The jump. by Vanda Q (easy novels to read txt) 📕

“You’re lucky a fucker. Take care of you, ‘cause I won’t, Cassian.” His grip slowly leaves me and he quickly covers his head again with the hood of his jacket. And then he walks, without sound, effortlessly to the opposite ledge. And as his steps drag him closer to it, he starts to whistle and even if his back is turned to me, I know he is grinning with his sardonic, rebellious flair; then he jumps in a ledge, turns around and nods towards me then… Falls. My shaking legs stumble across the cement and as I get to the opposite ledge, my eyes close, my hands are gripping the ledge and when I open them… He’s not there anymore. In the back of my mind, his voice still reverberates against my skull, like a throbbing headache. I left myself slide to the ground again, trembling – not being sure if that is because of the cold breeze, adrenaline shot or just pure fear. I want to slap myself or pinch myself and my fingers are roaming through my pockets; I get out a cigarette and with unsure fingers I light it. My lungs refuse to cooperate and I choke on the first smoke. And I smile; a sardonic, rebellious smile, because I know I failed… For now, anyhow.

x x x

We are always told time is wise and old, that it heals every pain and takes care of the world, as a protector, a guiding shadow that follows us. However, the Time I know is a teenager rebelling against his own nature, trying to make sense of himself; he’s just a child that’s too old to not make decisions and an adult too young to not still want to be childish. I’ve realised people look back at the experiences they had, people they met, places they’ve been to with a strange fondness, as if the past was a better place for them. And that is, in all honesty, because we are scared. I woke up the next morning after that night, not knowing exactly how I got home or drank 4 cans of cider and half a bottle of whiskey. It was a Sunday and I went to see my mum and all I could think of of was her pain and how pain is never healed; how you just get used to it. I gave her a hug and told her I loved her, maybe for the first time in forever.

And then, of course, that happened… I met Emily when I was in university; we worked on a group project together and since then we were inseparable. We became friends, firstly and it took us almost a year to start to date properly. I always thought that your first big love should be your last big love, but of course… My views did not align with hers. She was great with words and when she told me we needed a break, I almost applauded her for how she put it; she told me that sometimes, when people have known each other for so long as we have and they grow together, they… Change. And who they were in the beginning changes as well. She said ‘break’, but deep in my soul, I knew she meant ‘break up’. A simple word: ‘up’; it takes one word to change the meaning of 30 minutes of a conversation and to change how you feel about a situation.

When I was young, a child, I used to see my parents so in love, having almost a secret language of theirs; sharing smiles and glances that held a universe I was never capable to even get close to, let alone understand. And mum always told me that love… True love is a gift. But she always told me that love is abundant and caring, that it is the most beautiful experience someone could have. The problem with hope is that, most of the times, it’s easily lost; the problem with intimacy is that, most of the times, it’s easily turned into a lie. And I don’t know how much my mind can handle this state of dementia where I constantly lose my hope or how much my soul can endure living in a world of beautifully crafted lies. This time, I chose the sunset; I thought to myself that if I die, at least I should die in a poetic way, with the vibrant colours of the sky painting upon my face a picture of eternal bliss. That, if I die, at least I should do it with a smile.

London at sunset is very different than at night; it’s almost… Quiet, peaceful, it’s a reverie of colours and distant sounds, it’s like the last piece of cake you savour before going to sleep. I know Time doesn’t care about me; but that doesn’t hurt. What hurts is that the realisation that I’m useless is visceral and I can’t take it. So, here I am, my leg dangling above the empty space beneath me and I don’t feel afraid; I almost feel content. An impulse makes me look behind me, with a naïve hope that Time is there; and then I wonder if I really want to be stopped or is this just a selfish, human thing to want. To be shown you are cared for. He’s not there this time and I don’t want to punch a teenager in the face anymore. I slowly turn my gaze towards the blinding, dying light of the sunset and I take a breath. And then… A click. Exhale. And a short chuckle. I let the air out of my lungs with a hurried breath and I feel my eyes tingling with tears because… Someone is there.

