Bitter Tangerines
By Nyx
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The peel is cold against my fingers as I push a fingernail through the tangerine's thick skin, as I pull viciously. It comes off, first in sections, then in larger chunks. It feels like - like Cedric's skin did, almost, on the night of the Yule Ball.
Nobody realizes that that night he told me he loved me. A beautiful house, he told me, a house by the sea and fruit trees around it, with two little children with brown hair and Asian eyes; the star Quidditch players, the two famous Seekers, official and reserve - it wouldn't matter who was which. Our kids would be Gryffindors, a nice compromise between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and they'd take the Quidditch team by storm. Head boy and head girl, prefects, perfect angels. He was only daydreaming, but I couldn't find it in me to not perpetuate the dream.
I put my hand on his face - it felt like the tangerine, only a little bit stubbly, like he had forgotten to shave before the ball. I liked it like that - liked it, but not enough to feel the same way as he did. "Yes," I said. "It would be perfect." He didn't catch the 'would,' and I didn't want him to - he can have this one night, I remembered telling myself. Tomorrow I'll tell him the truth, if it ever comes up again.
The fruit's flesh peels into pieces easily, separating with no more than a gentle movement. Lives can be like that; this piece my school, this piece my family, this piece my friends. I didn't have a separate piece for Cedric, although I'm sure he had one for me; he was simply a friend, an acquaintance. Pieces of my life. There's white peel on it, and I ignore the fact that they aren't perfect. Perfect, perfect Cho, yet I still have white on my tangerine pieces. It strikes me funny, but all I can do is smile wanly.
With a quick hand movement I practically toss the first piece past my lips, feeling the slightly rough texture before biting into it. The juice fills my mouth; my eyes water. A bitter taste, one that shouldn't be there; glancing back at the peel, it's greenish in places. Damn house-elves. I chew and swallow, staring into the fire, deciding that it's not worth the effort to find another one.
Bitter tangerines, a pervasive taste in my mouth. Cedric's gone, now, believing the lies that I told him. He shouldn't be dead, and I shouldn't be alive. I'll never be able to make things right anymore - never be able to comfort or be comforted, never be able to make sure that he moves on. I'll get my comeuppance when I die, I know - I'll be there in Heaven, and he'll smile at me, and I'll just turn away. It will kill my heart. It already has begun. The next piece is duly eaten, sending shivers down my spine. The next. It's like what my life will be.
Peel, juice, flesh, cold, biting. A fruit come from the daydream that Cedric will never see come to fruition, reminding me of my subtle betrayal of him, reminding me of the stockings hung by the fireplace at home, making me think that next year he won't hang a stocking. I always got tangerines. It was traditional. I'll never eat one again; now, they'll always be bitter.
And my watering eyes spill over as I begin to silently cry.
-----finis 1/1
A/N: Thank you to Firebolt for the title - oh, and our friendly local D.A. for giving me the dang bitter tangerine in the first place ^_^.
Disclaimer: Cho and Cedric, sadly, are not mine.