BRIANNA
In the week that follows, we barely speak to one another. You are hauled up in your study, at the office, or out with associates. I sit at home, dragging incessantly on my tobacco-filled friends. If you were paying any attention to me, my behavior would probably excite you. Several times a day, I emphatically stomp out my cigarette, swearing it will be the last one I ever smoke, only to cave to my cravings two or three hours later. Twice, I throw out my whole carton…forcing myself to drive to the nearest convenience store for more. And, in spite of my efforts to quit, I find myself nearing three full packs a day for the first time. I am miserable, hopeless, helpless, and depressed.
On Saturday, Nancy Thomas calls, and I reluctantly agree to meet her at the mall. Maybe some retail therapy will help me feel better. I chain smoke the entire way there and still need to take a smoke break after just 30 minutes. By the time we have been at the mall three hours, I am already on my fourth trip outside.
"I will meet you at Nordstrom in a minute," I call to Nancy as I make my way toward the exit.
"No, wait. I’ll come with you," she shouts, sprinting to catch me.
I already have my pack and lighter in hand as we exit the building. I quickly light up and take several heavy drags. I may need to start smoking unfiltereds, I think to myself. These Newports just aren’t as strong as they used to be. I cough several times and return the cigarette to my needy lips.
"You are smoking a lot these days," Nancy comments. It’s probably been three months since we saw each other last. I am definitely smoking more now.
"Alec and I…" I need another dose of nicotine before I can continue. "…we are going through a rough patch. I’m probably smoking more…to cope," I sigh, taking a last puff on my cigarette and immediately lighting another.
Nancy’s face contorts with a mix of concern, pity, and contempt. Like everyone else, she thinks I took up smoking while flirting with a fine Italian man on our honeymoon. She thinks that you barely tolerate my habit and hate the way it fouls up your beautiful house. And she thinks that she would be a much better wife for you than I am. The daughter of Ambassador Thomas, Nancy attended St. Andrews with you. Her father played golf with yours at the Rivera Club. And her mother volunteered with yours at the Galleria auction every year. Everyone thought the two of you would marry…until you ruined it all by falling for a commoner.
I finish my cigarette, and we go back inside. We go by Nordstrom and Saks before I need to step out again. Then Williams-Sonoma. Then another break. I finish my pack and tell Nancy I need to run to the car to get another. "Why don’t we just call it a day," she suggests, "…I hope you an Alec work things out."
Two days later, as I am eating breakfast on the back porch, Mrs. Jeong informs me that you have just left for the airport – that you will be in Spain for the next month on business.
"What?!" I ask in disbelief. A month? And he didn’t tell me? Not even a kiss goodbye?
My throat tightens as I am overcome with sadness. I rush from the table and immediately try to call you. There is no answer. I send you a text message as tears stream down my face: How could you leave without saying goodbye? Not waiting for a reply, I throw the phone down bitterly and run up the stairs to our bedroom. I slam the door shut and bury my head under the pillow. I sob hysterically. I know now that you don’t love me. Our marriage is a lie.
My tired lungs struggle to breathe through the pillow. I cough, but I keep my face pressed tight against the plush fabric. Maybe I will die under here…
But I don’t. And after several minutes, I remove my damp, red, puffy face from the pillow. I habitually roll over and grab a cigarette from the nightstand. I’ll just kill myself this way instead, I sigh. I smoke until the pack is empty and then I stop to think: What do I mpl studios pics do now? I can’t stay here.
I grab a suitcase and begin packing my things before I even know where I will go. I tell myself, enough is enough. All you have done is abuse and belittle me. I am just a toy to you – a pawn in some sick and twisted game. I know that no one will believe me. To everyone on the outside, you are a saint. They don’t know the you that I know. They have never seen that side of you.
I decide to go to my sister, Patricia’s, house. Patty lives just outside of Las Vegas with her husband, Jay, and their three children. She had a bit of a wild streak growing up, getting pregnant at 17, and I figure she probably won’t judge me too harshly for walking out on you. I load up the Suburban myself; Mrs. Jeong watches from the window. As I pull out of the driveway, she sends you a text, stating that I have left you.
ALEC
I am at the airport when I receive the text from Mrs. Jeong. My first reaction is instinct: I text back: Have Jack locate her and then discretely tail. Then the shock settles in. I miss my flight. I sit in the airport coffee shop for hours. I do something I have not done in a long while: I light up a cigarette. Looking into the smoke I reminisce…
The bar was full of smoke. There was a law against it, but people broke it cavalierly. There was a woman at the bar that I badly wanted to speak to, but I had no pickup line. I said Thosell kill you you know.
