I smoke in secret. Every night before I go to sleep, I like to smoke just one cigarette. It’s one of my forbidden pleasures. Nobody knew about this.
5 minutes before 11pm, I opened my balcony, poured some coke on my glass, took out one cigratte from the newly opened pack, and made myself comfortable into a nice sitting position. I looked at the glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower as I light up one cigarette and take the first puff. The first puff is always the best.
Just as I was thinking about nothing and everything, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked around to see who the hell entered my room without knocking. And there he was, smiling and arranging his hat, his midnight blue eyes laughing at me. Sam Merlotte.
“What the hell are you doing here? Who let you in?” I asked, but deep inside I was happy to see him here in my room.
“Jean Philippe,” he said.
His eyes were really mocking me. I felt so busted for having been caught smoking. This was so not part of my sweet plan.
“Come here,” he said.
“I can’t. I’m smoking.”
“I can see that. Throw it.”
I looked at him and then I looked at my cigarette.
“I don’t wanna throw it. You come here.”
“Ok then, bye.”
I looked at him with pleading eyes.
And then he laughed and approached me. I offered my cheek for him to kiss.
“I don’t care,” he said.
He kissed me on the lips, long and sweet.
Then he was gone.
I felt a shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t know if that incident ever happened or if I dreamed the whole thing. It just felt so real.
I woke up feeling giddy and uncertain about the future.
