Kicking A Habit                                                                                          Astrid Anderson

            She glanced into the mirror and noticed that her eyes were the same color blue, with the same smears of sweated-off makeup evident in all those photos she’d poured over.  

            He was facing her with a solemn composure, pitying her. His features were somewhat blurred, but his voice was clear and unwavering.

            “She’s been where I’ve been. She can help me more than you can. You just don’t understand.”

            She was melting, a kind of sickening sensation confusing the line between her body and the air around her. “I’ve helped you more than anyone could ever help you.”

            His face was getting darker, more distant.

            “You just don't understand.”

            She was struggling to find convincing words and her throat was sticking shut.

            He was fading away.

            “She’s what I need,” he whispered. “Besides... Us?” He paused. “Forever?”

            She felt her stomach dropping. “It's what you said. You're the one who wanted this.”

            “Yeah,” he sighed, looking away from her. “Yeah, but I've come to realize that forever is a long time.”

            She wasn't hearing this.

            “Forever is a long time? Really? No shit.”

            The blue eyes were narrowing now, wincing away tears and her chest hurt and now the other woman was in a club with flashing lights and he was on the floor, drunk and suffocating.         

            The cushioned bench that Danielle was asleep on vibrated, the aftermath of someone kicking it as they passed by.

            She jolted awake and her vision was bleary due to the darkness of the un-lit theater. Another nightmare, another day. She yawned and sat up straight, shaking off her alcohol-induced exhaustion.

            Cassie was a few rows down, fumbling with her buttons, looking everywhere but at Jack, strewn lazily across the theater cushions near her. The house was black, but Danielle was still worried that Cassie’s eyes would wander up the seats and zero in on their five-foot proximity.

            His breathing was slow and light; Cassie's spastic and heavy. She mused on how they had ever breathed in unison.

            Jack stirred and sat up, leaning towards Danielle to ask something, not breaking eye contact. She felt a dull buzz behind her ribcage and the shocked synaptic nerves in her brain forced her lips into a smile. She revelled in the sensation of happiness. Her body was saturated in depression and it felt good to have a spark in her chest.

            However, she saw Cassie turn around quickly and zero in on them. Danielle’s face snapped back to its flat, depressed stand-by. She muttered wordlessly to herself and left her seat, plodding down the steps to squeeze next to her.

            “I was wondering when you were going to notice that I was down here,” Cassie snapped. “Didn’t you look for me? Jack’s presence is overwhelming right now; I can’t deal with it alone.”

            Danielle glanced behind them. He was still spread lazily across the seats, wearing his character’s plastic glasses and a bowler hat. He noticed her looking and broke into a smile again.

            “Yes, love,” she mumbled, turning back quickly. “I’m very sorry that I didn’t see you. I fell asleep. You know, was up all night. Don’t worry about him, though. He’s not going to try to talk to you. You know that.”

            She laughed sharply. “Huh. As if I would answer if he tried.”

            Danielle looked at her dance shoes and nodded in agreement. It was going to be one of those nights again.

            “He had the nerve to ask how I was doing yesterday, right before I went onstage. The nerve of it!”

            Cassie began picking at her pencil skirt. Always fidgetting. “Don't you think he has some nerve?”

            Danielle was still trying to rub the sleep out of her mind and was itching for a smoke, becoming irritated with this routine bashing session. “Yes, love. Asking how you're doing. Quite a lot of bullshit, that Jack.”

            “You don't go and break someone's heart and then ask how they're doing. I thought we'd be together forever.” Cassie was staring forward intensely.

            “Uh-huh. That's a long time though.”

            “No shit. But still, that man has got some real nerve.”

            “Yeah.”

            The director's voice broke their conversation, booming into the house, crackling from the semi-broken megaphone she refused to part with.

            “Alright, it's ten thirty. Prostitutes and dancers may leave, but I don't want any of you to be fucking late again tomorrow. Opening night is closer than you all think. I'm only going to need David, Dean, and any of the act two, scene four people to stay behind.”

            Danielle yawned again, relieved that she could leave. She kissed the top of Cassie's head as she gathered her bag, but her friend's face remained rigid and brooding.  

            Slapped by the frigid air, she left the theater and pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. In the dense city light, very few stars were visible. Yanking out a pack of cigarettes, she carefully extracted one, lit it and sucked in. The nicotine euphoria had been the only relief during the months after she’d been left. That is, left for another woman. The woman she’d been promised was “just a friend.” An itch of manic depression wriggled into the back of her brain at the thought of the scenario and she hastily vacuumed in another lung-full of smoke to sedate the wave of nausea she was now so perfectly accustomed to.

            “Danielle?”

            Her lips twitched, playing with the idea of a smile. She turned her head back to see Jack, who was grappling with his coat as the cold encompassed him, too.

            “Danielle, do you need a ride?” He bit his lip, raising his eyebrows up.

            She felt the twinge of warmth spark in her chest for a quick second. Then she thought of Cassie, sitting in the theater, completely miserable.

