A/N: So I'm writing this thing and somehow this scene came out completely out of order and I've no idea if it will fit or when it will fit but there's was something about it that I liked. So let me know what you think. Reviews are my crack, and I know you want to be an enabler. Don't lie to me. Not when I'm jonesing like this.
Disclaimer: I own a rather impressive collection of socks. I own a perfectly wonderful down comforter. I do not however own anything in this, not even the cigarettes.
Title: Break
"You know, I get it." He says, ashing his cigarette. He's sitting with one leg crossed over the porch rail and the other dangling.
"You get what?" She snaps and pulls her robe tighter around herself, her own cigarette drifting towards her thigh as she let out a huff of grey.
He smiles and smoke tendrils drifted from between his teeth. "You." He answers serenely.
Petunia scoffs. "You don't understand anything freak." She took another drag. "Least of all me."
He shrugs and looks back out towards the street. "It must be hard," The boy continued after a moment. "I've seen it happen to other people too."
She doesn't want to be curious. She doesn't want to care what the strange boy with the smiling eyes has to say. He doesn't know anything about anything. He's just a silly boy, a freak with his freakiness oozing from every bit of him. It's in the way he walks, the way he grins, everything about how he moves is so wholly abnormal. He doesn't know anything…
"What?" Petunia asks sharply. "What must be hard?"
He grins again and she hates that she asked because she can see the victory in his dancing eyes. He lets her squirm, takes another pull from the cigarette and just waits. Finally he straightens his back against the pole he's been leaning against and speaks. "Being her sister."
She rolls her eyes, some revelation. "Of course, having a freak like that in the family, bringing home freak books and freak pets and freak clothes and now," She exhales a cloud of smoke, "more freaks just like her." She waves a hand in his direction.
He laughs at her, and she frowns. She can tell he's laughing at her, not just at what she said but her, Petunia, he's mocking her. "Your sister and I have almost as much in common as you two do." He replies and there's a hint of something in his tone she can't place. "But that's not what I meant."
Petunia raises an eyebrow in question. She's tired of the run around. She shouldn't care what he has to say; she should just let her curiosity die. But her gaze is drawn to the glowing embers at the tip of the cigarette he holds. For a second she wonders… "Well, whatever, freak." She says finally.
He chuckles again. He's always damned laughing. Nothing is ever that funny but it's like he thinks the whole world in one big joke and he's the only one with the punch line. She hates it. She hates him. "Sure." He replies nonchalantly. "Except you knew that wasn't what I meant." He has that look like he's won again and she just wants to wipe it off his face. To prove to him that he doesn't know anything about anything. He doesn't understand her. He couldn't possibly. Not a freak like him.
"You couldn't mean anything else." Petunia retorts testily. She glares and almost throttles him when his damn grin returns. She should just leave. She doesn't need to listen to him. In fact that's just what she'll do. She moves forward to the rail and puts her cigarette out against it. There's a small sense of satisfaction and disappointment as it crumbles and splits.
"Still," He says as she stamps it out. "Must be hard." He rolls his own cigarette between his fingers and he isn't looking at her. "How is anyone supposed to notice you when she's standing right next to you?" Petunia is stunned. He hops down from his perch and flicks his cigarette into the distance. She watches it bounce on the pavement. "Trying so hard to be seen, but everyone's only looking at her."
"You don't know-" She manages, still staring at the ground in front of their house.
He's walking past her now, but pauses at her shoulder and cuts her off. "Yes, I do."
Petunia doesn't answer as he walks away, doesn't look as he opens the front door. She shudders when it closes and keeps watching the discarded cigarette on the ground. It's glowing brightly, stuck between pavers now. She doesn't know why but that somehow makes her want to cry. Instead she kicks the remnants of her own off the porch, spins on the heel of her slipper and goes back inside. He's just a stupid freak her stupid freak sister brought home. He doesn't know what he's talking about.
A/N: Review? I wasn't kidding about the crack thing. I itch like crazy.