The damp air bit, and Cathy bundled her beige coat close against the cold. The door clattered shut behind her. With her free hand she slipped her hair behind her left ear, shielding it from the breeze, and stopping its itchy dance across her face. Today had been a lot, and she needed a breath.
Sheltered under an awning she watched pouring rain whip across the lawn and against the trees. With a shiver she plunged her hand into her cluttered purse and dug. The ridges of her antique, ornate cigarette case were never hard to find, but that pesky lighter always was. The hair from behind her ear slipped, and impeded her sight as she rummaged. Friends would tease and jeer at the chaos within her closets and clutches. Juxtaposing it against how collected and conscious her outfits and homes were.
In a huff she slapped the bag against her thighs and held it against herself. Cathy knew it was in there somewhere, and that she needed to be patient. She knew this dance well. Chilled air circled around her nostrils as she took deep, soothing breathes. This afternoon had been hard. She wasn't a therapist, she wasn't a counsellor. She was their daughter. Today had been like most of her visits home, Cathy spent more time refereeing than catching up. Prying verbal assaults from one of her parents to the other, back and forth, and so on.
Both her mother and father were idiots when it came to communication. They were also both right in some of their opinions, and completely unjustified in others. An absolute awful cocktail together. Moments like this morning they couldn't be more corrosive. On other occasions it was impossible to imagine a pair more perfect for one and other. They needed to slow things down, and think. In the same way that Cathy was in desperate need of a cigarette.
The pause passed, and Cathy opened her purse again, calmer this time. Less frantic. There it was, her little pink lighter leaning against her lipstick, tucked beneath a quilted Chanel wallet. As she raised it from the bag's abyss, she gave the lighter a few habitual flicks watching the sparks fly like fireworks. With a final click Cathy let the flame take to the gas, and watched it dance against another chilled breeze.
Who was she to give advice? Cathy wondered. She looked down into the open purse which was as fitting as everything else in her life. Elegant, expensive, chic, and behind the veil, in absolute disarray. Her company, her finances, her home, her relationship, her parents, even her as a parent. Cathy was both hanging by thread and expected to stitch the broken people in her life back together again.
A gentle pop from her vintage case announced her cigarettes to the small balcony. Each long, sleek, and thin, wrapped in stylish deep crimson paper, topped with a black filter. Cathy loved everything about them. With care she selected a single smoke, stood it upright like a soldier, picked it from its filter and gave it a ritualistic tap on the cover of the case before lifting it to her rubied lips.
The texture of the lighter's spark wheel felt coarse under her thumb, and she hesitated before lighting her smoke. Cathy looked at the crimson stick perturbing from her lips, and thought of her parents. Of course they still didn't approve. At this age, neither did any of her friends. Nags, and attempts at guilting Cathy when she'd step outside had long since replaced the camaraderie and conversation around the smoke they'd enjoyed before.
Cathy inhaled deep. The cool outdoor air ran through her unlit cigarette, past the filter, she could taste the tobacco. Sweet. Burgundy. Almost better than it was ignited. In truth Cathy's flavour for smoking had evaporated ages ago. The allure of trying to recreate the glamour and mystique of old starlets around herself was fading.
That said, the further smoking isolated Cathy from everyone else the more she craved her little breaks. Five minutes for herself, five minutes to think. The more she thought of it, the more she realized she smoked most when in company, more then she ever did alone. Her thoughts returned to her parents inside, why were all the best things, the things we long for, the things we love, so toxic?
A glance to her wristwatch found more time had past than she'd guessed. She'd lost herself in thought, lost herself in the greys. Cathy pulled her cigarette from her mouth and stared at the symmetrical little devil. Her lipstick had painted abstract splashes of bright red around the filter, and it looked objectively, fantastic. Her gaze returned to the sprinting second hand, and she placed the unused smoke back to her antique case.
Cathy stood a little longer. Bundled, and in no rush. They'd scowl in disapproval regardless of when she returned. While she hadn't needed the cigarette, Cathy had needed a break, she needed some air, and she'd given herself that. And she needn't give herself, or anyone else, an excuse or reason why. Not anymore. She took another breath. She'd wait another five.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write
PS: Be sure to check out Exaggerated Shadow’s new release for Librated on all your favourite streaming platforms!