            “Well... Thank you so much for the offer, but no thanks,” she managed to say. The eager look on his face slackened and he shrugged his shoulders.

            “You sure about that? It’s fucking freezing out here...”

            For a brief second, she contemplated climbing into his heated car and sitting close to him, rather than waiting on a sub-zero bench until the 77 arrived. For a fleeting moment, she thought about thinking about someone new... someone who might make her forget. For a brief second, she considered letting herself move past the insomnia-drenched nights and the soothing cigarettes.

            “No. I’d really rather walk. I like cold weather,” she replied politely.

            His face fell down a flight of stairs. He nodded and turned to return up to the theater. She watched him until his figure disappeared through the metal doors and then began to walk to the bus stop, the only sound in the still night her heels scraping pavement.

            She struggled to find a clean seat on the bus and finally gave up, sitting next to a window at the back. There was a glitter of leftover rain-drops strewn on the street and the apartment faces glistened. She felt uncomfortable being left to her thoughts on nights like these. The dark, the cold, and the slick quality of the world absorbed her attention and her mind would wander into dangerous territory.

            Blue, mascara stained eyes. That pressed smile that wasn't really a smile, but more of a pinch of lips for a photograph. Lanky, dirty blonde hair.

            I realized that forever is a long time, Danielle.

            Save the driver, she was alone on the bus. Reaching deep into her coat pocket, she pulled out a flask of vodka, most of it already gone, and took a three hard swigs. The warmth burned her throat and distilled her thoughts into a kind of detached fascination with the moving lights whizzing past the window. She was exhausted of being depressed. She didn’t want to think of her ex-husband anymore. She didn’t want to think of that week. When he met the woman with the long, blonde hair, and bright, blue eyes. The week that...

            Her phone rang and startled her eyes back into focus.

            “Hello?”

            Jack cleared his throat on the other line. “You should really let me give you a ride next time.”

            The vodka made her laugh out loud. The blue eyes disappeared and were replaced with his gold eyes. She cleared her own throat and her buzz made her begin to imagine just what might happen if she would let him give her a ride.

            “Yes. I really, really should.” 

            She could hear the chaos of the other actors leaving the theater in the background. He called out something to someone, muffling the phone, and then his voice returned.

            “Alright, then it’s a deal. I’m going to drive you from now on.”

            Closing the phone, she bit her lip. Then her phone rang right back at her. Her heart jolted.

            “Hello?”

            A more melancholy voice sang through the wires.

            “Danielle. I just found out that Jack went on a date with another woman last month. Or two months ago. I’m not quite sure. God, I feel sick.”

            Danielle sunk an inch further into her dirty bus seat. How much longer was she going to get these phone calls?

            “Sweetie– Cassie– You really shouldn’t be worrying yourself over these things. It's been six months. Since... You know.”

            Cassie gave an exasperated gasp. “No amount of months can heal the damage he’s done to my heart. Six is nothing.”

            Pulling out the vodka with the intent of finishing it, Danielle shook her head.        “Love. Really now. You’re better than this. You’re an amazing woman. You’re talented, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you and Jack never made each other happy in the first place.

            Cassie's voice sounded strainged. “There were happy times.”

            “Are you kidding?” Danielle spat, incredulous. “You drove each other insane! Please. Give me a break. You can find someone else in a second, and I guarantee that he can make you much happier.”

            “Excuse me,” she heard Cassie rumble in a low tone. “I don’t need a man. I’m not like some dog that needs an owner. Jesus. Who do you think I am?”

            A defiant click was her goodbye. Danielle sighed and yanked the cord as her stop approached. She began to pull out another cigarette.

            Her apartment was cold and compact. It was late, but she wasn’t close to tired. She was agitated because of the suffocating rehearsal schedules for the show.

            At least it pays well.

            Walking to her window, she looked over the glimmering city. Only half a year ago, she’d been leaning too far over the side, her body full of Jack Daniels and pills, waiting for someone to tell not to lean an inch further and fall to the concrete below.  She had improved since then, but not by much. She still thought about that day. Walking into their bed in their home in their soft, safe sheets... to see that woman in all her naked glory, wrapped in the arms of the man who had said he would always love her.

            “Forever is a long time-- no shit,” she muttered to herself.

            She left the once-tempting outlet in her wall and turned on the TV. The vodka weighted her lids and she was submerged into dreams of the other woman, like always, with those large blue eyes and greasy blonde hair.

            Danielle struggled to get on her sequined heels. The other women were already in costume and applying stage makeup. Cassie was singing scales, looking fiercely into the dressing room mirror, her face slightly dewy from the heat of the lamps.

            Once her shoes were secured, Danielle clicked over to join her. The lipsticks were too red, but that would add to the cheap exterior of their characters. They were all playing hookers, of course.

            “I’m exhausted,” Cassie whispered, concentrating on gluing a line of fake lashes to her left eye. “I found a note that Jack had written me last February. From Valentine’s Day, I think. God, I was a wreck.”

            Danielle’s face remained unmoved. She was too hung over to listen to this saga again.

