Eighteen

Why were my palms sweating? Why were my limbs weaker? Why was I so nervous?

I was not meeting up with her; Detective Michelle was. I could not bring myself to sleep after that call. I kept turning on the thin bed, yet no position seemed comfortable for me. I quickly lit a cigar to relax.

Had she changed in any way? Was she more prettier now or had age dealt mercilessly with her? Would she remember who I was if she saw me? I had a feeling she would; I was her replica, I only had Father's blonde hair.

I let my hand trail down my hair and brought its end to my nose. The apple scented shampoo I used tingled my nose. I breathed out and took a drag from my cigar. I had nothing to worry about, I would not meet her ever.

Hours passed by and I could not sleep a wink. When the morning bell went, I had finished one and a half pack of cigar. If I was home, I would have had a bottle of whiskey.

I trudged out of bed and did my morning duties before going for breakfast.

"What happened to you?