(no subject)
Caught up in a bit of a childlike huff, Marcus made his way down to his circle, his sacred place. These emotions were perfectly normal, really, but he hated them. He hated feeling helpless. Of course, it was more than that. There was a real sense of loss, of mourning. He was beginning to doubt his decision. He was stressed out enough, on the verge of depression already, feelings that were magnified hundreds of times by the abrupt lack of nicotine in his blood.
Of course, in the long run, the lack of the drug would actually improve his ability to handle stress. He didn't see that now.
It had been stupid. A young couple had been arguing at breakfast, as they always did whenever in the same room with other people, and he'd had enough. He left. Perhaps a bit loudly and dramatic, but everyone had come to expect it.
This was one of those moments where he really wished he'd kept a single cigarette stashed away somewhere, rather than dumping them all on someone else with express orders never to let him have one. Relapse was not the answer, and he knew this. But damn, the need was there, and it consumed his every thought.
He kicked a stone as he entered the circle and pressed his back against one of the trees marking its border. His knees gave and he sank to the ground, head in his hands. Focus on breathing. Clean air, oxygen, the scent of pine and safety. Eyes squeezed shut, he concentrated on cleansing, and in moments the craving passed, leaving him shaking.
He put his head back against the tree, feeling the hot sun coming down on him. He slipped into a meditative state, listening to the sounds of the earth around him, and feeling her presence. He could do this.
Of course, in the long run, the lack of the drug would actually improve his ability to handle stress. He didn't see that now.
It had been stupid. A young couple had been arguing at breakfast, as they always did whenever in the same room with other people, and he'd had enough. He left. Perhaps a bit loudly and dramatic, but everyone had come to expect it.
This was one of those moments where he really wished he'd kept a single cigarette stashed away somewhere, rather than dumping them all on someone else with express orders never to let him have one. Relapse was not the answer, and he knew this. But damn, the need was there, and it consumed his every thought.
He kicked a stone as he entered the circle and pressed his back against one of the trees marking its border. His knees gave and he sank to the ground, head in his hands. Focus on breathing. Clean air, oxygen, the scent of pine and safety. Eyes squeezed shut, he concentrated on cleansing, and in moments the craving passed, leaving him shaking.
He put his head back against the tree, feeling the hot sun coming down on him. He slipped into a meditative state, listening to the sounds of the earth around him, and feeling her presence. He could do this.