Page 39 of Severance

“Sure.” He gets a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the front pocket of his jacket. “How’s Mission Cheesecake? Still happening?”

“It’s on hold,” I say, pressing the box to my chest. The blog in general is on hold. I haven’t had any desire to bake or cook ever since my freak-out incident. My parents barely let me go to college. My mother once offered to drive me herself.

“I see.”

My eyes follow as Mikah pulls a cigarette from the pack. He sticks it into the corner of his mouth and flicks the lighter several times in an attempt to battle the stubborn wind.

I watch him smoking with fascination. He makes it look like he’s having sex. I truly don’t know why my mind makes this comparison, but I can’t think of anything else that could give a person such satisfaction. Although I remember seeing a very similar expression on Dakota’s face every time we were together.

And I miss that a lot. I miss making someone smile. I miss the feeling of being needed. I miss it so much it hurts.

Mikah withdraws the cigarette from his mouth, his gaze on me. His eyes glimmer in the sun like Dakota’s used to, but they aren’t like the ocean. Instead, they’re like the forest, with tiny flecks of gold scattered throughout the emerald green. I don’t know why I’ve never noticed it before now. Maybe because I’ve never seen him in bright daylight.

He holds out his cigarette, offering it to me, and I stare at him for a few seconds, my heart hammering. Sharing things is an intimate gesture. You don’t share with just anyone. You only share with people you trust.

I tear my right hand from the box with my toiletries and take the cigarette. It’s warm and familiar against my skin, like an old friend.

“Are you going to look at it until Christmas?” Mikah asks, his voice jarring me back to reality. The left side of his mouth curls up, revealing a dimple.

“No.” I shake my head and slip the cigarette between my lips, my eyes trained on the burning tip. The smoke licks against my tongue and throat. It’s thick and bitter and stings a little, and I wonder if it’s what Mikah tastes like.

“Yeah, okay.” A soft chuckle drifts at me.

I glance up at him and inhale deeply, our gazes tangling together in a wild dance.

The nicotine buzz crashes into me suddenly, making me dizzy, and for a second, I feel like I’m flying. Apparently, Mikah can tell, because he moves closer to take the box away from me and sets it on the hood of his truck.

“That hit me pretty hard.” I remove the cigarette from my mouth and exhale slowly, watching the smoke.

“Yeah, when you first start…”

The slam of a door startles me, and my heart drops to my stomach. Mikah’s eyes shift from me to my house and I hear my father’s footsteps as he thunders down the driveway.

“What is this?!” he screams, his tone laced with anger and disappointment.

I turn around, still holding the cigarette.

“You need to leave, young man!” my father fumes. “I don’t want to see you anywhere near my daughter again! Do you understand?”

Mikah doesn’t flinch. His face is stone cold, his gaze unwavering.

“Stop it, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my cool. “Your blood pressure will jump again.”

“Go inside.” He moves closer and snatches the cigarette from me, his hand striking mine in the process.

“I’m not going anywhere.” My voice is raised, my temper on the brink of detonating. The high of the nicotine is gone and what’s left is frustration and a sore wrist.

“Yes, you are! And you”—my father motions at Mikah—“you’re leaving immediately!”

“No, he’s not!” I stomp my foot, rage and annoyance pulsing through me. “You can’tfuckingtell me what to do!” This is the first time I’ve ever cursed in front of my father.

The moment his palm slaps across my cheek, the tears hit my eyes. I gasp and grab my burning face as my heart jolts.

“Yes, I can and I will because you’re my responsibility!” he yells, saliva spraying from his mouth. “Because you live under my roof, Alana!”

His words swarm around me like an entire bee colony, buzzing and stinging.

“Then why won’t you let me move out?”

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