No one wants to be considered an addict. Anyone who has been caught up in that nightmare can tell others the difficult time they had “kicking the habit,” as the situation has been called. If asked, those who have stopped smoking, stopped using drugs, or controlled their overeating will go into great detail about the side effects—shakes, a desire to get their hands on whatever they’re trying to stop using or overusing, short tempers, even pushing away everyone around them who can actually help. If pushed hard enough, they will admit that they never should have started the habit. Now that they’re getting clean, they’re actually turning into someone else, a person you really don’t like much. Perhaps it’s their attitude, where they believe anyone who doesn’t “kick their habit” is a weakling and should be lectured from sunup to sundown and long into the night. Perhaps it’s because the friendship you shared was predicated on the thing to which they were addicted.
Or maybe by watching this person shed a bad habit, you’re seeing your own faults.
Just One More is a short story about a teen who relieves her stress by smoking. Even though she attends a school that is smoke free, she feels she needs to find ways to ease the stress in her life by having a cigarette when and where she pleases. She doesn’t think about consequences, until she finds herself in the unenviable of being suspended during finals.
One more cigarette. Lydia continually fools herself, by imagining that she’ll relieve the stress in her life by smoking one more cigarette. Her habit results in being caught during finals at school, and being expelled. She learns who did this to her and vows revenge.
There is only one little issue left. Can she throw out the cigarettes or will she be caught in the same downward spiral as her brother?
Lydia draws hard on the cigarette, blowing toward the open window. She feels the stress of not studying for Government wash out of her, relaxing with each drag on the cigarette. Waving away the smoke wafting around her, she peers around the stall door.
Was that the bathroom door opening?
Taking two more quick drags, she drops the butt into the toilet and winces at the hissing sound. Flushing, she searches for breath freshener and perfume in her purse, liberally using both. Cautiously, she opens the door and glances around. Certain no one has seen her sneak the cigarette, she walks to the sink and checks her hair, sniffing furtively.
Nothing noticeable. Good. Time for my final.