I shrug at her and resume smoking, feeling the heat slowly warm my insides and wrap around me like a warm blanket, like a lover. Sometimes, I can swear it talks to me; it tells me that I'm okay. I can do this. I'm not useless. I'm not a failure or a disappointment. I'm more, and I'm always going to be more. Outside of Stella, it's the only thing that genuinely has any love for me. I could always count on it on particularly dark days like today.
"You just always look so peaceful when you smoke. And sexy too," Stella says. I open my eyes to find her watching me with her signature smirk on her face.
"It feels like I'm finally drawing breath; it's freeing," I replied. "And you better not be hitting on me," I joke, "It'd take a saint to put up with all this madness," I say, pointing to myself.
"I dunno, I think you'd be surprised, weirdo," she shot back.
The conversation was getting deep. I needed to stir her in another direction quickly. I was high as a kite, and I didn't want to have any kind of conversation that would make me disclose something I wasn't supposed to. I needed to watch myself.
"Tell me how work went." I ask. If she noticed the change in conversation direction, she didn't comment.
"Another night of dancing on a freaking pole, entertaining sick fucks for little pay. Nothing new."
"Sounds eventful," I mutter sarcastically.
"Tell me about it!" she retorts. "Anything about a job yet?"