The front door of the decrepit house slammed shut with a resounding bang, and a young man strode out, cursing angrily and already lighting a cigarette with an expensive looking silver lighter. His steps were angry and quick, his boots clattering, and a fresh bruise had…
“Good. You’d be getting it either way.” He stretched his legs out, putting his ankles past the windshield, feeling the shards of glass cutting into his skin. He didn’t flicker an eyelash at the sharp pain. He was long since desensitised to it. He looked at the cigarette he held between his fingers and back at Jace, a slight hint of amusement playing on his usually serious features. “What are ya doin’ smokin’ Jace? It ain’t your style. More my scene.” It was true the cigarette did suit him, but that may be due to the rareness of seeing him without. He admired the smoke, inhaling it and relaxing as it filled his lungs. He needed the release, the instant comfort it brought him. It reminded him of his parents house, from when he was a child. It was always filled with smoke, and other exotic smells. Skylar had smoked since he was eleven.
He ignored the others question at first, choosing instead to watch the last tinges of sunlight in the sky, the colours of the sky changing from yellow, to pink, to Sky’s favourite, a deep and divine blue. He’d seen this sky often, when he was staring up at the stars from wherever the hell he could fall asleep. He felt Jace move behind him, his head close to his ear, his hands to his neck. He didn’t turn around, although fighting the urge was hard.
“Yeah. The usual. You know.”
What had happened wasn’t out of the ordinary. Skylar had came home, to the packed foster house, to find he had missed any chance he had of being served food. He hadn’t complained. However, his limit had been reached, when he’d been shoved against a wall for taking a slice of bread. He’d shoved back. Next thing, a hard fist had slammed into his face, and he walked upstairs, to snort a line of coke and to bury his fist into the drywall. He had done it until he saw his own blood. Then he’d came here, his safe place. His thinking place.
“Just the usual.” He forced a smile, Finally turning to face the other.