And what, she said taking a luxurious drag, will kill you instead?
I fumbled with a reply. She blew the smoke in my face. Then I said the only thing that could have saved me. Something honest: You look so beautiful smoking those.
I do, dont I? Is that why you wanted to talk to me?
I dont know, something…
Well then, what do you know?
Youre hard.
I have to keep the university boys off somehow. What are you studying?
I opened my mouth, closed it. Business.
What are you doing here? MBAs drink two streets over.
I said nothing.
Slumming. she answered for me. Well then, its time to add to your education.
She took the cigarette from her dark red lips and held it out for me.
What?
Oh come on, first ones free.
Her eyes were compelling. I took it from her and inhaled. I worked mightily not to cough.
She smiled, Good boy.
It doesnt prove anything. Im not going to start smoking and you should still stop.
Her eyes narrowed. Lets make a bet. I bet I can get you to start smoking before you can get me to stop.
I felt crazy. There was promise in what she said. Perhaps I just wanted the chance to get to know here better. Alright, a bet.
Ember.
What?
My name is Ember.
Oh, Alec.
Well, Alec, lets go.
That first night was a memory. She lit incense and we drank a fine cognac. We talked, we kissed, she lit a cigarette, I stubbed it out. We wrestled. That became something else. We slept long into the morning.
When I woke she was already smoking. I tried to grab it from her. She was agile as a cat. I nearly set the drapes on fire by the time I had her hands pinned over her head. She purred sensuously. What was this? I forced her arms back further and she liked it. I had no experience of this kind but followed where it led. Afterwards I was too tired to stop her from lighting up.
She looked so damn pretty doing it. And that was the problem.
She managed to associate the sensuality of sex with those pretty lips drawing smoke. And the games we learned to play slowly swung from my dominance to hers. I remember the first time she convinced me to let her smoke while I went down on her. And she rewarded me for it. And then the time she first breathed smoke between my lips. And she rewarded me for that too. And when she made me call her Mistress.
She rewarded me and rewarded me. And I forgot about our bet.
But she didnt.
We were sharing an excellent post fuck smoke when she told me.
Ive decided on a new profession.
Oh?
Yes. Being with you has given me certain window on the male of the species.
Oh yes? Are you going to start taking on submissives? I said humorously.
Why yes. Exactly.
WHAT?
I was devastated for so many reasons. I could not cope. I escaped. All she left me with was the vile habit.
And an obsession to go with it.
BRIANNA
It’s an eight hour mplstudios drive from our house in Auburn to my sisters place. Three hours in, my phone rings, and your photo pops up on the display. My heart races wildly, and in my panic, I allow the Suburban to veer off the road. I turn the wheel sharply, maneuvering the behemoth vehicle safely back onto the pavement, but my nerves are wrecked. I can’t focus on driving and my hands are shaking, so I pull off onto the shoulder.
I light a cigarette as my phone transfers your call to voice mail. I stare at the blank screen, waiting to see if you will leave a message. As I sit, I realize this means you didn’t fly to Madrid after all. I feel slightly remorseful, but the sensation is quickly replaced by vengeful pride – if nothing else, I got a rise out of you by leaving. I quickly finish my cigarette and light another.
I am just about to creep back onto the highway when my phone beeps – not for voice mail, but a text message. I see your name scroll across the display. Reluctantly, I tap to see the message: "You shouldn’t have left." Hardly an apology for the way he has been treating me, I think. My stomach feels sick, pride swept away and replaced with despair. You don’t miss me, you miss being in control.
I stay parked on the side of the road for several more minutes, oblivious to the unassuming blue pick-up truck also pulled over about a quarter mile behind me. Of course, having Jack follow me was hardly necessary – you have GPS tracking devices installed on all of our vehicles. But that wouldn’t have told you I swerved off the road when you called. Jack mpl pics has already given you a full report.
I stop again in Pahrump, about an hour outside of Las Vegas, to pick up a weeks supply of smokes.
Two cartons of Newport regulars, I order from the counter. I cant believe I am smoking so much, I mumble to myself. The cashier pays me no attention. I remember when we first got back from our honeymoon – a single carton lasted over 2 weeks back then. I recall thinking at the time that even that seemed like a lot. And look at me now…
I hold my breath as the cashier swipes my card. No telling when you will cancel it...but for now, it still works. I stop at the next drug store and buy two more cartons. I dont want my sister to have to fund my habit. What will I do when these are gone? I sigh. I dont have an answer. I hate that, even now, I need you.
