Anna Uehling // Photography
The cool wind is biting at his nose when he finally decides to call it quits. Sitting on concrete steps in the middle of December only has its charms so long as a cigarette is involved, and his has burned to the filter some minutes ago, singeing part of his finger on its way. It’s a nasty one, he thinks as he makes his way to the elevator inside his apartment building, she’s going to tear into him when she finds out.
He knows it won’t help, but he sucks on the tender skin just to take some heat out of it, and because it’s better than doing nothing about it. Their apartment door is unlocked when he reaches it, meaning his girlfriend is already home, probably sitting up at the kitchen table wondering where he’s been, waiting like a crouched tiger to interrogate him about the burn on his finger and the smell clinging to his denim jacket.
“You’re back,” She says when he finally forces himself inside. She’s exactly where he expected, sitting at their kitchen table, one of those ones that can slide to fit more people, a gift (read: hand-me-down) from her parents. “And you smell like smoke.”
He stifles a sigh while toeing his shoes off. This is a practiced conversation; in the months they’ve been together, he’s stopped expecting how was work or I missed you today. It’s nothing short of exhausting, discovering that his idea of relationships has fallen pitifully short.
“Ah,” He admits. “Yeah, had one outside.”
“You’re still on this?” She pushes, putting her phone down flat on the table and looking at him fully. “You know what cigarettes can do?”
“I know what cigarettes can do.” He submits; if he didn’t know from all the pamphlets and informational videos, he’d know from her shoving those truths in his face until forgetting them would be all but impossible.
“Yet you keep doing it.” She says with a sigh. For now, it sounds like a surrender. “I’ll get you more patches when I go to the store tomorrow.
He doesn’t tell her he doesn’t want them; doesn’t tell her the patches make him nauseous, or that when he uses the patches, he doesn’t eat for days.
He doesn’t tell her that smoking is harder to stop than she thinks and that every time he does, the first assault he undertakes is his own. His own shame and guilt of being unable to quit make hers look pathetic.
Some days, he wonders if that’s why he’s doing this to himself. He knows this relationship is a poor excuse…but sometimes she’ll say something to him that sounds so much like his own self-conscious that he’s comforted for a minute. He wonders how messed up he has to be, to cherish barrages like this.
“Thank you,” He says, coming to the table and pressing a kiss to her temple. She nods and grabs his hand, pressing on the burn she doesn’t yet know is there.
Some days, their routine of loving each other isn’t so bad. But on days like today, their checked-box romance hurts even more than the blister on his hand.
Author:
Howdy! Karlie is a sophomore at Morningside. She is currently majoring in History and Political Science with an English minor. Her favorite show is Rick and Morty.
Artist:
Anna Uehling is a Junior at Morningside College. She is a double major in graphic design and marketing with a photography minor. She loves nature, fishing, and her cats.