dysfunctional than the manufactured ones and I realized with them, there was no escape.
It was for that reason that when I got home I paced around my backyard smoking like a chimney. Since Corey so rudely took the last pack—and didn’t reimburse me as promised—I stopped on the way home for a fresh one. I’m sure the older cashier thought I was feening for a hit of something else by the nervous tapping of my fingers and fidgety ways. I only hoped he didn’t know my mother or a rumor might spring up that I was following in her footsteps.
After finishing the third one with no nicotine-induced relief I was back to the drawing board. My lungs were screaming at me to put the pack down for at least a minute; I complied. The old swing my Gramps instructed the previous owners to leave up—because he knew I would enjoy it—was where I sat, trying to calm down. The swing creaked a bit as I slowly moved back and forth; little-by-little I felt myself regaining control as the movements of the swing rocked me into a calmer state. My mind wandered to the times during my childhood when I would sit on a swing identical to that one with my dad pushing me higher. At first the recollection made me smile but as the memory rolled on my father’s figure behind me faded away. Leaving me all alone, wishing for everything to be okay.
The easy rocking was bringing me down from the tense emotions but now that I wasn’t on pins and needles, I felt the adrenaline turning into tears. Screw that—I had done more than my share of crying this weekend. I was finished with it; losing my head over my family or anything else wasn’t worth it. Abandoning the swing I picked up my cigarettes again. The butt went into my mouth, the lighter flickered to life and I inhaled the delicious nicotine. My phone was still resting on the back steps; I tried phoning Gabby, wanting to at the very least listen to her latest tale. Sometimes it was easier to listen to her for hours than talk or think about my family for even a minute.
No answer. Damn! I scrolled over the contacts in my phone and stopped when I reached Corey’s name. Corey knew my family—probably better than he was letting on—so if I needed to talk and just get something off my chest, I could. There wasn’t even a shadow of a doubt that he would be there for me in an emotionally supportive kind of way, if that was what I asked of him. Except right then that was the last thing I had on my mind.
What I really wanted was Corey to work his magic and take away the pressures beating against me. My body craved the delicious release I knew he was capable of giving me. Him pressed against me, allowing me the chance to forget all that tortured my thoughts was what I needed. But then again I was too old for that, right? Without question I could handle the moment, without resorting to a college-level therapeutic release.
Fuck it.
“What’s up, beautiful?” Corey asked on the second ring.
“Can you come over?” Jesus, I needed to at least try to hide the desperation resonating in my voice.
“When?”
“Like right now?”
I thought about letting Corey know exactly what he was in store for if he came over. On the other hand if he was the player Bailey made him out to be, I figured he was smart enough to get it.
After a brief pause he answered. “On my way.”
I disconnected the phone and flicked the cigarette out of my hand. The first thing I needed to do was get the cigarette smell off me. Corey would pick up on that in an instant and the proceeding lecture I was sure would deter from the hot-sweaty release I was looking for. After brushing my teeth three times and swishing around enough Listerine mouthwash to last my breath a year, I ran to my room.
Stripping out of my cigarette scented clothes I threw them into the closet. When I was down to just my lacy blue bra and matching booty short underwear I began spreading my best smelling lotion over my skin. My fingers, hands and arms received the bulk of the lotion but to make it less suspicious I moisturized all over. I yanked the hair tie out and my fingers immediately began undoing the