Patty welcomes me warmly into her home. We havent seen each other in nearly a year. As we chat, I start to realize how much being married to you had caused me to neglect my friends and family. Her children have grown up so much since the last time I saw them. Sydney is 14 now and Trevor just turned 6. Jay is handsome as always, still working out at the gym every day.
Once we are seated inside, it becomes clear that my sister has fallen on harder times than I realized. Jay was a general contractor for D and R Construction. He made good money for several years, during the housing boom, but then work slacked off. Jay and Patty live in a respectable five bedroom house in Calico Ridge, but inside there is a noticeable lack of furniture, Patty’s dress is several seasons behind the latest fashion, and Sydney tells me that they have drained the pool to save money.
In a last hurrah before you cut me off financially, I take my sister to the Galleria Mall and Ashley’s Furniture. By masha mpl studios the end of the day, I have maxed out the $25,000 limit on my card. It is a trifling amount to you, but I know it will mean the world to Patty and her family. A few hours later, I get another call from you. I don’t answer, so you send me another text: "Thieving whore."
ALEC
I try you several times and curse myself for weakness. I call a business associate to take over my trip to Spain. Itll still cost me a pretty penny in lost opportunities.
The next day I receive a report that you and your sister have gone shopping. The house is empty. I order Jack to have webcams installed. The workmen dress up like cable installers. At least Ill have a pleasure of watching you smoke.
I light up another myself. I seem to be back on the habit. I summon Briannas twin and thrash her soundly in revenge. She flees without a word. The next day I summon her again, but get a call from Ember instead.
If youre going to break your toys, then you cant have them to play with.
Im sorry, I just need something.
Clearly.
Please, I need to see you.
I think not. But I wont leave you high and dry. She refers me to a website called smokinghot.com and hangs up.
I go to the website. It is a service that, for exorbitant rates, hires out girls who cater to the smoking fetish. I did not know such a thing existed. Over the next several days I make extensive use of their services. More than I care to admit. I require that all the girls I hire let me call them Ember. They dont care, I tip well.
I also start watching you on the webcams. It feels like a victory every time you light up. I know I shouldnt, but I light up when you do. It feels like a connection between us.
I watch all the furniture being delivered. I grudgingly admit you have good taste.
One thing I limit myself to: even though there is a camera in their bedroom, I dont watch her sister and her husband having sex. I suppose I am too fixated on Brianna. One thing I do inadvertently hear in their conversation though: Her husband thinks Brianna is hot. Damn right shes hot. Touch her and Ill break your neck.
And then suddenly a light goes on.
I give Quinn a call.
BRIANNA
"I wish you wouldn’t smoke so much," Patty complains. Then softening her tone slightly... "I worry about the example it sets for Sydney and Ciara."
"I’m sorry," I reply, putting my cigarette out in an empty soda can. "I’m trying to cut back…it’s hard."
I don’t really know if I am trying to cut back. I want to honor my sister’s wishes, but my life is so stressful and chaotic. Smoking seems to be my only sanctuary.
"Are you going to go back to him?" Patty asks.
I sigh. "I don’t know…I miss him sometimes, but Patty," I pause, "…he really was mean to me. And manipulative. I don’t know..."
Patty rubs my shoulder. "You are strong. I know you’ll survive. Should I start looking for work for you? …I mean, if you are going to be here a while."
Work? That was something I thought I was never going to have to do again. "Not yet," I mutter, "…I’ll think about it."
As my sister leaves the room, I reach for my cigarettes. Just one. Just to relieve some of this stress.
My need for nicotine wakes me early the next morning. I sit up, cough several times, and then reach for my cigarette pack. As I light up and inhale, my coughing continues. For the last few months, every morning has been like this. I struggle to breathe and smoke, as my body desperately craves both the oxygen and the nicotine. Thankfully, only the first few minutes in the morning are like this. As I get up and start to move around, my lungs clear and I am able to breathe more easily.
I am already smoking my third cigarette as I meet Jay in the kitchen. He is lacing up his running shoes.
"Would you like to join me?" he asks, smiling. "Your sister says you are quite the runner."
I glance at my cigarette and then look at Jay apprehensively. There is no denying it – I just can’t run like I used to. My heart sinks and my chest aches with regret and embarrassment. I want to go running with Jay…but I am terrified that he would outpace me.
"Maybe another day," I reply sorrowfully. I run my cigarette under the facet and throw the butt in the trashcan. Then I walk silently back to the spare bedroom. How have I let myself smoke so much that I can’t even run anymore? And then I realize something: How can I continue to blame you for my habit? I always said I would quit once I was free from you.
not-the-real-me
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