“Don’t do it.” A sensual voice behind me almost whispers, in a luxurious tone that can only be described as the feeling of absolute pleasure you have as you feel fine chocolate melting in your mouth. A fragrance is now unindenting my senses; floral, with notes of sandalwood and I slowly turn around, still on the ledge, my whole body tensing in order to keep the balance. She looks at me but there is no smile, just a gaze decorated with amorous flickers; she looks as if I’m the person she’s always been waiting for. I always wondered what I would notice the last second before I jump; the answer to that question is the red marks her lipstick left on the cigarette she is holding between fragile, trembling fingers. I almost murmur an apology, but before I let myself fall, her heels thunder against the pavement and in an instant her lips are kissing away a tear from my cheek, delighting, warm and suave, a silky touch that makes my heart skip a beat. When her purple irises meet mine, the softest smile touches her lips, dances on her mesmerising features. I want to extend my fingers, grab her and taste her sweetness, but she is walking away now, taking in a smoke from her slim cigarette and letting it cascade out of her perfectly shaped mouth.

“Who…,” I try to say, but I shake my head as she takes a turn and looks at me with a maternal gaze, her long eyelashes fluttering above her cheeks. In the light of the sunset, she looks like a haven, she is breathing slowly, steadily; without realising, I step down and my shaky legs follow her shadow, her body wrapped only in a floating dress that hugs her figure.

“Cassian… I’m Love. So good to see you, at last.” Her gracious presence is making me feel spellbound and her voice nests in its inflections a whole typhoon of emotions. I nod, unconsciously, following her every movement, staring at her insatiably; oh, she’s beautiful… “Would you like to come and sit with me, dear?” This time, when she speaks, her voice is luring, as if she’s a siren singing to me, dragging me to an inevitable answer. She walks slowly towards one of the ledges and sits gently, flicking her cigarette and raising her eyebrows in my direction, almost like in a command to join her. And I do; with unsure steps, I follow her and I sit with a sigh; her fingers place in my hand a cigarette and a lighter awaits me to light it; and I do. The first drag is a long one, as if this is what I have been waiting for. And then I turn to her and her expression mimics curiosity.

“Are you here to stop me?” I whisper almost, my throat constricting against the words that fly begrudgingly from my lips. She looks young enough to be my age, but I feel her so much mature than me; and the exquisite smile on her lips just… Makes me want to kiss her.

“You are told that love is abundant, that it is a gift, the most beautiful thing you’ll ever see or feel ever in your life. The truth is… I’m a rarity. You will never find love at the corner shop as you see in movies or when you drop your books and a chivalrous guy picks them up. It’s beautiful that you think of me like that; truly. But… You’re wrong, I’m afraid. Her eyes glisten magically in the fading light of the sunset, while her fingers play childishly with the soft fabric of her dress. She sighs, as if she is the one that needs counselling, not me, as if she is the one that lost all the hope and let intimacy slip between her fingers. I feel my heart beat slowly, words floating around me with the fragility of a secret and, in her gaze, she holds the mystery to every story that does not have an answer and all the questions that do not have a tale to share. She is a mother cradling her new born or a teenage girl singing along the lyrics of a track from her favourite band, dreaming one day of marrying her crush. She is the beginning and the end of a universe I have never held close, I have never touched. The remote thought of death, of jumping is now just… A thought, not a desire or reality I want to have. And the calm that possesses my soul is crushing, but elating, in the same time.

“I guess… We are very wrong in many aspects,” I whisper, once again the words fighting a battle against my body before departing. The cigarette in my hand died and my fingers tremble softly, my gaze tucked away, hidden from hers.

“Sweet Cassian… You people think that love can solve everything for you and that you need me. You think I am a goal, a destination. But I am a journey. I am the drive behind you, but never something that randomly happens. You fall in love not because your mind dictates it or your soul needs it, but because you want to embark on the beautiful adventure that love is. I am not a treasure, I am not a haven for all the broken hearts; I am a selfish mania. You all want love, you crave intimacy and you have hope someone will love you back… But that is all…” She takes in a breath, almost as if she is about the share her biggest secret, as if the truth that she is about to bestow upon me will crush me. “A mere lie… I am a lie. I hurt people and I make people behave strangely, I mess with the order and I make you… Desire more, because I am addictive. And you want more because you are unsure and you need to feel loved.” A tear rolls slowly down her cheek and I almost lean in… Her