Mr. Pride and I | jjk x llm

32

Lisa

My air-conditioner hummed noises of which had always made me feel at ease, as though it were a lullaby that shushed noises silence had created within its void, the collision of metals—pans and utensils—that echoed pass through the walls of the kitchen, its sound growing silent as it travelled through the different areas around the house—and, finally, there were my thoughts—waves and waves of utter devastation that come crashing upon my feet, but also was sand, fine and calm that kept me safe from what I feared would reach—drag— me by where I was not ready.

However, at moments such as these, they all seem to be nothing but distractions left muffled and shut, as though they were a memory so distant, clouded by everything else there is—everything else that mattered more—no, they all don't matter more than what my mind chose to ignore, finding all factors to be important, my thoughts, at most.

And, as I sank deeper into cool leather, stretching out my neck and back that I had tensed far too long as I crouched down a few hours back, unmoving and still, breathless as determination swept over all the wills left there are I had. I pondered deeper into everything else I now only realized did not matter more, but had been what I gave more care about than what truly mattered more.

My legs relaxed, spread apart in comfort, which I knew, was not seen as an appropriate position for a, 'lady,' as they all termed, but having to act upon what others say ladies needed to be does not seem to be desirable at this moment, though, they never were.

Society and all their standards.

A soft chuckle escape my lips at the thought I could hear with a nagging, complainant tone that hold such great truth.

This makes me happy—really, really happy. The feeling of not having to feel anything at all, a euphoric breath of release and relaxation where everything seems to just stop, and that worry was reaches away from where one lay. Such rare moments where humans were contented, happy, of no stress and worry—not often enough it saddened me how it was so.

I continued drowning myself in the feel of the moment, a surge of exhaustion draining my body of energy as I remained unmoving, allowing myself be taken off to the land of my dreams as I grew excited to be aware of how sleep was not at all far. And, as my eyes grow clouded of exhaustion and my mind falls dark, I slowly lose consciousness.

Sleep, sleep, sleep—

Nana's voice boomed, irritation slightly tracing along the tone of her voice as it travelled tgrough the halls, ultimately reaching me as though it were a hard, stinging slap across my cheek of which broke the atmosphere I so loved.

'Lisa, your oatmeal is ready!'

My eyes shot open, but immediately relaxed upon the recognition of Nana's voice—a habit my reflexes have come to take a note of— one that, as it had done so now, called me out of whatever trance I was in, one that demanded chores to which I always groaned on and on about, complaints running through my head in silence, a voice I grew up hearing with.

Unconsciously, a knowing smile spread across my face, aware of how Nana was now back, with my eyes still adjusting before the chilled sight of my room, blurred by the fact of how I almost slept.

I had been so young when I first met Nana, a pretty woman who smiled at me in adoration as I did the same, only much more timid. During the earlier years of my life, she had always been patient, understanding how my immature and irritating antics were justified by how I am a child, clueless and spoiled. However, as growth began to mark my body in adulting accents and nourished my mind of deeper understanding and logic, Nana grew strict in ways where, chores now come in batches of three at once, inspected thoroughly if done well moments after, with every detail sure to not be missed. And, if, according to her own opinions, a specified chore was done poorly, I had always been met with long, repeated lectures.