes, but now they were almost as red and as full of pain. Not many tears fell, yet I felt them in my throat with every drag I took. Your face, on the contrary, was firm and a mild expression of confidence was stamped over it. I knew you had taken pills, you had told me nights ago you would. It was need, I just wished I could've said goodbye to the actual you. One pill would turn down the volume of your self-awaken fury, take a small bit of its weight off your shoulders, more of these round fuckers would snatch away the You from me, leaving me with a stranger. Strange was the calmness in everything you did then and there, you heartbeat rate didn't seem do increase even when your heel killed the cigarette I had handed you seconds before. Stranger was that stupid smile you put on when you handed me something else, a plastic bag, dragged out of your always crowded pocket. I clenched my fist around it, never expecting The strangest, and I was wrong. Today, I hope you weren't able to taste the tears that had fallen for you, I hope you were able to tell I had fallen for you. That moment, however, couldn't have been worse for steps that would lead into any direction of hope. The strangest happened, yes, when you kissed me.
And the two smokes combined, and my lungs burnt with flames I'd never felt inside - blue and red and yellow with no sign of conquering gray. Your fire, however, never seemed to rise from the ashes in your heart. At least, I've never felt its heat. It got to me when you inched back, a thin line of air and breaths separating us, and you spoke. Your lips touched mine only to whisper the instructions, on how should I help you to find a way to Hell. Pretty sweet of you, no? I know I had promised, but I'd promise you anything. You used everything well. In retrospective, I genuinely believed I was helping you escape, out of this place, and out of this world. I felt selfish because of crying, wanting you to stay with me made me feel like I was the worst friend, only thinking about my own happiness, when it was obvious you failed to find yours here. Leaned back against the door, temporarily hiding the typical bathroom graffiti, I kept nodding at your words, smiling not to spoil any of this for you.
"You know this shit can provide you with up to around half an hour of breathing?" You sounded like we're talking over the lunch, or like you're throwing one of your know-it-all comments at one of our teachers. I certainly did look and feel like a confused student, not even trying to understand. Not even wanting to. It only got you going on with the presentation. Drained eyes lowering as you sat down on the toilet seat cover, crossing one leg over the other so you could reach and pull the shoelace from your boot. You got it and pushed it into my hand.
A couple of thousand thoughts flooding my mind, none coming out. I stuck my free hand in one of my own pockets, by far emptier than yours, in search for a lighter to break the numbness of my standing and lost self. Then it struck me I had lend you it at the beginning of the evening. No choice's left but to return all my attention to you, which would be my favorite thing to do if only I wasn't thinking if you're gonna need the lighter there, on the other side. My not so free hand was busy squeezing on the two funnily innocent things, and your lips parted to spill more words to chew on my heart.
"I will fight, don't let me", that's when you pulled me forward. A new cigarette, which I've never get to light up, falling out of my shaky hand on the floor, along with all the fake courage I had stuffed myself with. "I've seen you're strong enough."
"Of course you'll fight, hell! You should have never stopped fighting! You wouldn't even reach this point if you even tried to 'fight' the right way", I broke there, I admit. I wasn't particularly talky, otherwise. Despite the short protest, I settled myself down on your lap, all fucking ready not to let you fight.
"I will think I want to live, don't believe me", that's when you gifted me the last smirk, a smile of rebellious nature only you knew how to pull off so effortlessly. Of course, wiping away my words like I've just kept my mouth shut as I firstly planned to.
One thing I'm thankful for - you did most of it.
Our skin shared the last two gentle touches when you took the plastic bag and shoelace from my hand, I tried hard to cage the feeling in the halls of my mind that'll become empty without you. The smirk disappeared when you pulled the bag over your head. You hurried to tie the shoelace around your neck to keep it in place, and prevent oxygen from sneaking in. Then I realized how the time is really fucked with this one, there's no sweet, quick death when you go for this, and my true pain started when I first saw you struggling for air, not a few minutes in. Plastic sucked in with the remaining air, it outlined the shape of your lips and I frowned upon myself when I reached up to place my hand over them. Other hand was gripping tightly around your wrists, holding all of you down as much as I could with my weight and strength. Now I could feel, and hear your heartbeat, I could almost smell it. The struggle of your blood cells rushing with the remaining oxygen wherever they could, spilling some of it on your hopeless efforts to squirm away. But shit, I almost lost my breath when I noticed you walking closer toward the eternally peaceful state. High on whatever goes through people's veins when they see the grin of Grim, I leaned forward, feeling dumb, but baring my teeth and biting into the plastic, tearing off the most I could manage. I apologize, I recall there was a small bit of your skin, too.
But now, I couldn't think of a situation when you looked more alive.
I don't know which was louder, your curses or gasps for air.
There was nothing thankful in the way you pushed me off, adrenaline pulsing through us both. I had both the torn plastic bag and the shoelace thrown at me, but I couldn't stop smiling like an asshole. There was something hysteric in that smile, though. I was very aware I had broken something unfixable.
"You couldn't even do that right!"
Oh, and it didn't kill you, but these words murdered whatever was growing between you and me.
Your fist flew into my face and I-- it wasn't the first punch, God, it wasn't even the worst one, yet it was the first one that actually hurt.
I remember what I was thinking the moment you shut the door: You will thank me one day. You never have.
That evening was -
· the last time we shared a cigarette· the first time we shared a kiss
· the last time we shared a word.
Did I think you should die? No.
Did I think I was helping you? Maybe.
Do I miss you? Absolutely.
It Takes One
“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” Maya Angelou
I felt like I had been struck by lightning the first time I saw his dark countenance across the room. Drawn by the need to watch him move like a sinuous black panther toward me, I stood frozen at first. The sultry pout of his mouth, to this day, plays over and over in my mind.
“I’m a bad boy,” he said with a sultry look on his face as he flashed his bedroom blue eyes and seductively fingered his silver belt buckle.
I swear, I thought I could see his entire life history flash before me. But little did I know what was in store for me.
“Come with me,” he murmured, “you won’t be sorry!”
I followed him like a dog in heat to his souped up jalopy and climbed in the passenger seat. Jamming his foot on the accelerator, he took off like a bat out of hell. Knowing deep down that I should not be doing this, I foolishly ignored my premonitions.
Fifteen minutes later, he stopped by the side of the road in a wooded area and motioned for me to get out. He grabbed me by the hand and led me deep into the woods. “Take your clothes off,” he ordered.
I felt my face flush and the heat begin to rise. At this point, I wanted him more than he wanted me. Throwing me down on the ground, he entered me roughly without any preliminary foreplay but I was ready for him. When it was over, we lay wet and breathless among the leaves. I felt like a cat that had just finished its cream when I looked over to the side and saw the bloody female bodies, stacked like cordwood. This did not look good for me!
Noticing that my bad boy had fallen into a light slumber, I gingerly moved his arm, trying not to disturb him. I was able to move enough to grab a large tree branch, hitting him on the head as hard as I could. Dazed, he did not move immediately so I grabbed my nail file from my purse and jammed it into his throat where I knew his carotid artery was located.
Bleeding profusely, he never moved again.
Well, what I had forgotten to mention to him was that I was a bad girl, also, and this was not my first time. I left him with the pile of female bodies and alerted the police about this mass murderer. It was self-defense, of course.
No one ever found the stack of male bodies that I had accumulated myself. It takes one to know one is what I always say!
