Late night was the worst part of the entire day. Naomi was not powerless to her addiction, at least not during the hours of sunlight. She could spend all day without as much as thinking about a cigarette. She could convince herself that she was a strong person and the family and friends who were supporting her could back up that belief. Then the night would roll around again and she would lose everything that she had gained.
One slip up and her achievements felt like nothing. One slip up and she felt as though it was all over – and then, she would think, why should she stop at one cigarette? She would smoke as many as she could fit into the night.
In the morning, she would regret it and start again.
Some nights were better than others, because some nights she would not give in to the pressure of her desires. Naomi would sit alone in her flat, because her sister did not allow her to keep any cigarettes in her flat and it was a long way to the nearest shop. On some nights, when it was cold or wet or Naomi was tired, this would work – but if she was stressed or simply could not control herself, it did not matter how far she had to walk just to have a smoke.
It was a battle of wills. Naomi had to do what she could to either trick or force herself to stay indoors, because if she left her flat in the evening there was only one place that she would go to. She would stand there in the middle of the kitchen, shaking from her need to do what she was trying her best to escape from. Her mind would jump violently from defending her decision to quit to mocking it as ridiculous. There was something about the night that made it lonelier than the day, made it taunt her like nothing else could. But she knew, in her heart, that smoking only caused her problems, even if it masqueraded as a solution in the night.