Disclaimer: Rights to J. K. Rowling and Sam Smith.
You say I'm crazy
'Cause you don't think I know what you've done
But when you call me baby
I know I'm not the only one
The jet of the shower beat on her bare back like a hammer wrapped in cotton. She tried to focus on the scalding water cascading down her arms and over her shoulders and weighing down her thick black curls so that the tips of her hair crept down past her hips and tickled her darkly complected thighs. Small droplets of water clung to her cheeks, not all of them originating from the castle's plumbing. One shaking hand ran through her sopping hair, gathering up the part that tended to stray toward her exposed eyes and high cheekbones, and held it in an unholy mess of knots on the top of her head. Her other hand clamped tightly over her mouth with her blue-polished fingernails carving tunnels in her cheeks. Her body shook slightly with the weight of stifled sobs as her eyelids lowered to conceal two glassy, chocolate-colored irises and their accompanying pupils and whites. Despite her attempts to stem the flood, a single teardrop slipped from between her long black lashes, and then another, and another, and soon enough there were rivers flowing from her eyes to fill the canyons on her cheeks.
She tasted salt.
Her silent efforts to save her roommates the trouble of hearing their rock cleave morphed into quiet, sharp exhales easily muffled by her hand. These breaths grew into moans barely concealed by the pounding of the shower water, which swelled to genuine sobs that broke her at the navel and necessitated additional support. She shoved one shoulder heavily into the tile wall beside her and sunk further towards the ground, settling into a squat and resting her forehead on her knees. Her warm breath gathered in the niche that formed as she bent. It was this that calmed her somewhat, the warmth. It was like a thick sweater during the winter or her mother's embrace before she boarded the train three weeks ago. Right after she saw them. . .
Tears welled behind her lids once more and she could not quell the cry that tore from her body, leaving her in much the same state as a skyscraper that has lost a support beam. She came crumbling down in bits and pieces and she fumbled helplessly to catch them all before they hit the ground with an almighty crash, but they all fell far too heavily for her weakened body to support. Once the second cry followed the first, an onslaught of similarly disgusting noises rushed forth like a reservoir through a broken dam and she was crying like she never had before. The sobs wracked her body, her face contorted with squinted eyes, a crinkled nose, and an open mouth.
This was pain, she decided. Pain wasn't jamming your finger in a door or cutting your hand slicing vegetables for supper. Yes, those things hurt, but pain was something entirely different. Pain worked its way from the inside out, turning your bones to lead and coursing through your blood like poison. Pain was a hooded figure who came about whenever it pleased, sometimes taking up residence deep inside of you, and grabbed you by the throat, suffocating you eternally.
This was pain, and she was in quite a lot of it.
The door to the bathroom swung open, illuminating the shower curtain for a moment before it was ripped aside. Roxanne's eyes sprung open fearfully and she turned her head sharply to see her cousin Lily staring wide-eyed at her vulnerability. Roxanne's breath hitched in her throat, and Lily snapped out of a kind of trance, reaching over to retrieve a towel. She turned the tap off with one hand and shook the towel unfolded with the other before draping it over Roxanne's shoulders, where it glowed in contrast to her dark skin.
Roxanne stood up and wrapped the towel more securely around her abdomen. Lily noticed that her hand shook slightly as it clenched around the corners of the towel, and her eyes pointed towards her bare feet. She looked ashamed, and Roxanne Weasley had never, in Lily's memory, looked ashamed.
Well, she'd never cried, either.
Lily kicked off her shoes, peeled off her shoes, and stepped into the shower, standing adjacent to her cousin. Lily placed a hand on Roxanne's damp shoulder, which quivered in its socket.
"Roxy. . ." Lily began in a low voice, unsure whether she ought to say anything at all. A moment or two passed before she spoke again. "Are you okay?" she asked.
Roxanne bit her trembling lower lip and nodded unconvincingly, not meeting Lily's eyes. Lily placed a finger lightly under her cousin's chin and gently applied pressure to lift Roxanne's dark eyes to her own.
"Then why were you crying?"
Roxanne put forth an obviously valiant effort to hold back tears, which only just succeeded. She considered denying the accusation, but she knew her eyes must be rimmed with red, and decided against it.
"Michael," she choked out.
Lily's eyebrows drew slightly inward. "Your boyfriend?" Roxanne nodded, closing her eyes. "Is he sick?" Lily inquired, still confused as to what sweet Michael Turner could have done to upset her cousin and closest friend. Only one thing came to mind, but Michael was different. He would never—
"Tamara Gilbert," Roxanne whispered.
Oh no.
No more words were necessary. Lily stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the crumbling girl's shoulders.
Roxanne was the solid foundation of the Gryffindor sixth year girls' dormitory, and everyone knew it. Even the first years. As Roxanne's tears soaked Lily's lapel, the redhead marveled at the other witch's strength. With each renewed sob, Lily's heart chipped off into smaller and smaller pieces.
How did she do it? Lily wondered. How did Roxanne stay so strong for all of the girls in their dormitory all the time? How do I stay strong for her? Perhaps this was worse than what Roxanne did. This was different. Roxanne Weasley was strong, and that had never changed in Lily's mind. Seeing the strong at their weakest was a discouraging experience indeed. Lily stumbled upon the realization that her fortress had an Achilles tendon that, admittedly, took a lot of searching to find, but, once it was located, Roxanne would fall. Hard.
And fall she did.
There they stood, the Broken and the Bruised, and for a while the Broken cried, drowning the Bruised.
You've been so unavailable
Now sadly I know why
Your heart is unobtainable
Even though Lord knows you kept mine
. . .
I know I'm not the only one. . .