On The Rocks

She crawled up a rock and sat herself down in a position that had her feet dangling from the edge. She lit another of many cigarettes she had smoked since that morning. Neither of them had anything else to do, and he had begun to enjoy her company. They had met through mutual friends weeks ago, and since then, they had at least spoken to each other every day. It had now been three days in a row together.

Below her, he leaned against a rock and breathed the air coming off of the ocean. She had experience in her eyes. Those eyes gave away secrets she would never allow her lips to tell. He could almost hear them telling him where she was from and what she has had to do just to be able to live. He guessed these were things she probably didn't want him to know, but she wasn't as good at hiding them as she would have like to have been. Their worlds were like oil and water; keeping her close to him could be like breaking a horse.

The fiery ring on her cigarette slid closer to her lips as she drew in the last bit of smoke she could handle. The ashes, too long to hold on anymore, seemed to tremble a little before they fell and blew away. She flicked the butt away, and like an old steam engine on a train, she let it loose in one big blow. "What?" She asked him. He turned toward the sunset. It was what they had come to see.

"I think I might be in love with you." While still watching the sunset, he heard her fumble the pack of cigarettes, fishing for another. Then the lighter clicked.

"That's a lie," she chuckled.