            “That asshole really screwed me over. He really hurt me. Isn’t it awful that I found that?” Cassie was going to make sure she was answered.

            “Yes, but maybe you shouldn’t have read it,” Danielle replied reluctantly, cautiously.

            Cassie looked as though she had been slapped.

            “It was just a suggestion.”

            They both continued to sponge on the thick stage foundation in silence. Once she had finished, Danielle gave Cassie and hug, pulled up her fishnets, and went backstage.

            There, in a suit and bowler cap, sat Jack, surrounded by three of the back-up dances. His eyes were vacant as they gossiped and tried to take his hat off of his head.

            “You dancers are called on the main stage, you know,” Danielle interrupted.

            The four of them looked up. The girls scowled and rushed out, their tacky dresses bouncing light off the wall.

            “Thanks,” said Jack. He smiled and moved over to make room for her on the couch.

            Sitting down, she looked nervously at the door to see if Cassie was in the hall. It was empty.

            “I insist on giving you a ride home tonight,” he said casually.

            Her heart fluttered slightly. She felt stupid for having feelings for him. After a summer of consoling Cassie and promising herself that she would never be with anyone again, that the prospect of getting fucked over again wasn’t worth it, here she was, letting herself have an emotion.

            She could see a segment of stage through the curtains from where she was sitting.

            He gave her puppy eyes. “I've been asking you forever, D.”

            Forever is a long time...  

            She looked away, trying not to laugh.

            “I would love a ride home. Thanks.”

            “Great!” He stood up hesitantly, suddenly listening to the fuzz of the director's voice from behind the curtains. “I think they’re about to run the Inn scene. See you soon.”

            As he walked out into the hallway, she reached behind her thigh and pulled a skinny cigarette from her garter. Smoking wasn’t allowed in the dressing room, but her hands were jittery and she was playing the relaxed whore, not the crack whore.

            There was little left of it when she heard her cue lines beginning. Flicking the butt behind the couch, she scrambled her way through the curtains and joined her fellow prostitutes into the blinding light of the stage.

            She said her lines with a thick voice, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was distracted by Cassie, who was distracted by the silhouette of Jack through the screen door that led to a stage exit. She studied the unbearable look in her friend’s eyes and felt a certain dread. Mixed with her hangover, she was feeling sick of this game.

            Why can’t you let go? She thought desperately. You didn’t work. You were unhappy with him. You were bad for each other. Your love was nothing like the love I lost. There is no way you could have loved him the way I loved my husband.

            Cassie turned her head and caught her friend’s faze. She said her line with vehemence.

            “I can’t believe what pigs men are today.” She smiled angrily, winking. “I mean, one day it’s roses in your hands and the next it’s roses on your grave.”

            Danielle wanted to shake her. Shake off this ridiculously drawn-out grudge.

            What did Jack ever do besides tell you that you were better off without him? What did he ever do besides try to make you happy?

            “Boy, the next man I sleep with is getting his dick removed by me, personally.” She laughed in her character’s voice, eyeing Danielle.

            It didn’t work, Cassie. It didn’t work and the world is still revolving and there are eight billion people on this planet to break you, elate you, to make you down a bottle of pills. Stop torturing yourself over a glitch in your otherwise perfect system.

            Danielle cleared her throat and delivered her line.

            “Yeah,” answered her character, deadpan. “Men are scum.”

             In the burning cold, she lit her last cigarette. Inhaling, she reached into her coat and opened the lid of her flask.

            “This is to you, Mr. Anderson,” she said slowly, ready. She poured the liquid into the street. “May our love rest in peace and you regret this... forever.”

            Jack’s engine revved from up ahead and she stomped out the butt into a crack in the sidewalk, tossing the empty flask into the bushes. She walked to his car and opened the door.

            It was warm and dark inside.

            A painful excitement was evident between them on the drive home.

            Oh fuck this, God fucking damn this.

            She was twitching with an apprehension that lasted until he pulled into a space in front of her apartment. Those sooty, blue eyes were staring her in the face, wide-eyed. The pain in her stomach and head and heart were still trying to keep her sick. She was beginning to realize that it was never going to go away. It was never going to let her sleep or have a day without making her ill. It was an untreatable virus that she'd have to live with, regardless.

            But there was an antidote that could maybe subdue it, although it was quite expensive. It was going to cost her an entire person.

            Jack turned off the engine and turned to her.

            “Thanks for letting me--”

            Instead of allowing him to finish his sentence, she pulled his face to hers and the pressure of new lips against her own made her forget why she was nervous or what she was doing or where she was. The only thing she could remember was that she wasn’t alone in this world, and she wasn’t dead, either. She wasn’t hanging out of a six-story building or dreaming about mocking blue eyes and greasy blonde hair. She was alive and her head was clearing with this single kiss.

            He finally pulled back, displaying the widest grin she’d ever seen on his face

            “I’ve been wanting to do that forever.”

            She smiled and remembered how amazing it felt to do so.

            “Forever is a really long time.”

            He rolled his eyes.

            “No shit.”