Which is a surprise because I just smoked outside of Dr. Lola Bernstein’s building before going in for my appointment.
My second appointment, to be precise.
Yes, I’m back. Unfortunately.
I talked to my manager and he said that the big shots on the team management won’t change therapists. She’s supposed to be the best at what she does so I have to stick with her.
And so I’m sitting on her pink couch again, watching her adjust herself in her armchair – purple armchair – as her tinkling bracelet bangs in my head like a gavel.
Hence, the need for my second smoke.
It’s pretty rare, actually, for me to want to smoke again. I’m not a smoker, or at least not a regular one.
I only need it when I’m trying to relax before an important game or something.
I started back in high school, junior year. I had a big biology test and practice was brutal that week because we also had a big game coming up.
A few of the players were smoking outside of the school after practice and something about how they were standing, all relaxed and loose, smoke coming out of their mouths like they were expelling all their stress in the form of a gray cloud, made me want to try it too.
I was ready to dismiss it after one puff though.
Addiction of any kind is bad for the game. It had always been drilled into me, first by my mom and then by my coaches.
I would have too, dismissed it, I mean. If it hadn’t led to a series of coughs, alerting everyone who was watching that this was the team captain’s first drag. You can’t have your reputation questioned or the players won’t follow you.
So to shut up their derogatory laughter, I took another drag.
And another and another until it started to feel good.
Until the burn in my lungs turned into this high-speed rush that spread all throughout my body, making my shoulders relax and the base of my neck tingle. Making me feel like I was on top of the world.
Making me feel like I could do anything. Ace a fucking biology test and win the game against our rival school.
As I said though, I know my limits. I know the conventional wisdom. One smoke and that’s it.
Besides I promised my mother that I wouldn’t smoke. I’m breaking that promise so I can’t have more than one anyway.
I’m an asshole for lying but I don’t have to be a complete bastard too.
The days I smoke, I train harder. To punish myself for going back on my word.
But I would do anything, any-fucking-thing, for a smoke right now.
Because Dr. Bernstein has finished settling down and she’s smiling at me. I look away from her and my eyes land on her coffee table.
The object of my fixation the last session.
It’s not the same one though.
“You replaced your coffee table,” I say, focusing on her.
Nodding happily, she leans forward and raps on the table. “Wood. Less of a chance that it could get broken. Accidentally.”
She raises her eyebrows at me and I have to admit, my lips twitch a little. “Were you worried that it could get broken accidentally?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
I give in and chuckle. “It’s a little early to say. But we’ll see, Dr. Bernstein.”
