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Clouds of Smoke

by Natasha Mawo 4 years ago in depression

Short Story

The depressing British weather is becoming my close friend this November. The pitter-patter of the rain droplets hitting the nearest car; the clouds gathering together, forming an array of grey with beams of what could have been a bright, sunny day seeping through. Perfectly preserved beads of rain rolling down my face.

You'll never really amount to much. You know that right? Just drown yourself in that puddle.

"Oi faggot!"

I turn around to find James, this dickhead, my only friend, running behind me in black skinny jeans and a faded red hoodie with the white strings dangling.

I stop and wait for him to catch up to me.

"You're such a fucking weirdo. Why are walking in the rain on your own?" forgetting that he seems to be doing the same thing.

"I would hate to waste such a beautiful day." I reply, expressionless.

"I have what you wanted," he hands me a brown envelope. I quickly place it in my front jean pocket. "It's all there, but be careful, please. Not only because you're my best customer."

"Fuck you. Walk with me home, please. They are back." I say, linking my arm to his. I stare at my platform leather boots splashing baby puddles, enjoying the power I had over them.

"Are you ever going to tell anyone about them?" I know he means well but sometimes all I want him to do is talk and distract me. I don't need professional help. I'm not out of it.

"Are you ever going to stop dealing?" I reply with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

The rest of the walk I listen to him talk about his home life. I've heard it a million times, but it always helps to calm them. Hearing about his struggles makes me feel like a whiny little child; my emotional struggles always rendered weak in comparison to the scars from his father.

It was funny how different our lives were, and yet we understood each other better than anyone else.

Home. My safe house. An enormous place, considering I'm usually the only person here apart from Gordon, the house guard. I greet him, look out to see which cars are parked, in case my parents are back. They never are.

I slowly unlock the door, walk through, and take my soaked jacket off. I feel my whole body erupt into a shivering mess, so I turn the heating up.

"It's too quiet" I whisper to myself, realizing whats to come next.

Perfect, now you can hear us better. You can't get rid of us.

You know what to do if you want us to stop.

Your parents aren't here again, I wouldn't be here, too, if I had you as a daughter.

I'm craving noise. Anything that isn't them. I walk up the stairs into my room and turn the stereo on. Leave out all the rest. I guess I will just let it play.

What reason do you have for living? You don't do anything.

Pathetic.

You're a waste of space.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up and go bother someone who's better!"

I shove everything off my bed and lay on my back, listening to the music.

*Forgetting all the hurt inside you've learnt to hide so well. Pretending someone else can come and save me from myself*

Nobody loves you and they never will.

Just take a knife from the kitchen, it will be real easy.

Jump out the window, instead.

I pull out the envelope in my pocket. I open it, carefully pulling the plastic bag out. I get up and roll a few spliffs. I skip to the bathroom and fill the bath tub with ice cold water. The scented sticks we keep by the window are still burning from earlier in the day. The lights are off, leaving the room a dimly lit, gloomy escape. I turn the music up, light up the spliffs, and slide into the tub, my clothes still on.

They're gone.

Nothing but the sound of the music in the background, the water glistening as the hairs on my arms rise screaming for warmth; the smell of vanilla converging with the burning weed stinging my nostrils, yet providing me with comfort.

After a lot of blows, I'm not completely myself. In a paralyzing state of relaxation, I slowly slide down my back until my whole body is submerged underwater, the water quickly rushing up my noise, but my brain too slow to come up with a response. Clouds of smoke are hovering above the bath tub, becoming a beautiful illusion from underwater. The music becomes muffled, but I can still make out some of the words.

*All I want to do is drain this life of something new*

depression

Natasha Mawo

Read next: Depression

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