Light

 Full bright orange embers flickered as he inhaled, the lithe fire gnawing the paper with ease. He pulled the cigarette off his mouth, between the fore and middle fingers, before thumbing the butt to line the circular edge. The little alibata, a letter that looked like an I, crinkled at the foot of his thumb. I watched the tattoo move with the raging music in the bar. 


I have been ranting for an hour about my increasing frustrations with our work, the dreadful schedule, my lack of identity, my need for freedom etcetera etcetera. He was thinking so I focused on my last cigarette as it created lazy lines at the tip of my fingers. I exhaled. He exhaled. We were veiled in a sea of smoke. 


“Don’t quit—”


“What's it like fucking a virgin?” The tip of his lips crooked for a familiar meaningful yet meaningless smile.


“No. Never done one.” 


“Why not?”


“They are boring in bed.”


“Yeah—you’re one to judge!”


“Sleeping with virgins come with expectations. Is this okay? Is this right? Will this hurt? Will we be in a relationship? Do you love me?” He pressed his cigarette onto the ashtray, killing the light. “Sex is just sex and writing is just writing. Its just release. You make a big deal out of both.”  


A sarcastic laugh erupted. He trumped my argument the way he crushed that last stick: merciless and necessary. I can only squeak a lame “I do not” which was easily engulfed in the wild drumbeats of the band.


“You’re new. Give it time. Things will get better—just remember what you want.” He grabbed his pack but it was empty. “Can I puff?” 


I awkwardly handed my cigarette, which he brought to his mouth to wrap plump lips around the butt. The I danced again, the way it always does when he smokes. Freedom, he told me a few months back; that I meant freedom. 


I found him, staring. I gazed back. He smiled before returning my cigarette. The light burned evenly along the edges, brighter. - 3/17/2015