Hannah Elliott, Burn Out

The cigarette smoke draws me in, I inhale deeply as if it’s the same as taking a drag, my throat burning and holding in a cough. My mouth twitches with the smell, but I know my hand will itch for another before this one burns out. One is never enough.

“One more minute,” I say, turning my alarm off for the third time. One more episode, the work piled up was due last week anyways. One more goodnight kiss, even though your girlfriend is waiting up for you at home.

The ash flickers to the ground, like the weight of my body on the bathroom floor. My breaths are staggered, getting shorter like the cigarette in your mouth. You canceled the plans we had for weeks,

I was waiting by the door when you texted. I told you it wasn’t a big deal and that I would get over it.

I never did. Nothing ever goes the way I planned.

I knew I wouldn’t pass my history test, I was too worried about you to study. I knew my mom wouldn’t let me go out, she thought I was with you too much.