A stroke of the stick, and the match lit with a dozen blinding colours. Jumping on the cigarette, the flames coiled and twisted its way to ashes. He drew the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. Swirls of smoke drifted out of the cigarette into the cool air. The guy who was puffing on the cigarette turned to the girl next to him and they both began talking.
The guy puffed on his cigarette again, shifting the cap on his head to scratch at an itch that didn’t seem to go away. Next to him was an itch that he knew his friend was going to pounce on soon. She struck sooner than he expected.
"I don’t see why you still have to go on like this,"
He sighed. Things weren't easy for him, and he knew she could see that. He also knew that sooner or later, something would have to give. And that something was probably going to be him.
"You just have to trust me." He seemed to be convincing himself more than her.
"But I don’t get why…" she interjected angrily before shutting up. Close by, were a group of people she recognized, people who would be more than happy to hear anything they said and mutate their conversation into filthy gossip.
He pulled his right sleeve of his shirt and revealed the fresh scars and bruises. Her words died away.
"If I don't take them, he'll start beating my mum. I'd rather take the pain than have her take any more."
She looked at him sadly, unable to put into words the support she wanted to give him. He knew it though. And he appreciated it.
A bus pulled up at the bus stop and opened the doors. The many teenagers hustled and bustled, eager to secure a seat for themselves and ensure a comfortable bus ride. The guy puffed on his cigarette for the last time before the girl snatched the cigarette from his hands.
"And you promised you’d stop smoking."
She stubbed out the cigarette at the stainless steel dustbinand got on the bus, shooting a sideways glance at him. He stared at the cigarette now in the stainless steel dustbin, which was still burning merrily away.
