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He was, and then he wasn't. She did not get the chance to say goodbye, to ask the reason for the actions that left her hollow. And she never would. Rosalie Hamberlyn Jones would have to live with his absence, for it was irreversible. A fixed point in time that shattered her beautifully broken soul, as he called it, to countless pieces. It had been four years now. Her therapy sessions, which she became acquainted with at fourteen, grew more frequent with the event, then decreased to the usual weekly appointments. Her prescription changed, but after a year switched back.
She moved to a different part of town when she finished college, craving a new start, away from the whispers and rumors. And today, a handful of months later, with boxes still unpacked and a bed to be shipped, she laid awake on her couch, waiting for her alarm to ring. Insomnia had kept her up all night. There were pills in the drawer of her bathroom, among others, to help her dose off, but she refused to take them. She lifted her arm from under the duvet and grabbed her phone, switching the screen on to check the time.
05:58
The dark sky out her window had begun to change into a deep orange as the sun shyly ascended from behind the buildings on the horizon. The view captured her gaze, and she relaxed on the soft cushions, her romantic soul craving the escape from reality. It was rare she indulged in the tranquility of her surroundings and the silence in her mind, both rarely keeping quiet.
Minutes passed, orange turning into light blue. What brought her to her small apartment was the rays of sunlight hitting her, blinding her chocolate irises. The serene moment was over. A groan followed her getting up, aching limps screaming at the stillness from her 'sleep'. She shuffled to the bathroom, ignoring the five carbon boxes left by the wardrobe in the bedroom. The bookcase had not arrived yet to unload the literary books.
Her hands found the sink, and cold water run, palms splashing it on her face. She grabbed a soft towel and wiped the droplets off, vision cast on the mirror ahead. The reflective item hanging on the lime tiles showed the twenty-four-year-old in a state of disorder. Her knotted and messy brown hair had escaped from last night's bun looking like a halo made of hay over her head. The shirt worn, had several stains. Worst of all, the bags under her eyes and dullness in her gaze screamed of exhaustion. She could act shocked at the sight, pretend it was an unusual circumstance, and it would be laughable.
Opening the cupboard, a checkered black and blue sack stood front and center. Her slim fingers slid it out, placing it in the basin. Inside were one box of pills for her allergies, a prescription bottle for her depression, another of anxiolytics, and some organic tablets for insomnia along with the heavy kind. There were days when she had to take all of them, other times, like today, just the one to keep her in check and prevent a panic attack. Mechanically she emptied one in her mouth and swallowed them, putting the pouch away.
In the next fifteen minutes, she tamed her hair into a ponytail, did her makeup to conceal her fatigue, and picked up the clothes she had chosen yesterday laid neatly on a hanger outside her wardrobe. Beth had helped by taking every piece of clothing Rosalie owned out and then putting it back in upon finding something she was satisfied with.
