I was always taught from a very young age that superstitions are everything, that when your adrenaline kicks in and your brain is telling you to run, you should. I had abided by this, always trusting what my mind tells me, and running when my brain shouted at me to do so.

     Though, sometimes, my brain shouting at me wasn’t enough.

     And neither were the superstitions.

     Sometimes, you had to just go with your gut. Which is why I’m standing here now, a cigarette in my mouth, a whiskey in my hand, and a smile on my face.

     I leaned my back against the wall, one foot resting against the hard cement, the other planted firmly on the ground. I tipped my head back, exhaling slowly to watch the smoke billow from my parted lips.

     It circled around itself, like it was chasing its own tail. It feathered out, beginning to fade into the atmosphere. I smiled at it, wondering what it would be like to just come and go like smoke does.

     A laughed a little at that, not even knowing where that thought came from. It’s not like I had a hard life. Well, it’s not like I came from a broken home; that’s probably a better way to put it. I’m just plain and simple, easily stereotypical; I’m the girl who was good until someone taught her how to be bad.

     I take a swig of the whiskey, hissing a little as the familiar burn trickles down the back of my throat. Some days, I’d give anything to be good again; to watch my parents’ faces light up as I show them another ‘A’ on my report card, to have a nice conversation that isn’t filled with what a disappointment I’ve become, to read on a Friday night instead of partying.

     But, then again, if I was good, I wouldn’t have her.

     She was a tornado, just tearing through life, leaving her debris and aftermath behind without a care in the world. She was a storm, electrifying and loud, thundering her way into my heart without so much as a greeting. She was insanity, with all the padded flooring and locked doors. She was absolutely toxic, but I just couldn’t stay away.

     I first met her when I took the wrong bus, ended up on the wrong side of town. I was doing what my brain told me, walking towards the nearest establishment to ask when the next bus would come to take me home. Once I got my answer, I waited out in the rain, hoping and praying that the bus would come soon. She had sauntered over towards the bus stop, not a care in the world as she got soaked from the incessant rain. She just pulled a cigarette out of her back pocket, lit it, and brought it to her lips.

     It was extremely odd, the way that I had never been attracted to someone smoking until that moment. I can still remember the way her lips wrapped around it, plump and red with what I assumed to be lipstick. She noticed that I was looking at her, and she smiled as she pulled the cigarette away from . I was absolutely enchanted with the way it plumed from , intoxicated with the shapes that formed in the air.

     “Where you headed?”

     I remember her shaking her head, taking another long drag before answering.

     “Nowhere.”

     I still don’t understand what she meant by that, because from everything I’ve learnt about her, she’s already gone a lot of places. Sure, she may not have travelled the globe, but she’s been to streets on cold winter nights, she’s been to parties where they did nothing but get drunk and high, she’s been around long enough to know that I was someone who needed to be taught what living was really like.

     And she did.

     She took me to those parties, she stayed with me on those streets, she’s done everything she possibly could to feel alive, and I know that I want nothing more than to join her.

     It may sound mad, it may sound insane, but that’s just us. It’s how we work.

     I feel the cigarette get picked from my mouth, watching with a smile on my face as she leans against the wall next to me, her head tipped back just like mine was as she watched the smoke leave her lips.

     “Hey,” She started, blowing one final smoke ring before looking at me. I was a prisoner to her gaze, the onyx orbs always managing to find some way of grappling me. “How are you?”

     I laugh a little, though I don’t know why.

     “Well, now that you’ve stolen my smoke,” I shrug. “.”

     She laughs too, pulling an extra out of her back pocket and putting it between my lips.

     “You’re always so hard to please,” She said, leaning forward. She placed the end of her cigarette against mine, raising her eyebrows and waiting for me. No matter how many times we do this, it still manages to make me go cross eyed and fuzzy brained. I inhale, lighting my own smoke with hers. “Better?”

     I take a drag, letting the smoke settle deep within my lungs. It’s therapeutic, in a way.

     “Much.”

     She smiles, her nose crinkling. I always found that cute about her, along with the way she bites her lip when she’s nervous, or when she tucks her hair behind her ear.

     She puts out her cigarette, stomping the of it with her foot. It leaves sickly black lines across the pavement, but I don’t seem to mind, not anymore, especially not as I create the same set of lines by hers.

     The lines sort of remind me of her and I, and I know how weird that sounds, but it’s true. We’re both disposable, easily tread upon, but at the same time, we’re thick and unruly, something that won’t go away until someone washes us out. Its then, that I realise I’m glad my charcoal lines are beside hers.

     She holds out her hand, and I take it with ease, leaving the whiskey bottle behind.

     The two of us walk, not saying much, not until we reach the bus stop.

     The familiar claps of thunder echo around us as the first drizzle of rain begins. She looks up, realising she forgot her jacket and muttering under her breath.

     “Here,” I say, releasing my arms of the jacket’s sleeves. I hold it high above our heads, shielding us from the rain as we wait.

     She looks at me, biting her lip, her brows furrowed deep in thought.

     “What is it?”

     She doesn’t answer me, just leans forward enough to place her lips on mine in a quick peck.

     My arms drop, the jacket long forgotten as I turn to face her. She’s biting her lip again, but at least she’s smiling now.

     I smile too, wrapping my arms around her waist and bringing her closer.

     She tastes of alcohol, but it’s not strong enough to make me want to turn away. It’s actually quite addicting, the vodka slipping and sliding against my own tongue. I wonder if it was possible to get drunk off of someone’s kisses, but then I realise that it’s just the effect she’s always had on me. No one can make me as lightheaded as her, or as thrilled, or as alive.

     The beeping of the bus’ horn brings us out of the kiss, and she takes my hand once more, dragging me inside of the vehicle and onto a seat.

     She plays with my fingers as we sit in a comfortable silence, just enjoying the other’s company.

     With my free hand, I tilt her face up towards mine, kissing her softly.

     “So, Krystal, where are you headed?”

     A smile tugs at her lips at the memory, her hand squeezing mine.

     “Not just me, Amber,” She scolded, rapping her knuckles against my forehead. I laugh under my breath, tugging her closer to me. She rests her head on my shoulders, and I don’t need to look at her to know she’s grinning from ear to ear. “You and I, we’re going everywhere.”

     I my thumb over the back of her hand, feeling her ease into me.

     My brain told me that she was toxic, told me to run as far away as I possibly could and never come back.

     But, my gut told me she was worth it.

     And my heart told me she was mine.

A/N: Just a little something that popped into my head while I was on my way home from school. I'm not entirely sure if I would call this fluff or not, but either way, I hope it was good enough for you guys :)