Lost in Smoke

 A Numbness That Consumes

Sara never thought she would find herself in such a place. She had always been someone who avoided trouble, someone who believed in the simplicity of life. She used to dislike even the smell of cigarettes, let alone something stronger. But life has a strange way of pulling you into places you never imagined you’d go.

It all started with a casual suggestion from her boyfriend, Mark. He had always been the adventurous type, living life on the edge, trying things she never dreamed of. One evening, as they sat on the balcony of his apartment, he offered her a joint.

“Come on, just try it once,” he urged, a playful smile on his face.

Sara hesitated. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but this wasn’t her. “I don’t know, Mark. I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said, her voice wavering.

But Mark was persistent. “Just one time. It’ll help you relax. Trust me, you’ll feel good.”

After a moment of silence, Sara took a deep breath and decided to give it a try. She wanted to make him happy, to prove she wasn’t as uptight as he sometimes teased her for being. As she took her first puff, she coughed violently. The smoke burned her throat, and her eyes watered. But Mark laughed and patted her back, encouraging her to keep going. She forced a smile, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Over time, what started as a one-time thing became more frequent. Every time they argued, Mark would hand her a joint. “Here, this will help you calm down,” he’d say, lighting it for her. At first, she refused, but he kept insisting. His words were like hooks, pulling her into a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. 

After every fight, every harsh word, he would hand her the joint. “Just smoke it,” he’d say, his voice calm yet commanding. “You’ll feel better.”

Sara hated the arguments, the harsh words that left her feeling hollow. But the weed, it seemed to numb her pain, dull the sharp edges of her reality. Soon, she began to rely on it. It became a way to escape, to forget the pain temporarily. Whenever Mark yelled at her or things got too heated, she would find herself reaching for the joint, almost without thinking.

Mark, sensing her dependence, began to use it against her. Whenever she tried to resist, to say no, he would push harder. “Don’t be difficult, Sara. You need this. It’s the only thing that helps you relax,” he’d say, his voice cold and unforgiving. He knew exactly how to manipulate her, using her own pain against her.

And so, after every argument, every hurtful word, Sara would find herself lighting up. The smoke filled her lungs, the haze clouded her mind, and for a little while, she felt nothing. The pain, the sadness, the fear—they all faded away, leaving her in a state of calm numbness. She didn’t feel like herself anymore, but at least she didn’t feel the pain.

One night, after a particularly vicious fight, Mark slapped her hard across the face. The sting of his hand against her cheek brought tears to her eyes. She felt a surge of anger and pain, a desire to stand up for herself, to leave. But then, almost as if on cue, Mark handed her the joint.

“Here, smoke this,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

Sara looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. She didn’t want to take it. She wanted to scream, to run away, to be free of this cycle of pain and temporary relief. But Mark’s eyes bore into hers, his expression hardening.

“Take it,” he repeated, his voice firm.

With shaking hands, Sara took the joint and brought it to her lips. As the smoke filled her lungs, she felt the familiar numbness settle over her. The pain faded, her mind fogged, and the world seemed to blur around the edges. For a moment, she felt nothing. No pain, no fear, no sadness. Just a hollow, empty calm.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Sara lost herself in the haze of smoke. She barely recognized the person she had become. The vibrant, hopeful girl who once dreamed of a simple, happy life was gone, replaced by someone who lived in a constant state of numbness.

Mark continued to use her, to manipulate her into doing what he wanted. Whenever she showed the slightest resistance, he would push her back down, using the weed as his weapon. He knew it was her weakness now, the thing that kept her tied to him, that kept her from leaving.

And so, Sara smoked. She smoked to forget, to numb the pain, to survive another day. But deep down, a small part of her still hoped, still dreamed of a day when she could be free. Free from the smoke, free from the pain, free from him. 

She didn’t know when that day would come, or if it ever would. But for now, she took another drag, closed her eyes, and let the smoke carry her away from the pain, if only for a little while.