Thread: Humidity (first attempt at a short story)

This is a draft of my first attempt at a short story. I usually write poetry but I've been wanting to expand to prose.
Thanks for checking it out!

She goes in and buys a bottle of wine from the corner drug store while he waits outside picking for cigarette butts from the public ashtray. The pavement is still wet from a day of rain and the humidity gives the yellow streetlights a dirty, second-hand look but they hardly notice it. He finds a salvageable one and lights it and tries to ignore the lipstick stain while he listens to the automatic doors stumble open. She nudges him and he lets her take a drag before they walk across the empty parking lot.
The night is heavy with the smell of oil and rainwater and they are silent as they walk along the road. He breaks the seal of the wine and unscrews the top and takes a swig of it. She finishes the used cigarette and flicks it out towards the damp grass and reaches for the bottle. A car passes by them and in its headlights he can see the white wristband slide down her forearm as she takes a drink and for a moment he can see what letter her middle name starts with.
He takes a swig from the bottle and tries to forget about the wristband. The highway hums in the distance and tires splash through a puddle around the corner and the crosswalk light starts to blink and count down in the dark. She slows down to take another drink before telling him about a nearby parking garage. No one will care, she tells him. The wine weaves her words into a warm trickle in his ears and he agrees.
He remembers her voice when she called him that morning asking for a ride. He agreed and she told him where she was at and hung up and he laid there in the grey morning light waiting for his body to give him a sign of what he should do.
The old windshield wipers stuttered across the glass when he pulled up next to her and she climbed in and he tried not to pay attention to how thin and pale her face has become. She asked him if she could stay at his place for the day and he said that he had no problem with that and they both listened to the radio and the rain on the way back to his apartment. She slept on his bed while he read in the living room.
He listens to her feet slide across the wet pavement. She smiles at him as she opens the stairwell door. The florescent light sharpens their features as they slowly climb the stairs. They stop at every landing to take a drink from the bottle and he can already start to feel the wine warm his stomach and he can see a slight blush in her face before she moves past him up the stairs.
The banister is rusted and grey and dirty to the touch and he can feel it stick to his fingers and the wine has started to climb up his throat. He has to stop for a moment to regain some composure but she keeps on climbing. The metal door coughs open in the landing above him and he wants to call out for her but no words come to him.
The roof is empty and they take a moment to catch their breath before they begin to circle the roof. He leans on her and watches the distant storm before he holds her hand. She laughs and reaches for the bottle and walks away. The summer air is lighter on the roof and she drags her hand along the railing, feeling the pale fuzz of wine dampen her fingers to the static roughness of the concrete. She feels him watching her as she walks along the edge of the roof and he approaches her and takes the bottle and places it on the railing. He hugs her and she doesn’t say anything as she pushes him away. She takes another drink and sits down with her back against the railing and he sits down next to her and reaches for the bottle.
Somewhere beneath them a car plows through a large puddle. She slowly runs her nails along the pavement looking for the right words to say while he looks down into his lap and apologizes. She turns her wristband so that her name is facing down before she smiles at him and takes another drink.
They slowly walk down the stairs and he has to balance himself on the wall to keep steady. The world moves in a slow waver in her head and she places the bottle on a step and sits down. He drops down next to her and tries to kiss her but she turns her head. He places his head in his hands and waits for the world to stop vibrating. When he looks up she has already begun to walk down the stairs, holding herself up against the railing. Her shirt hisses against the concrete beneath the pale light and he tries to lift himself up to follow her down.
The air downstairs is heavy and wet and it sticks to their sweaty skin as she makes her way across the parking lot with him a few steps behind. He apologizes again and she crosses her arms and picks up her pace and he tries to catch up to her but his stomach slows him down. She doesn’t turn around when he begins to throw up and she continues down the lot into the damp yellow night. Laying in a fetal position on the wet concrete the only thing he could think about was her middle initial.

this was a nice read, I could see it all perfectly. Reminded me of some stream of consciousness pieces a friend made me read once. My first thought was that I would've liked to see some dialogue but then after reading it the second time I can't decide if it would work better with or without it. Like your poetry (yes, I do read it from time to time though I don't comment because poetry is not my strong point) it says a lot without actually saying it.

I think you inserted a flashback there about her calling him earlier that day and then resumed the story after the flashback was over. That was the only thing that broke the flow in my opinion. You could try to do something to make sure the reader knows that the scene had changed or changed back.