Lately I’ve noticed my attraction to men bears a disturbing resemblance to an insatiable nicotine addiction. Yes, that’s right. I like my men trim, unfiltered, and carcinogenic, and I only pursue the ones I’m positive will give me some form of permanent disfigurement, a mutilation of my romantic respiratory system not unlike the real possibility of lung cancer with which every devoted smoker flirts; I know the well-advertised risks, but I continue on nonetheless. When I’m in the midst of an infatuation, or when I’m at the apex of a deep, long inhale, I’m so inherently satiated I completely lose my appetite. It’s nothing but him, the fulfillment of my nic-fit, and me. Let’s face it, smoking makes you look cool and ciggies taste great after a shag, as do some of the men I’ve selected over the years. But then there are those other times, the times when I realize that this habit of mine IS going to prematurely age me, stain my teeth, weather my face, and send me to an early grave, and I shudder with contempt for myself, because I’m an intelligent broad and I should know better.

 

The Fumes of Romance

But that’s the point: attraction, addiction, whatever you want to call it, happens in spite of our common sense, and love, well, love is neither convenient nor kind, as are most of our passions. We’ve all fallen prey to an inappropriate attraction, and therein lies the tale of Alex and Caleb.

 

Where to begin, where to begin: at the beginning, I suppose. They had met in the dreariest Spring semester of Alex’s collegiate career. She had just ended her rebound relationship and had reverted into a raw, overly-caffeinated version of her poetess self; she lived entirely in her hurt, in her romantic exhaustion. But for some reason, the nervously sullen boy who dressed in all black and spent most of his time furiously clicking his jet-black pens as he transferred his thoughts into his journals, constantly revising the work that had come before — he had noticed her, but they were both shy so they spent a majority of the semester exchanging furtively knowing glances in the hallway and coyly catching each other observing the other one out of the corner of their eyes. Until one day, one day after a solid month of aborted attempts to talk to Alex, he asked her what had happened in his absence the previous class. From there chit-chat turned into prolonged coffee breaks where they discussed life, love, music, and writing, which morphed into late night texting and finally translated into wholesale mutual affection. During the honeymoon phase of their burgeoning relationship they discovered eerie parallels in their lives, similar melancholies, similar childhood athletic prowess, similar devotion to the written word, and an overall similar approach to life’s complexities.

 

Spring Collegiate Romance

Things looked promising, despite Alex’s hesitance to lay her heart in the hands of another so soon after it had been displaced. He, however, was good with his words and knew all the things she ever wanted to say. He wasn’t devastatingly handsome, he wasn’t flawless but the lines that prematurely framed his face struck a chord with her, the same way the blond ambition that belied her scars appealed to him. Together they gingerly walked an unmarked path towards a dangerously ambiguous future, and it was frightening because of its unknowns and its implications, but it felt right. Or so it seemed.

 

Consistent with her usual pattern, Alex had kept Caleb at arm’s length as a form of self-protection, but there came a time when she finally gave in to his seductive melodies, she allowed herself to succumb to his succulent verbal seductions. And at that very moment, he seemed to lose interest. Typical story: another man consumed with the chase and not what he was chasing.

 

Our Alex, however, is no typical girl and their spark was no typical ignition. But what’s a girl to do when she cares deeply for a man who’s been so brutalized by her predecessors he’s a mere whisper of the man he was and wants to be? And, even worse, what happens to her when she unwittingly loses herself to her addiction? When she can’t bring herself to discard the butt of a ciggie she’s inhaled down to its last remnant and has no carcinogens left to give?

 

Well, those questions will have to be answered next week, my loves, and until then I’ll be busy with my naughty addiction of the month because my oh my the nicotine tastes so much sweeter when I know I shouldn’t have it!