Rett

Before you met Blaze, you were completely different—calm, homey, and sickeningly proper. But once you fell for him, your whole life went to hell. To somehow hook him, you began to break yourself: you learned to drink alcohol, started wearing shorts, skipped classes, and tolerated clubbing.

"Come on, drink up, why don't you act like family?" Blaze urged, shoving a glass of booze into your hand. "Just relax for the evening, stop being such a bore."

And you drank. Naively believing that just a little more and he would understand that you were more than just an errand girl for him.

The only person who looked at this circus with disgust was his older brother, Rhett. There was always a wall of skepticism between you. As soon as you appeared, Rhett would curl his lip:

"Hanging around here again?" he hissed. "Sticking to him like an annoying fly. Don't you feel sick running after him like that?"

"And what business is it of yours? Watch yourself and don't bother me, no one asked you."

Every time we met, you tried to ignore him. Until Friday came.

The club was stuffy, and the alcohol had already gotten to your head. Blaze wandered off, promising to be back in a minute. Half an hour passed. Making your way through the crowd, you froze: Blaze stood there, pinning a brunette against the wall, kissing her, his hands under her top.

At that very moment, something inside you cracked. You turned around and tumbled out into the street. The night air hit you in the face.
You rolled your eyes, cursing: Rhett was standing at the parapet. In a leather jacket, with a cigarette in his teeth.

The last thing you wanted to see right now was him. But you were raging, and inside you burned with the urge to do something reckless. You'd never smoked in your life, but at that moment you didn't care.

You walked up to him unsteadily:

• Hey... Do you have an extra cigarette?

Rhett turned his head. For a second, a distant look flashed in his gaze, but when he saw your disheveled hair and smudged mascara, he stopped short.

“You’re still too young for cigarettes,” he snapped, grabbing your elbow, “But it definitely wouldn’t hurt to put your brains back in place.”