Disclaimer: James and Lily belong to J.K. Rowling. Who is not me.
Ooookayy...deep breaths. New account. Kind of a dark topic, but I was bored, and this kind of reflects my own story, except, you know, the part about the ultimately fabulous boyfriend. I don't have one of those. Anyways, if you hate it, feel free to tell me, if you don't hate it, I would seriously appreciate you telling me. I am exceedingly nervous about posting this, because I don't usually let other people read my writing but... here goes, I guess.
Lily Evans had the perfect life. She had a wonderful, caring boyfriend, the best grades in her year, and the position of Head Girl. But she was broken. There were so many expectations piling onto her. Everyone expected her to do well all the time, when realistically, that just wasn't possible. "Oh, stop whining Lily, what's a bad grade to you? A 92?" Oh yes, Lily Evans had the perfect life. And it was so far from perfect it scared her.
That's why she found solace in the Swiss Army knife she had begged for when she was ten, because she had read My Side of the Mountain, and was determined to run away to the forest and live in a tree, just like Sam Gribley. Of course, this plan was never put into action, and the knife was put away for a while, only to be rediscovered when she was fourteen. The summer before fourth year, that's when it had all spiraled out of control. She had thought she was better, gone a month and a half clean, when it had started again. The horrid, morbid addiction had sprung to the surface, consuming her mind. It used to be just her wrist. Then it spread to her hips, carefully, so no one would see, even if she did wear a bathing suit. She couldn't cut the tops of her thighs because she swam in the summer, but as soon as she got to school, she hacked them to pieces as well.
Now she was seventeen, in love with James Potter (who ever saw that one coming), and utterly broken. No one knew, her parents didn't understand. Therapy is not a magic solution, and two sessions sure as hell weren't going to do anything. But she knew she couldn't keep it from everyone for much longer. Her friends were curious as to why she never wore short-sleeve shirts, even in the dead heat of the summer, and James was suspicious when she adamantly refused his invitation to go swim and relax at the docks on the Black Lake, when he knew she loved to swim. It was true, she did love to swim, but she couldn't because of the little demon that sat on her shoulder and told her to drag the little silver blade across her thighs, hips, wrists, arms. Sooner or later, she would have to wear a short-sleeve shirt. Sooner or later, someone was going to find out.
She sat on her bed in the Heads' dormitory, and carefully removed the little red knife from its hiding place in her top dresser drawer. Popping open the blade, she took a deep breath. And so it began, the same as all the other nights, sliding the blade across her wrists, hips, thighs and arms, applying pressure, relishing in the sharp sting it brought, and watching the tiny red droplets of blood well up in her wounds. But this evening would prove different from previous evenings, as she heard a knock at the door.
"Lily? Lily, you've been in there for a long time. Are you alright?"
James. Of course it was James. It had to be James. He couldn't see her like this. What would he think? She was disgusting, impure, unworthy of his attention. He would hate her. No, he couldn't see her like this.
"Just – just a minute. I'm just finishing some homework."
There. A perfect little white lie. James couldn't know she'd already finished all her homework; they had so much it was impossible to keep track of one's own studies, much less someone else's.
"Lily, all your books are at your desk in the common room. What's really going on in there?"
A momentary panic seized her. No, no, he couldn't come in here, he'd see her, the knife, the blood, the cuts, he'd see how broken she was. She couldn't lose him. He was everything right in her world, the only thing right in her world. She needed him.
"I'm coming in."
Those words froze her. She couldn't move. He would see her. See the blood on her sheets, her wrists, her thighs, her knife. All of the blood, and all of the scattered pieces of her would be laid out for him to judge. That couldn't happen. It simply couldn't. No, he wouldn't come in. He was simply trying to get her to talk – and then the door opened. She looked up, her emerald eyes wide, the knife still in position above her thigh.
"Lily, what –"
He stopped, with an expression of shock and horror on his face. As he stood there, shock still, staring, for that brief second, her world stopped spinning. Everything stopped. It was over now, she thought miserably. He knows, and he's disgusted. I am disgusting. He'll never even want to come near me now. But then he took a step forward, and another, and another, and then he was beside her, gathering her into his arms, taking the knife and casting it towards the floor, and just holding her. But then came the questions.
"Why?"
She knew she'd have to answer, she knew she'd have to give him the reasons. A month ago, or a week ago, she would have clammed up, or given him some bullshit response about being alone. But now – she felt as if she owed it to him, and maybe even a little bit to herself to tell the truth.
"There was so much pressure. Everyone expected me to be perfect all the time, at everything, and I'm not –" she choked back tears, "– I'm not perfect, and they don't understand how hard it is to do well in everything, and I try so hard, but it's not easy, and I felt detached and numb and void, and the cutting, it made me feel real."
He paused, contemplating her answer, and responded by holding her closer and tighter, and the little drops of blood stained his white Oxford shirt, but he didn't seem to care.
"How long has this been going on?"
Lily swallowed hard.
"Since the end of third year."
The look on his face was pained, as if it hurt him to know that she had been in silent suffering for so long.
"Does anyone else know?"
"My parents, but they don't know I still do it. Somehow, two sessions of therapy were supposed to solve the whole problem."
"I hope you know that I'm here, whenever you need me. It doesn't matter what I'm doing, or what's going on. If you need me, I'm right there in an instant, and I am with you all the way to help you get through this."
He cares. He understands. Lily's head was spinning. He didn't hate her, he didn't think she was dirty or disgusting, he still wanted to be with her. She pressed her head into his chest, and murmured,
"Thank you."
"I'm always here. I will never let you go. I love you too much for that."
He loved her. She was broken, shattered, and he loved her.
"I love you too."
And she curled up inside the safe haven that was his arms, and let everything be okay because he was there, and he would make it okay. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, and began gently healing the cuts that she had inflicted upon herself. They both knew it would take time for the wounds to fully heal, but for the first time in a long time, Lily was willing to help herself, if only for knowing that James would be by her side through it all. There would be scars to remind her of the hate she had once felt, of course, but love is stronger than hate, and now she had someone to remind her of that every single day.