Page 66 of The Death of Kisses

I didn’t reply, just watched and waited.

Counting to sixty before I even started breathing again.

The small lighter slid off my tongue a moment later.

“What’s your name?” I asked spinning the striker to see if it would spark.

“Lilly, and you?”

“Annabelle but most people call me Anna,” I replied as the flame ignited.

“Are you supposed to have that here?”

I shook my head, my eyes never leaving the orange flickering light. Then I reached behind me to the pack of cigarettes and held my hand out offering her the pack.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispered.

I shrugged, pulling one free anyways.

Holding it between my fingers I offered her it again.

The truth was I didn’t smoke. I could never understand the nicotine addiction. These just happened to go with the lighter, the one that the new guy had and I was thinking it would be a shame to waste them.

She nodded, taking the cigarette and pushing it between her lips.

I smiled, and she leaned over towards the flame.

I brought it to her lips, lighting the end of the cigarette and watching with fascinating detail as the filter sparked and burned as she inhaled.

She pulled back and blew out the smoke curling around her hair.

“Fuck, I needed this. Thanks,” she laughed softly. It was a bitter laugh but I nodded. Extinguished the flame and slid the lighter into my waistband. Pockets be damned and all.

“So Anna,” she spoke as she puffed on the nicotine.

“Fire?”

I nodded sitting back against the bedroom wall.

“One night only or extended stay?” I watched her, well watched her move forward without any difficulty. The ragged sucking of the cigarette as she clung to whatever nightmare was plaguing her.

“Knowing my luck, extended stay.“ she laughed again shaking her head.

“Well welcome to paradise, the pills are for losers and if Tommy asks you for a hug tell him he has to ask nurse Hazel first,” I laughed.

“You’re what, seventeen or eighteen?” She asked curiosity drawing her hand to pass through her hair,

“Yeah, eighteen last April,” I smiled thinking of the bowling alley, my friends. Dad. The flames. The smile died when I glanced at the white walls.

“Same, the 29th and yours?” She flicked some ash on the floor and I watched the grey smolder as the small embers left them.

“Same day, same age, same hair, same height. Different eyes.” I thought it was peculiar.

“Small world,” she laughed, extinguishing the small bud of the cigarette. “You’re not from Coldwater?”

“PineRidge,” I nodded.

“Ah, you guys have a hella good football team,” she smiled for a moment.