AFTER THE FALL; HER SIDE OF THE STORY

JASMINE'S POV

It is said that everything changes in a second. I just didn't think my second would involve blood, fire, and the sound of my own voice breaking into pieces that I couldn't glue back together.

"Jasmine, go! Take him and get out of the house!" Vincenzo yelled with sharp eyes and amidst tight lips.

He stood at the door like some war general with his shirt half-buttoned and had a gun in his hand but his eyes refused to meet mine.

"I'm not leaving you," I snapped back with my arms tightened around our son, and Lorenzo in return, curled his tiny body into mine as if he knew something was wrong.

"Don't argue with me, please." he pleaded. That last word was said in almost a whisper. It almost sounded as if it was not from him.

I still didn't move, I should but I didn't because something about the way he said "please" for some reason made me more scared than the sound of the front gate exploding.

Then everything got loud. From metal crashing to glass shattering. There were also lot of screams from maids and assistants as gunshots rang out. Those horrible shots in my ears, sounded as if the universe is short-circuiting.

Vincenzo pulled me behind the stairwell.

"Go now and don't look back." he said in a panic tone.

But when I eventually left, I "did" looked back and that was where everything broke.

I woke up gasping and I was entirely soaked in sweat as the sheets wrapped tightly around my body like vines.

It took me a second to remember where I was.

I was not in the villa and definitely not on the marble floors or gilded doorways. I'm not in Vincenzo's cologne or on his pillows either, no.

Presently, I'm in a cramped flat in Northern London with peeling paints, a creaky bed and faint scent of acrylics and tea that's gone cold.

My studio is just across the hallway. That's the only part of this place that feels like mine.

I pressed my palm against my chest like that's going to slow down my heartbeat while I sat up on the bed, but then, It doesn't.

Another nightmare, same as the previous ones with same scene. It's now persistent and it has become a punishment I didn't sign up for but apparently, I earned it.

I looked up at the clock to know what time it is and it's points at 3:14 in the morning.

I swung my legs off the bed and sat there for a moment, while I starred at the wall. There's a painting I started last week, which is still unfinished. It had red strokes on a black background which wasn't supposed to be anything, but now, it looks like fire.

The kettle clicks in the kitchen and that was when I remembered that I forgot to drink the tea I made before passing out on the sofa again. I shuffled over to the kitchen and pour it down the sink and rinsed the mug.

"Lol, I'm not tired anymore. I'm just... hollow".

My phone lights up and I saw the notification pop up "two new emails and one new message from Antonio".

"Did you sleep? You were quiet all day."

I didn't reply because I didn't want to lie by saying "Yes" or open a door for a conversation. I don't have the required energy to fake my way through no, not tonight.

Although Antonio is a good man who is kind and supportive. He is easy to be around and easy to hide behind and trust me, I could say that again. But he's not "him".

Jeez, I hate the fact that Vincenzo still takes up space in my head like an unpaid rent.

He already left, or should I say he technically kicked me out but who's counting that. I said to myself with a shrug.

I wrapped my robe tighter around myself and sat by the window to take in the view of the rain that has continued to pour without restraint.

My reflection stared back at me through the glass. I could see same eyes with same guilt and same broken promises which were stuck on repeat. Then, feeling devastated, I pressed my forehead against the cold pane.

Vincenzo used to say I'm "stubborn". He said I never listened. Was he wrong, of course he wasn't.

I didn't listen when he told me to run.

I didn't listen when he begged me to let go.

I didn't listen to any of it. And then, he handed me those papers. The stupid divorce papers he had already signed.

I closed my eyes so as not to remember the way he looked at me that night. Jeez! Vincenzo looked as if I'd torn out what was left of his heart and spat on it.

"You're not the woman I thought you were," he had said. Maybe I wasn't, It could be that I'm not that woman now either.

Later, I'll have to eventually go back to bed and I'll probably just lay there until the sun shows up as if it's got something to be proud of.

But for now, I'll sit here and watch the rain and I'll pretend it's just the weather making everything feel heavy, and try not to remember the sound of my son's voice.

Because this silence hurts worse than the sounds.

The rain tapped against the window as though it's trying to pass a message across to me as it kept falling. Perhaps, if I listened hard enough, I'll understand. But I didn't.

I just sat there, wrapped in my robe, as I watched the streetlights blur through the drops. Everything looks soft and distant. It looked like a painting someone smudged too many times.

I yarned a few times when my body began to tell me that I should sleep. Of course I know that, but the bed feels too empty. It's too quiet and I'm afraid of what I'll see when I close my eyes again.

Would it be the stairwell again or perhaps it would be Vincenzo's voice, and this time maybe I'll remember the way everything broke.

No!, not again I'll rather not sleep than seeing those horrible sights. The floor felt cold as my socks are thin but I care less about that now. I went directly to my studio since I'm too afraid to sleep.

In the studio, the painting hung there still with angry colors. It has no shape and no plan. It exhibits feelings, and nothing more.

I stared at it for a while then I finally picked up a brush. I drew a red again, then a black and then a hard line through the middle. I didn't even know what I was painting as I just needed to do something.

Anything to stop me from thinking.

When I finally stepped back, my hand began to shake and my breath felt stuck in my throat.

I turned off the light and I went back to the kitchen because I began to feel like drinking tea again, it now seems that "tea" is enough to restore my energy, and if it can't, at least it would give me some warmth through this cold night.

My eyes involuntary drifted towards the clock and it was pointing at 4:22 a.m.

Just then, my phone buzzed again.

The notification popped yet another message from Antonio which reads "I'm here if you want to talk". I still didn't reply. It's not because I didn't care. It's just that.... that caring hurts, but to be honest, I've got enough of that already.

I curled up on the couch with my tea mug between my hands and I began to stare at the spot where the ceiling got cracked.

Then I wondered, If I had run that night...

Would I still have my son?

Would Vincenzo still look at me like he used to?

Would I still be me? And in the midst of all these thoughts, the tea grew cold again.

And I just sat there as I awaits the arrival of the sun.