Strings (1 of 2)

"Find the one you can talk to, when you can't talk to anybody else." - David Jones

"Um... are you alright?"

My eyes pop open as I jump, startled by the voice. I thought I was alone out here, but I guess that's on me. I never actually checked.

I glance around me searching for the source of the voice who almost scared me to death.

My eyes land on a man sitting a few feet from me on a chair to my left. He's about my age if I had to guess, maybe a little later in his twenties. His curly black hair is what catches my attention first, and then the rest of his face comes into view when I take a step closer. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones and jaw make my lips part a little as I take in all his features. He has broad shoulders... I can tell even under his black shirt that he's ripped.

He's attractive... more than attractive. Exactly my type...

He is staring at me with no expression on his face, but his eyes glitter underneath the moonlight, enticing me to get closer.

I shouldn't be with strangers in alleyways alone. I know that. But I also shouldn't be out here at all, so I guess what the hell.

I silently stare back into his eyes. If anyone was watching how long we have been like this, we would look like idiots, but somehow it doesn't feel awkward. It's like he's staring past any of my walls. I don't want to look away.

Somewhere in the staring, my breathing slows from the panic attack. It's the furthest thing from my mind now. Now, my heart still races but it is no longer from the anxiety...

We stay like that for a moment longer before he breaks the eye contact to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his inside jacket pocket.

He pulls one out of the pack and holds it up to me, offering it.

I definitely should not be doing this.

I walk towards him and take a seat in the empty chair across from him, and cross my legs so he can't see up my short dress.

He puts the cigarette between his teeth and cups his hands around it, bringing up the lighter. I watch the flame ignite and his hands come down to his lap, entranced by his lips wrapping around the white stick. He inhales deeply and then takes it out of his mouth, exhaling a puff of smoke as he passes it to me.

I take it from him but stay silent. As I inhale he looks up meeting my eyes again.

"So what happened?" he asks me.

How do I even answer that? Why would I even answer that? Would he even understand?

He waits, watching me, as I search for a response. He doesn't look impatient while waiting for my explanation, which calms me in a way. He makes me feel like I can speak my mind... like he would understand my mind. I'm probably crazy for thinking that about a stranger, but I do.

"Do you ever feel like it's too much?" I ask him, before inhaling and exhaling the smoke.

I pass the cigarette back to him.

He frowns at me. "Like what is too much?"

I sigh deeply. "Like everyone's expectations... of who and what they want you to be? It's always higher than we could ever achieve, but they don't see that. They want to see the perfect version of you that matches what they expect you to be. And it really just sets you up for failure. Sometimes the failure is too much for me... not being able to be that perfect version and letting them down time after time again."