Powerphobia
Why she kept to her books I would never understand. She asked me if she was pathetic. I told her no, but I don't think she ever wanted to believe me.
XX
She held his hand when I approached them. I could read her face like the books she clung to; she was so afraid of being alone.
The hour was half-past ten, and I told her I would never let her be alone.
But she.
Didn't.
Listen.
I didn't smile when I passed them, because that would show weakness on my part. I was being a selfish brat and I knew it, but I couldn't let my emotions show. I was a stand-up man now, and I wouldn't let even her get to me. I glared at her one last time because.
Glaring wasn't an emotion and I.
Wanted her to see that I.
Loved her.
God, she was beautiful, and I couldn't see why she denied it each day. Her hair curled around her face in perfect quotations, rotating her words one-hundred-and-eighty degrees so everyone could read them. Her eyes were like pen marks, dark and piercing so hard I felt like a thin page. I told her once her skin was made of gold, but she never nodded in agreement. I think she was afraid of disagreeing. She was afraid I might leave her.
I couldn't think of a worse fate.
All this had passed in a second, yet seeing her face meant the world to me. I felt the world pass under the tips of my fingers and I wanted to cry because it.
Wasn't.
Fair.
XX
"Hermione?"
Her name begged to be spoken, and I always told her this. She only smiled and shook her quotations.
It made her name quiver.
"Yes?" She spoke softly, like the world would break if she said it too loud.
"What do you want to do?" I asked. She wandered over the question for a while. I watched her while she got lost.
"Let's experiment."
And I was lost, too.
XX
We held our tongues and bit our breaths as we collided in that not-so-perfect reality of ours. Skins just barely brushed, but it was enough to send me over the edge. I kissed her forehead and she.
Shivered beneath my weight.
Such simple gestures left us speechless.
We rocked together and dipped into infinite together, but it never got out of hand. When she wanted to, she could always pull me back down to earth, because she was the one in control.
I was always.
Drifting.
When we thrashed in circles I always felt the force of gravity stronger when I was on top. Some would say this was not news to them, but I still hold strong in saying that this was different. I was being pushed by gravity, sure, but I was being held firmly in place by her strong delicate hands.
I think she was afraid of being where I was. She didn't want to be strong.
"You like it best when you're on top," she says, trying hard to lie to herself. She believed it for a minute, but I knew it wasn't true.
"No," I corrected her, "you just like it best when you're invisible."
Her eyes beat with the drum of her heart and she.
Got out from under me.
For one instant she lay on top. Her eyes were full of malice like I had never seen before. The power in her veins was running faster than any other, and the control was stretching and stuttering across her skin. She was full of power she knew of, yet had never wanted. I had never felt more afraid in all of my life.
She backed down again and.
Took to her precious books.
She was a strong woman. Stronger than any I had ever known. Strong was different than power, though, and I never again mistrusted her judgment of being afraid of that power.
In her books she was strong.
On top she was powerful.
While I never knew the difference until then, I figured she.
Had always.
Known.
She was.
Afraid of it.