We walk through the mall towards the exit, taking our time even though the mall's about to close and almost everyone is gone, leaving the mall empty and awkward. His hand's in mine, though, and so I take my time.
Finally, I think to myself. Finally, I'm the with the boy that I love.
There's a security guard somewhere behind us and a pair of girls walking along the railing on the floor above us, but that doesn't stop me from pulling him down onto one of the mall sofas and kissing him. The scandalized look on the security guards face makes me want to laugh out loud- I'm practically bursting with happiness.
"Mmmh," I mumble sometime later as I push against the double doors leading out to the parking garage as Ted pulls his hand from mine to reach into his pockets for…
Cigarettes.
"God, I need a cigarette." he mutters, fumbling to get the pack open.
I blanch, and it's all I can do to keep myself from snatching the cigarettes from his hands. I beg him not to smoke- at least not around me.
It's not a fear of secondhand smoke that has me begging, though. No, it's that I can't stand to watch the boy that I love kill himself.
11 minutes for every cigarette.
***
I stick my my head out my bedroom window and reach in my pockets for the cigarettes. I don't stop to appreciate the chirping of the crickets or pause to bask in the balmy summer's breeze; even the semi-magical glow of the fireflies in the willow tree hold no wonder for me.
All that matters is that I smoke a cigarette.
I light up, and within seconds the nicotine hits my bloodstream and is carried to my brain. Within seconds it's all that I can do to keep from laughing and betraying the fact that I'm sneaking a smoke to my parents.
That doesn't stop me from grinning as every anxiety, every little worry, fades away. Closing my eyes, I bask in the wave of pleasure spreading throughout my body.
11 minutes: gone.
***
"I don't understand!" Jared exclaims, looking down at me. His eyes, which shift between silver, green, and gray depending on the light, hold an uncharacteristic edge and flash with all the warmth of a gemstone.
I wince.
"You say that you're going to quit, and I believe you, and then a day later you're smoking again." he pauses, and then continues in a softer tone of voice. "All I can think of when you smoke is you, coughing up blood and dying."
I try to explain to him that I did mean to quit, but he pulls away from me.
"I'll be downstairs," he mutters, and then he's gone and I'm alone in the room. Overhead, the ceiling fan clicks rhythmically, and I bury my face in the pillows.
***
11 minutes per cigarette, stained teeth, aged skin… cancer. I've always known that all of these things are caused by smoking, but I've always chosen to brush those reasons aside, to rationalize that I'll quit when I'm older.
It took Jared, who I've come to love in the time that we've spent together, to give me the wakeup call that I needed.
I remember how I used to feel when my last boyfriend would smoke, how I wanted to cry and snatch the cigarettes away from him. I remembering fearing that he'd die of cancer and leave me alone and heartbroken.
I had forgotten how it felt to watch someone I love kill themselves, bit by bit, and how much it sucked.
It might sound lame, but that more than anything else has given me a reason to quit. I can't bring myself to do that to someone else, knowing how it feels.
***
Monday, July 26, 2010. It's 12:26 in the morning and I quit.
