Photo by Anastasia Vityukova on Unsplash
The sweet rush of nicotine hit her like a soothing breeze. Sarah inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Damn, that always hit the spot. She opened her eyes and looked out the break room window at all of the pedestrians scurrying far below.
Could it really only be Monday? Could she really have a mountain of paperwork to get through? Could it really only be ten-seventeen? The smoke break was beyond necessary. Otherwise people might end up dying horrifically in her neurotic clutches.
Still, she was supposed to be quitting. Ha! Don’t they all say that? Yet another New Year’s resolution gone the way of the Dodo. But she wanted to have kids and soon. Healthy kids. That meant no cigarettes, period. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes again, feeling it caress her stressed lungs.
The door to the break room was flung open. Sarah turned to face the noise. Becca, the new office intern, was cheerily whistling to herself and sipping her morning coffee.
Sarah’s silent nirvana was shattered. Without turning she said: “Becca, if you don’t scamper back out that door, I will come over there, extend my claws, and rip your goddamn tits off.”
Becca dropped her coffee and stopped whistling. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong, Sarah?”
The interns were constantly sucking up. Especially the pretty ones. No doubt hoping to get knocked up by a grabby VP. Sarah stood her ground and continued to face the window. “Do you see me quietly smoking in here by myself?”
Becca began to bite her lip in a cowering manner. “It’s just that—“
Sarah’s hand tensed up and she flicked ash onto the floor. “It was rhetorical, Becca. If you value your life, you’ll leave right now.”
Becca whimpered and licked the spilled coffee from her wrist and dashed back out the door. Muffled crying could be heard from the hallway.
Sarah lit another cigarette. Game, set, match. How long had she been in here anyways? Twenty minutes? Aw, hell with it. If anything important came up, they’d come find her.
She held the smoking cigarette up to her face. What was it about these things that always soothed her so? Obviously, there was a serious nicotine addiction. Having the white flowing tendrils of smoke float up from her fingers always looked like poetry in motion to her. In situations like this, she imagined herself as a 1940s film noir vixen. She may have vital information about a murder most foul. She might even be in on it. But she’s not telling.
Right now, she was holding all the cards and she had one hell of a poker face.
But still, she needed to quit smoking. Who cares if you supposedly gained a ton of weight after quitting? But in order to quit, there had to be a last cigarette. One last pause of reflection where you said ‘okay, no more.’ She gazed at her current smoke. Was this it? Was this the last one? She took a puff. Well, maybe not the last one ever. Before the last one there had to be a one before that, right? What would you call that? She tried to recall her school grammar courses.
Penultimate. That was it. The one before the last one.
Before she even realized it, she had ripped open yet another pack and had lit yet another cigarette. Damn! How the hell did that happen? Okay, calm down. Your body craves nicotine and reaching for a cigarette is just a reflex. It’s just like breathing for you now.
She held the cigarette up to her face. This was going to require a fair amount of tough love. “All right, buster. You’re my penultimate one. You hear me?” She looked down at the street. “As all of these sad saps as my witness. You’re the next to last one I’m smoking. Ever.” Here goes nothing, she thought. She lit it and took a drag. Good God, how it calmed her nerves!
The door to the break room opened again and Jimmy from the mailroom filed in. He was snapping his fingers, and drinking a Capri Sun and getting much more enjoyment out of it than he rightfully should. He saw Sarah and gave her a toothy grin. “Hi, Sarah. Say, that’s a swell dress you’re wearing. How are you on this fine Monday morning?”
She turned to face him and held the cigarette out in front of her. “Jimmy, this is my penultimate cigarette. The one before my last one ever. I’m a little on edge just now. I need some time alone, okay?”
Jimmy scoffed. “Oh, so you’re quitting, huh? Well, you’ll be a raving psycho for a while but it’ll pass.” He smiled again.
She rolled her eyes at his annoying optimism. “Jimmy, I meant leave me alone.”More ash fell absently from the cigarette to the floor.
Jimmy’s smile faded. “Oh, no you don’t. This is a company break room.” He squeezed his juice box and tossed it into the trash. “I have just as much of a right to be in here as you do.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. He wasn’t budging. Her cigarette was burning away. She had to play it dirty. She opened her eyes and smiled while giving her best film noir vixen glare. “I know you have a crush on Erin from accounting. How many other people know you masturbate in the bathroom after our morning meeting?” She paused to relish the moment and then accented the finale. “Every...single...day?”
“You swore you’d never tell!” he whined.
“Still telling everyone you spilled glue on that Han Solo action figure on your desk?” she purred. She knew she had him.
“Fine. I’ll leave!” His bottom lip quivered. Then to himself he muttered: “Damn, I should’ve taken it home already.” He threw his juice box on the floor. He turned to leave. “Have fun at the fat farm, Sarah.” With that, he was gone.
