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                                                                           Two years ago

Rain clattered against the metal gate–the last line of defense between school and the real world.

Smoke rose from my lips. I’d been smoking more lately, easily going through a pack a week at this point. Not anything serious, but my wallet was starting to feel a bit tight. Students didn’t exactly get much in the way of cash. Not to mention, it wasn't like Dad was itching to give me more money to blow on cigarettes.

“Shit,” I muttered. From around the corner, problem number one ran towards me like a bull.

Ever since the day we met, Chiyo had tried her utmost to keep me away from my cigarettes. Just a single whiff sent her into a frenzy. It had even gotten to the point that I’d had to start coming to secluded corners of campus to relax with one, or else face her wrath.

Clearly, this spot had been compromised.

“Mari! Didn’t you say you'd at least not smoke another today?” Chiyo marched over, grabbing the cigarette from my hand and tossing it on the ground–stomping it to smithereens.”

“Rude, that was a nice one too.”

“Nice one? Will it be nice when you're hospitalized with lung cancer at thirty? Will it be nice when you're on life support, barely able to talk to your families without coughing up blood?”

“Bold of you to think I’ll make it that long.”

“Why? You’re my friend Mari, but I can't keep up with you living like you’ll be dead by twenty-five.”

“Is it so bad to be realistic?” I knew myself, more than anyone. Chain-smoking students who skipped class every other day weren’t exactly prime candidates to take advantage of the pension system.

“It’s only realistic because you refuse to admit another possibility exists.”

“What do you think Chiyo? Do you really think someone like me can actually chance? People don’t change that easily. I don’t change that easily.” It wasn’t like I’d never tried to stop smoking. Stop a lot of things for that matter. Yet here I was again.

“People may not, but you do. Mari, you've changed so much since we’ve met, even if you can't see it yourself. The Mari I met last year wouldn’t have even humored this.

“I–”

“But Mari, I can't keep doing this! Start actually giving a shit about yourself, or I'm done.”

“Chiyo, wait! What do you mean by done?” Yet, she didn’t bother to give me a response, just running back to class before the bell rang.