Jovic sat on the windowsill of her room which faced towards the rows of purple, red, blue, green and yellow flowers. The flowers lush and verdant, at tranquility and it was presently being watered by drizzles of water which fell from the open sky. At the upper room with Jovic, the rain fell in torrents cutting through the solemn of the room, the windows rattling from the wind. The garden view was beautiful; rows of different flowers were groomed and given great care. It was her mother's garden. Jovic's mother spent hours on those green carpets, watering, trimming to every single one of those. Jovic eyes rested on the garden, but failed to see any of it's colour, her mind failing to dwell on the simple things her mother was capable of.
Her mind was everywhere and nowhere. Reaching across different countries and waters. Different memories, not quite settling on any of them.
Some days played in a loop like this, her on the window still, looking out. Eyes over there but actually nowhere, not focusing on any details which the outside world presented in its full bloom. It stared at the flowers, but couldn't process what laid before it.
Some days were like this, everything and everyone just background noise in her fumbled thoughts. Were just beats her ears listened to, doesn't process anything because everywhere was been numbed. Her mind sending different memories, in demos, but like a broken disk video device, it fails to play it in full.
She caught herself thinking of William. The man she knew well. Why she went there? No reason behind it. Maybe because it was something of a happy memory. He was making a comeback into her life. And this time it was taking another route. This time it was more than friendship. William had been a close friend and when he fled without a word, when he'd shut her out without hearing her side; not that she'd one– it was like leaving her out in the ocean without a boat or lifeguard. And now he was back, her feelings were still as it was– tore. Because what could be made of it. Has he suddenly forgotten why he ran? Has he forgotten the stories about her? Because it was not easy to forget. Different gossip mills splashed out her pictures across social media and her good name was gone in the storm. It was bad enough, that anyone previously seen in confidence with her, was almost stoned and how it almost turned into a witch-hunt.
What did she make of this? She tried weaving a spell to avoid thinking of where this led but her thought popped up the night she met him.
****
There he was, at the bar sipping whatever drink that was in his glass. At her annual charity event, he was there. She didn't know why she noticed him. There was nothing particularly special about him unless you put in his gorgeous looks into account, but there were many gorgeous men. Still though, she can't tell why her eyes lingered on him more than necessary. They were plenty handsome and well-dressed men under that roof that very night, but all stared at her hungrily. Either for her wealth or her body or the power she excludes. He was the only exception and she was like a mouse seeing cheese, a little drawn by that character. So yeah, she noticed him among seas of men who will do anything she asked for; either by freewill or lack there of. And she certainly noticed when he stood up and began walking towards her. It was the way he made his approach, his eyes ablaze but not with lust, something she never could put her finger on. He put his hands again the pillar above her and she almost went ballistic.
And, he said the right thing, made her touch life, got her feet to do the walk and by the end of the night, they were drinking steaming hot coffee in her room.
It was only once; the coffee and though she wanted more and more, for him to use her as he had done that night, she settled for the friendship he provided.
Now, he wanted the same thing. And her heart wanted to beat for that, it really does, but where does this take her?
Her thoughts won't settle on William daring deeds, she tries to numb all those thoughts. It were and will always be painful. Her glazed eyes looked into the horizon as a single teardrop fell from her eyes. Sometimes, she can't numb it all. Her magic isn't a sedative but she tries. To not feel the pain, to not feel anything, she weaves up spell after spell. It works a plenty of times, and she doesn't feel the need or the urge to cry silently, doesn't feel the need to claw at the roots of her hair like a feral mad woman, doesn't feel the goose bumps that rise alongside her fear. Doesn't feel the need to be touched and patted. Doesn't feel the need for a hug– a pat even. Doesn't feel anything. Just glazed eyes and zombified brain.
The afternoon sky darkens further. The rain which drizzles outside continually hit her windows, creating a thum, thum sound which reverberates around the room. Her eyes still in it's space, smeared in a warped of red and blue. These moments were her little addiction. She likes these moments: the zoning out. It has become her sort of default habit, to protect her against the pain that comes from thinking; none of her thoughts these past years were happy ones.
Thinking brings pain which succeeds everytime in taking her whole. It doesn't feel like drowning or choking. It certainly does not also feel like being crushed; a heavy object placed upon you, constricting every movement. Holding you down in the most vile way possible, its objective–to see that light slowly leave your eyes as you sink to your lowest low.
To her, this though, this feeling of anguish she passes through can be likened to that of free falling. From the highest of height you can get to, standing at the edge of the roof, you fall.
It's thrilling; the fall. The wind whipping past your face, seizing your breath. There is no care in the world, not from your breath seizure, not from anything, because you see the end. The end is not some faraway dream, not some illusion you always like to imagine in your chaotic thought, it's staring right at your face, opening its grounds wide, to hug you like nobody has, to accept you. It whispers nothing but peace to you, telling you its over, telling you that you are free. You are no longer going to be caged by feelings, overthinking which you try to comatose. Its assures you it's gonna be okay because at that point in time, there no turning back.
There is no oxygen left to breath in, it's the chill that runs through your body now. The fire in you is quenched, you close your eyes slowly and wait for the inevitable thud.
As she dreams of nothing and more, her glazed eyes were slowly focusing on deep velvet red ones and she no longer felt so numbed.
Probably.