The sounds of the city left Johnathan with a sense of anxiety and the buildings outside the window made him claustrophobic as he finished off yet another scotch, leaning against the window of the hotel room. It was perfect. The anxiety and the discomfort left him feeling alive against the numbness the constant flow of alcohol left behind.
Had it really been almost five months since he'd lost her? It seemed so long ago. Every day without her silken touch, without her velvet locks of golden white, felt like an eternity that never ended. It felt so long, in fact, that he couldn't for the life of him recall what had ended them in the first place. All he remembered was the drinking and the women, the endless days of sweat and danger followed by sleepless nights of drinking until he became numb and fucking without feeling. All for the loss of her.
Luna Lovegood. The name burned into every crevice of his mind, her face flashed on every newspaper, and her voice echoed in every sound. Ever since she had left, his temperature ran high, his skin hot to the very touch. Most assumed it to be from the drinking, the sex with random women, but he knew better.
Along with the heat, his rage had soared to new levels, with his only real release being his Horntails and a worn out punching bag in the corner. Most of his friends had remained, more worried for him than irritated with his change of attitude. Draco Malfoy had remained most loyal; even meeting with him at odd times to try and convince him to go to her. Of course, John always refused. He didn't need that pain.
There were many times, late at night after the booze had worn off and the women had left, that he had grasped his wand with the intent of calling her. Every time, he threw the wand away, or shoved it in a drawer. Why on Earth would she want to hear from him anyway?
Hearing a soft coo from the hotel bed, he turned with disinterest to the girl laying there. Draco had invited him to a party and, despite John's many objections, had forced his opinion to change, promising him a good time that should help his mood. His friend had also invited Pansy Parkinson and, even though he could never bring himself to enjoy her company (nor her body) she was easy to pick up and bring to his room.
"What are you doing over there?" the voice sounded from beneath a mess of hair.
"Trying to keep the alcohol going to forget I'm actually here with you," came the null response as he walked with heavy feet over to pour another scotch.
Shrugging, he made his way back to the bed and sat on the edge, wincing when he barely felt her fingers on his bare skin. It didn't take long for his drink to be gone and he rose to pour the last of the alcohol into the glass.
"Loony really fucked you up, huh? At least the sex was even better than before, though."
Gritting his teeth, he downed the drink and gripped the glass, trying to be disinterested still, "I've had a lot of practice in the last months. And don't call her that."
But his words fell on deaf ears as Pansy drifted back to sleep, leaving John to sit in the chair alone. Another sleepless night staring out of a high window and wondering what it would feel like to fall.
