Disclaimer: All the usual applies.
It's like pulling teeth. It hurts, and you'll rail against it – even though you know it's for the best, because it's rotten and it's poison and you can't live with it. But you're not sure if living without it will be too much pain to bare.
So you muddle along, you put up with it and numb the discomfort – pain killers, drink and god knows what else. But a tongue will always seek out a rotten tooth and prod it and poke it, making matters worse. Then the damage is irreparable, and it's more than minor discomfort – it's gone bone deep, and you can't muddle along anymore. So you end it. You and it part ways.
He's got that look – the one that should be devoid of emotion, but you know it too well – you've peered behind the mask, and you know what's really there. He's upset – he's angry and he's lost. You've pulled the rug from under his feet, but he's not hit the ground yet. But he will. And damage will be done.
'So this is it'
He sounds hollow; his voice is flat and colourless. And you know that if you look too closely, you will change your mind – you'll run away. After all, it doesn't hurt that much does it?
'I can't do this anymore' you say with closed eyes, feeling something within you deflate. Something has died, and you're starting to go numb.
'Do what?' he demands, his eyes are glazing over. He's not really listening. He's thinking of a million and one things, but none of his attention is focused on what you're saying. And that's why you find yourself hovering with a pair of pliers, on the very verge of diving in.
'Us. I can't spend any more time here with you, pretending this is okay' Because this is not okay. A war changes people, it warps things. He's seen horrors you don't want to think about – but you've seen horrors he couldn't even imagine.
He nods. The fight has left him. Exhaustion and fear have robbed him of any passion he may have had, leaving him empty and listless. You hate him for that.
'Right' shoulders slumped, he turns to look at the door, then out the window. 'So you're just going to go? Or do you want me to leave?'
There's an uncomfortable twist as he looks forlorn, and slightly panicked.
'No' you sigh, taking one hesitant step forwards – you want to comfort him, and reassure him. Loving him is going to be a hard habit to break. 'I'm going. I don't … Sirius, I don't want to hurt you'
Usually there would be a sarcastic quip, or a scoff. Sirius doesn't make a sound, only turns around and walks back to the bedroom.
With a wave of your magic wand, which could never mend a broken heart, no matter how hard you try, your cloths are whisked into the waiting suitcase. It took more courage to get that suitcase down from the top for the wardrobe than you imagined, didn't?
He didn't fight for you, or beg you to stay. But you saw the look in his eye, and he didn't have to say a word.
The crack of the front door closing behind you gives another painful twist, while the 'Pop' as you apparated away from the house marked the end of the clear cut, self-executed procedure – you did quite well for a beginner. There are no neat stitches for this, I'm afraid – this is a wound you will have to nurse and care for. This will have to heal naturally.
You'll land in a quiet lane clutching nothing but your coat, and suitcase of clothes and books. Sometimes they offer to let you take the tooth home, keep the debris of the extraction. You choose not to. You're left with a gaping hole – that's the only reminder you'll ever need.
I don't like the dentist. I've never had a tooth out, but they are a bit over enthusiastic with their drill. Very dialogue light, because I absolutely hate writing dialogue – I need to work on it, I know. But, today, I just couldn't be bothered.
I'm going through my folder of half-finished stuff (I have the first paragraph of at least 30 one shots on the go) so hopefully, fingers crossed, I should get a lot more work up here before Christmas.
Reviews are greatly appreciated, even if it's just to say you hated it – anything is good!
Have a nice day now.