She smiled in victorious satisfaction. Another one shot down in flames. She gazed down at her hand. The cigarette was almost entirely ash.
Her heart raced. “Oh God, no!” she panted. She shoved the remnants between her lips. She managed one, brief drag and then it crumbled in her hand. No need to fret, she rationalized as she pulled a fresh one from the pack.
But wait a hot minute here... If she stuck to her guns, which she prided herself on, then that last one should have been the next to last one. Which meant, tragedy of all tragedies, that the one in her shaking hand would be THE LAST ONE...EVER!
She looked down at it. Why on earth was this so difficult? It wasn’t food or water or air. She didn’t need it to live. Not at all. But sweet Jesus on a pogo stick did she want it. She was its slave. She would do whatever evil bidding it demanded. She even guessed with the right amount of alcohol she would submit to have its little, paper rolled babies. She would just lie on the table and spread her legs. Right here, right now.
She took a breath and let it out. Her heart felt like a fist trying to punch through her ribcage. She took a few steps to the table and laid it down next to the open pack. Should she smoke this last one and then throw the pack away? Out of sight, out of mind, right? But what if something devastating happened later today? Or this week? Or this millennium? Would she be able to stick to her precious convictions if the Devil showed up for a soul-roasting bar-b-q? She thought not.
Almost on cue, the door swung open yet again. She could tell without looking up that it was Vivian, her overly-anal boss. Without moving her head, she lifted her eyes but did not meet Vivian’s steely gaze head on.
Vivian was grimacing even more than usual. Her arms were folded in typical manager stance, and she sighed loudly. “Here you are, little miss AWOL.” She cackled in the way that some people in power think every little quip they utter is comedy gold. “Since when did we start taking half-hour smoke breaks, Sarah?”
Sarah stood erect and met her gaze. “My bad, Viv. Time got away from me.” She held up the last cigarette for Vivian to see. “I was about to have one more and then head back out.”
Vivian uncrossed her arms and placed them on her hips. “Like hell you are. Gather up your crap and get your sorry ass back out there.”
Sarah’s heart was pounding. Without warning, her hand began to twitch. The tendons in her hand tightened and her hand formed a tight fist. She watched in disconnected horror as the fist pounded down on the tabletop. She felt her lips working but they didn’t feel like her own. “I will do no such thing.”
Vivian was momentarily taken aback. “Excuse me?” Her eyes were like huge orbs popping out from her face. Her cheeks were turning red. She took a step forward. “If you want to keep your job, you’ll march yourself out of this room right this instant. Do you understand me?”
Before Vivian had finished, Sarah was in her face. “Oh, yeah? Understand this!” She had a vague sensation of her eyes rolling back in her head and her mouth stretching open wider than it ever had. Something was gurgling up from her stomach and it was coming fast. She grabbed onto Vivian’s shoulders so she couldn’t get away. Then it happened.
The nicotine troll crawled halfway out of Sarah’s mouth and slapped Vivian’s stunned face several times. He looked uncannily like the Lucky Charms leprechaun and he even had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He laughed like a hyena on crack while he went at it.
Vivian’s arms went limp and the troll grabbed her hands in his. He began to slap her with her own hands. He completely reveled in this. “Why are you hitting yourself?” he laughed. “Why would you do such a thing?” He then wound up his hand and punched her square between the eyes, knocking her harshly to the floor. Blood spilled down her nose. The troll then slid back down inside of Sarah and her jaw returned to its normal shape and size.
Vivian was glaring up at her in shocked awe. “Oh my God... That was, that was... What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sarah wiped her mouth. “I’m trying to quit smoking. It’s not easy.” She purred. “You’re recommending me for that promotion, right, Viv? I want that corner office of yours by next week, too, okay? Now, as much as I love these little talks, somebody has work to do. Later, gator.” She gathered up her purse and the pack of cigarettes. She put the last one back in the pack and then casually tossed it into the trash. She turned and gave a smile and pretended to shoot her with her finger and Vivian recoiled as if hit again. Sarah laughed all the way back to her office.
Vivian rubbed her face with her hands. Had that all really just happened? She got to her feet and poured a cup from the water cooler. She noticed that her hands were shaking badly. She looked at the trash can.
She closed her eyes and saw a flashed image of the nicotine troll cackling at her. “Please, please, please,” she said to the empty room and ripped the lid off the can and began to fish around. All her life she had been an overzealous health nut. But after getting repeatedly slapped, punched, and terrorized by a mythological entity—imaginary or not—the only thing she craved to soothe her cracked mind was a solitary, honest to God, glorious, and real cigarette.