cigarette smoke spills out in a short puff, the relaxing familiarity of it edging out the fray of anxiety picking at his nerves. sleepless nights had left the ex-soldier wired, irritable. seeking the solace of solidarity & silence to escape the suffocating paranoia crowding his head-space, he'd slipped up to the rooftop of the building he’s been taking up residence in. a crummy, rundown apartment complex, they hadn’t even asked for credentials. & he’s been living under a false name, one alias carded under many that were sitting, unused in his mental file. this is night three. or is four? he doesn’t know. they’ve begun bleeding together, at this point. and the only thing that numbs the itch creeping beneath his skin, is the nicotine stick dangling between his fingers.
the view of lights below, glowing brightly against the shroud dark, serves it’s distraction. there’s a serenity in sitting up here, and it allows him to think. rationalize. bleed out the demons gripping his conscience.
❝ ------ i don’t really want company right now, so it’d be in your best INTEREST to leave. ❞ he doesn’t bother looking up, remaining impassive, but there’s an sharpness to his tone.
