Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Note: Written for Who's My Soulmate Prompt Challenge - "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it"

WC: 774

Count to Five

He would be fine.

There were a total of five facts he was aware of in the moment she walked out of his life, leaving him to deal with the whirlwind of chaos that was his emotions. All the composure he prided himself in was gone, the calm mask he constructed and perfected for years fractured and destroyed with just a few words from her small, pink lips. Grief, desperation, regret. So much regret.

One, a pain second to none.

There were no words to describe the pain every time he saw her. He didn't know what was worse, that she was avoiding his eyes or that she was allowing him to drape all over her.

He bitterly thought he would rather allow Potter to stab him with his own potion's knife than know it was his words more than anything that drove Lily away. Callous and cold, people avoided him like the plague, intimidated by his sharp glare and sharper tongue. She had stuck by him though, after all these years, when he knew she could do so much better. But Severus was a selfish person by nature, and he had gotten too greedy. He wanted more than he could have, and in a fit of burning anger, the words that he had prided himself with resulted in his downfall. He had thrown them carelessly, like hopefuls tossing their coins into a fountain praying for useless wishes. In this world, wishes were ignored and trampled on, crushed by the harsh reality.

After all, he had been alone before.

And yet, he hadn't meant them at all. If only he had the courage to face her, to tell her the truth. But he was afraid, to hear her rejection, for her to crush his heart in her fragile hands. Potter was right about one thing: he was a spineless coward.

Two, there's nothing I can do without you.

Severus could tolerate her relationship with Potter, if it was for her, anything for her, but he couldn't stand being away from Lily. Because first and foremost, Lily was his best friend. So he wasn't the prince from the fairytales, the dumb title could go to the equally dimwitted Potter for all he cared, but he would be damned if he allowed her to slip from his life.

He had survived on his own his entire life before he even met her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," the words came out garbled in his desperation and panic, to rectify his mistake, to make her see that the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

Three, we were a team.

"Yes, you did, Severus," she said it plainly, her lovely face marred by betrayal and hurt, but she still looked so beautiful that it physically hurt him. Her bright green eyes filled with unshed pain added fuel to the all-consuming inferno of agony inside him.

And a part of him broke at the words that escaped her pretty mouth, the same words in flowing scripture on his left wrist.

So what if she was gone?

A low, pained keen filled the corridor as he fell to the ground, the pain in his knees nothing compared to the pain in his chest. He brought a fist to his mouth in a weak attempt to muffle his sobs that only seemed to echo loudly in the heavy silence, and when he raised blurry eyes to his Lily, to his soulmate, the understanding on her face as she took in his pitiful figure slumped at her feet brought forth another wave of anguish. He closed his eyes, silently begging her. For what, he wasn't sure. For forgiveness, for mercy. Severus just wanted the pain to go away.

Four, all thrown out the door.

He didn't know how long he stayed in that position, on the floor, crying, mourning the loss of the most important person in his life. But by the time he looked up, Lily was gone.

He didn't need her.

There was an emptiness in him that left him lost, scared. And Severus hated it. Whenever he saw Potter, he wanted to rub it in his arrogant face, to drive in the fact that Lily had his words on her, a physical imprint for eternity, that she was destined for him and him alone, and nothing Potter could do would ever change that. But then he would spot Lily, and the sad, sad eyes that haunted his every waking moment would flash before him, and the vindictive anger quells to a burning simmer, replaced by the forever present agony.

Five, I should stop telling myself lies.