He had thought she had fallen asleep, with eyes closed shut so tight and hands curled into tight fists. He had been easily deceived; when his breathing had become steady and deep she opened one eye slowly and then the next when she was sure he was asleep.

She watched him sleep; his eyes roving under his eyelids, and fingers twitching in subtle spasms. However his slight grin always remained. He looked so sweet and almost innocent that she almost forgot that at times she was grotesquely repelled by him. Then suddenly that pathos returned, and she stifled a whimper as she carefully extracted her naked body away from his bare body. She doesn’t know why this feeling comes, almost like an anxiety attack. Carefully she maneuvers her body out from under his bed sheets as well as his twin bed; no small feat.

The slightly cool summer breeze coming from his open window causes all of the hair follicles on her body stand on end, desperately trying to keep her naked form somewhat warm. It was a futile endeavor, and as her nipples contracted, she moved closer to the window, only stopping for a moment to stop and kneel over her little tote bag, searching for a hidden content within. Upon finding and retrieving this item, she once again progressed over to the window. When she arrived at the window she carefully placed her bottom on the sill of the window in an effort to sit down upon it.

Once situated, she glanced over at her boyfriends still body. Only the rising and falling of his chest cavity gave rise to the impression that he was still living. Cautiously she removed from the cigarette pack, which happened to be the item she had been searching for, a lighter and a cancer stick.

Now, don’t form the idea that she was a smoker. In fact she never had taken a drag once of those awful cancer sticks. Merely it was the idea that she, having turned 18, could legally buy cigarettes. So in the novelty of the thought she had gone out and bought some on her 18th birthday. She had kept them around in the case that either a) someone wanted one or b) she felt like lighting one up and watching it burn to the filter, which at this point in time she did.

And so now at this time she took the cig and lighted it, holding it between her index and middle finger. As she watched it slowly burn its red fiery trail down to the filter she pondered her situation.

Her boyfriend or boy friend, now lying inert on his own bed, was indeed her lover. And yes, previous to her feigning sleep, they had had sex as they usually did when alone in his bedroom late at night. However, she still wasn’t sure why she gave her body to him, for she knew she didn’t love him. But it wasn’t that she didn’t like him either, rather she had a certain fondness or affection for him, just not strong enough certainly to be called love.

The more she thought about love the more she thought that she perhaps never had loved anyone. Not her parents or siblings, friends or even pets. They were just entities that took up space and that might to her have certain sentimental value. It made her slightly sad in a way that she had never experienced this sensation. It made her feel slightly inadequate. And above all she abhorred the feeling of being anything but normal.

She mused that perhaps to make herself feel less inadequate she had sex with him, to feel normal. To feel that it was the norm to feel empty inside; that the sudden instance of pleasure could make up for all the times and moments when she felt odd and out of sorts. Different.

She thought also that perhaps she did it to feel less lonely. She knew, could feel that he had a general liking for her. She could almost taste it. She wished she could reciprocate the feeling back, that it was mutual and even. She could remember slightly when he had been with someone else, previous to her, how she had felt pangs of jealousy course through her spine and veins. Thinking all the while she could be a much better match for him; that they were more compatible.

And now she had him. And they were compatible, except now she didn’t feel as if she cared if they were together or not. The fear, she mused, of being alone with no affection, is what drew her to him and what now kept her with him. The feeling of stability against the sense of the unknown; it’s what creates the cohesion.

She didn’t want to be alone, not ever again. It was a terrible and horrid feeling. It gave her the impression of murkiness and desolation. She would rather stay with mediocre and the feeling of emptiness than nothing at all.

As a sudden rush of reality, jolting her out of reverie she felt her fingers start to burn. The cig had burned down past the filter and to her own skin, her own flesh. The subtle smell of slightly charred flesh and hair was awful, but it suited her and her mood. Perhaps she was a masacist she thought, but then violently struck that idea from her head. Those people aren’t normal, they take pleasure from pain. She however, took punishment from pain; that was the difference.

She was interrupted from returning to her pondering by a voice.

“You don’t smoke.”

He had awoken and was surprised not to find her in his bed and then further puzzled by finding her sitting on his window sill holding a cigarette in her hands, which presently looked like it was burning her. His statement had been more in the formation of a question, rather than obvious commentary.

“No, I don’t.”

She concurred and lifted herself from her perch, giving her legs a moment to sway as she stood. A time to regain her balance, after having sat still for so long, so deep in thought. She walked briskly across his room into his private bathroom and put the cig in his toilet and flushed all evidence of its existence away.

When she returned to him in his bedroom, she found him sitting upright in his bed in the darkness. He lifted the sheets, as if inviting her to return. She accepted and started to move for his bed, for the warmth that could be found with in, for she had become acutely aware of the fact that she was cold.

“What were you doing?”

"Thinking."

As she came close to his bed, he shifted over making room for her in a moment of generosity. And as she slid quickly in to his, seeking the warmth from the sheets where his body had just been, he took her hand.

As he held her hand he examined it, twisting and intertwining his fingers with hers. This gentle and beautiful show of affection, the caressing and connecting of hands; such an intimate part of the human body, an extension of the soul; brought out a certain emotion from her. It was so different from anything she had experienced before. It wasn't ugly or hateful, or sad and melancholy. Instead it seemed be what she had been longing and aching for. It was so utterly different and warm, that in that instance she knew the sensation of love, a fluttering and tingling feeling. But it was soon dispelled, when as he drew his mouth towards her, he said,

"I hope you didn't make it smell like smoke in here, or leave ash anywhere."

It all soured after that.