"You treat me like shit and you can just sit around like that?" I made a sudden entrance to his open door, he looked at me, his face was sinless.
"I'm what now?" He laughed a little. He took a newspaper from a seat next to him, gesturing me to sit there.
I picked a one and only cigarette from my pocket, putting it into my mouth.
"Lighter?" He offered me, and I nodded.
He lit up my cigarette. I inhaled and exhaled the smoke, didn't even care how the smoke covering his face.
I coughed, one smoke and it's already killing my lungs, I could feel it burning down my chest and I still didn't give a fuck. He needed a confrontation, my confrontation.
"You have an asthma." He told me as if I don't know a thing about my own body and in other way telling me I'm a dumbhead.
"You lit up my cigarette" I said that and smoke a couple more of my cigarette. And coughed a lot more, too.
"I'm the bad guy now?" He said, smiling, in the most not psycho way possible. He pat my back attempting to help me breathe.
I still couldn't function my lungs and I haven't even confront him the way I want it. This smoking idea was always wrong and I don't know why I keep doing it, the pain give me so much of a pleasure, even tho it tortures my lungs that's already suck at being lungs. If my lungs decided to stop functioning then be it. I don't care.
"Whatever." I said
He picked the cigarette from my hand, throwing it away. "I'll get you your inhaler."
Shit.



Sent from my iPhone