Itake out my last cigarette as I take in the view of the city, my legs dangling off the edge. The city looks gorgeous from this high up. I place the cigarette at the edge of my mouth before dropping the packet off the edge - it’s not like I’m going to a bin anytime soon. I take my lighter out of my pocket and struggle for a few seconds to ignite it. My fingers are numb, and I almost throw the lighter in frustration. But eventually, the orange flame shows itself when I block the wind with my left hand.
I inhale deeply. As the smoke fills my lungs, the gravity of my situation causes my stomach to drop. This is my last cigarette. I wish it weren’t, but it has to be.
It’s my only option.
I exhale and watch the smoke drift through the crisp night air. Everyone looks so small below me. I could easily go to the corner shop down the road and buy another packet. But I know I’ll just be here again next week - on the rooftop of my student accommodation. I inhale again, while my eyes begin to tear up. Partly because of the wind, I imagine, but also because a part of me doesn’t want this to be my last cigarette. My lip trembles at the thought of jumping.
“Noah? You’re not going to jump, are you?” my friend Arthur asks, popping his head out of the doorway. I quickly wipe my eyes before replying with a small laugh.
“No, of course not.” I quickly wipe my eyes. “I’m just having a cigarette.”
“Good, because I really don’t want to take the bus myself tomorrow,” he laughs. I think he expects me to get up and go down with him, because he just stands there staring at me for a moment. I turn around and continue smoking my cigarette. When he realises I’m not moving, he climbs up the half wall and dangles his legs off the edge, mirroring me.
“God, that’s high,” Arthur says while peering over the edge. He doesn’t need to remind me. I chose to have my last cigarette here because falling from this height would probably?—
“Are you okay?” He asks, lightly tapping his leg against mine. “You look like you’re in a world of your own,” he adds. I still don’t have the courage to look at him. I go to reply, but something catches in my throat. Instead, I take another draw, before flicking the ash off the tip. He takes his cigarettes out and lights one.
“This is my last cigarette,” is all I can say. I see the cogs turning in his head, wondering what to respond with. I don’t want him to talk me down. This is my last cigarette. I’m going to enjoy it. Then after that, I’m done.
“Are you trying to quit?” He asks, flicking ash off the edge. I take a glance at him. He looks ahead while his blonde hair blows around in the wind. I look down past my legs. Everyone looks so small.
“I just… don’t think I can do it anymore,” I tell him, my heart threatening to leap out of my chest.
“Can I ask a question?” He asks. I nod in reply. “We’re not talking about cigarettes, are we?” The question throws me off guard, and I don’t know how to reply. My eyes do though, because tears start spilling down my face. A small whimper escapes my throat as my hands go to cover my face. The cigarette still burns between my fingertips.
“Oh, please don’t cry, I don’t know what to do when people cry,” Arthur laughs nervously. He taps my knee to get me to look at him.
“I know life’s unfair and awful at times, but it’s what we make of it. This doesn’t have to be the end of your story, Noah. You can always turn it around,” he tells me, but it goes in one ear and out the other. I’ve tried that and it didn’t work. It never works.
“I’m just so tired,” I whisper as tears continue to fall. I inhale more of my cigarette. My throat feels like sandpaper as more words spill out. “It’s just… I really miss my mum… and Jonathan really hurt me. My head is just so… messy. It’s hard to keep going when everything is going against me.”
“To hell with Jonathan, karma will come for him soon enough, trust me,” Arthur says as he throws his cigarette butt off the edge. “Noah, look at me.” I turn to him as he gets out a tissue for me. I wipe my tears as Arthur continues to speak.
“Okay listen, I care about you, man. I need you to change something, because this is clearly not working out for you, okay? I think you should go home and take some time doing things you love, okay? You need to do something because I don’t want to go to your funeral, I really don’t. I don’t even own a suit, man,”he laughs before tears form in his eyes. I look away again. I didn’t want to make him cry. Guilt wraps around my throat like a snake. “Being a janitor for a train station doesn’t pay as well as you think it does,” he laughs. I laugh a little as I inhale more of my cigarette, before realising it’s burned down to the butt. I throw it off the edge.
“There’s nothing there for me back home, my mother is dead, and I’ve lost contact with basically everyone,” I tell him, wiping my nose with my hand. Arthur hands me another tissue.
“So reconnect with them?”
“It’s not that simple. I left for Newcastle without telling anyone. They’re probably pissed at me.”
“You don’t need to overcomplicate things, Noah. Go home, read some books and go surfing. Get yourself a little job somewhere. And try to reconnect with people, I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you. Just please, try something else. It’s better than giving up. You can always try again, Noah,” He explains. I think about what he is saying, and part of me wants to agree with him, but I don’t know if I have the strength.
“I don’t know if I can,” I tell him. My eyes look down to the street again. It looks like a long way down. Arthur turns to me and reaches into his pocket. He gives me a cigarette.
“Here’s another cigarette, but you have to smoke it downstairs. That’s the rule,” he tells me. I look at the cigarette, then down to the street below. I wipe my eyes and look back at the cigarette in his hand, before reaching for it.
‘Then here’s one for when you arrive in Cornwall,” he says as he hands me another one; a small smile forms on my face.
“Thanks, Arthur.”
“I’ve run out of cigarettes now, asshole,” he says, which causes me to laugh. “I hope you’re happy now,” He says with a smile. And part of me is. Relieved even.
“So what are you going to do?” He asks once we get off the wall.
“I’m going to go back home, I’ll get a job, and I’ll do things I love. I’ll try to reconnect with people. I’ll attempt to cook dinner when you come to visit?—”
“I will come to visit, but you aren’t cooking,” he laughs as we continue towards the door. I punch him playfully in the arm.
