Maxxie: bad habitMature

See? Told you it'd bite me in the ass sooner or later.

Sooner, apparently.

He storms off to work and I get in my crapmobile to set off for my own work, though to be honest, I really, really don't feel like it. I feel like a squashed slug, heaving itself away from its attacker, into a big pile of salt.

Only, I can't really escape my attacker, since it happens to be life, in general.

It's a vicious circle of sorts today. I can't go to Alex for support, since he is the cause of all this. I can't go to Cay, because he's pissed off at me. As for other people? Most of my friends are the kinds of people you only hang out with if it involves getting smashed and having lots of fumbling, drunken sex.

Says a lot about my life, I suppose.


In my break, I take the first opportunity I can get to text Cay.

Hey, gorgeous. I wanna make it up to you later. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and I could get us a take away or something? I'll understand if you don't want to, though... x

I waited anxiously for his reply, almost certain he would ignore it altogether, or reply with a "no".

By the time I'd gotten down the drugstore, intent on satisfying a craving for a habit I thought I'd kicked for good, my phone vibrated in my pocket, making my heart skip a beat. I paid for the cigarettes and lighter, got outside and lit one before looking at the text.

Sure, just don't expect me to be polite. I wasn't expecting you to be, Cay, but civil at least would be appreciated.

   Need me to pick you up, or will you get to mine yourself?    

I'll walk.

Better than a no, I guess, but still... if the evening passes like this morning did, it could be kinda hard. The sudden stress response to the thought of the whole evening passing in a blur of snide comments and awkward silences makes me chain smoke nearly half the pack of cigarettes through my break. Which in turn has me whizzing around the cafe like a demented child on a sugar rush from the sudden amount of nicotine after so long.

The day couldn't have passed much slower, even with my nicotine fuelled hyperactivity. Mainly because the hyperness was definitely not a happy hyperness. It was a nervous, nail biting kind of hyperness.

When I finally get out, I rush to my car, light a cigarette that once again fails to calm me in any way and set off, speeding all the way back to the apartment. I get in and clear the living room of snotty tissues and wonder if it's best to leave his flowers in the vase where they are on the coffee table, or not. I figure leave them there, though I worry about it for ages.

Ten minutes before he gets here, I realise the living room is shrouded in a haze of cigarette smoke, and I stink. And the apartment stinks of it too. Hastily opening the window, I try and waft as much of it out as possible.

But at the window, I just end up lighting another in an attempt to not crack up into hysterical laughter at the thought of me running around like a headless chicken the way I would if it was a first date.

This date, unfortunately, is feeling particularly hostile, and I can't help but fear this evening isn't going to end well, despite my best efforts. 


The End

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