Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling, I would not be writing this. I would be off shoe shopping, or something. SHOES!! I love shoes. Shoes are like, the bane of my existence. They are my lovers. I will marry a shoe. And J.K. Rowling would probably never obsess over shoes. She's just cool like that. So, obviously, I'm not her.
I Don't Mind
Dean groans as he pulls out of me, whimpering at the loss of contact. He collapses on top of me, panting. I am whimpering too, but for a different reason. That had hurt. But I don't mind. I am willing to go through it for Dean.
My Dean. I love him, I know I do. But I also know that he doesn't love me. I also know that he's just using me.
But I don't mind. Not a bit. I don't mind that he's always on top. I don't mind that he has never once made me come. I don't mind that I always have to wank off after he leaves, imagining him with me, stroking my back as he whispers sweet nothings in my ears and pulling his nimble fingers through my hair. I don't mind that I cry after I return to reality, thinking of Dean and how he uses me, while sobbing into my pillow for the rest of the night. I don't mind. Not a bit.
Oh no. Just thinking about this is making me cry now, while Dean is still breathing heavily on top of me. No. This wasn't supposed to happen. Now is the time that I get to enjoy Dean. I am supposed to be pretending I came (he never notices), and pretending that we were making love, and now we would fall asleep together. I'm not supposed to be crying.
"Neville?"
Oh, no, he noticed. Now he's going to make fun of me for being a loser who cries after they just had sex. It was great while it lasted. He's going to leave me now, I know it. Well, I guess he can't exactly leave me, because we weren't exactly together anyway. In fact he didn't actually talk to me at all during the day. He pretends I don't exist. I'm just his little toy, there when he wants me to be. To be used until I'm broken and unfixable. But again, I don't mind. As long as I can be close to him, I don't mind.
I wipe my eyes on the pillow under me quickly, but the tears brim over again anyway.
"W-What?" My voice breaks.
"Why are you crying?"
"N-No reason." I am sobbing in earnest now, not really thinking straight. In the back of my mind, I am grateful for the silencing charms we had put on the bed.
"No, really, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice concerned.
I let out a loud howl at that. Like he really cared about me.
"Neville! What's wrong?!" he asks again urgently, shaking my shoulder. "Did I hurt you, or...?"
"No, nothing," I whisper, whipping my eyes and producing a shaky smile. "I'm fine, really..."
Dean looks at me disbelievingly. "You don't seem fine." He seems to realize that he is still on my back, and shifts so he is lying beside me. "What's wrong? You can tell me, you know..."
At this point, my eyes have grown wide and I gape at him in shock; he has never treated me like this before.
Not this.
He is not going to pretend to care, then leave me.
"Please tell me, baby..."
No he did not. He did not call me his baby. Not when he just uses me.
This I do mind.
The floodgate broke down.
I gulp, and sit bolt upright.
"YOU! You're what's wrong! Every night you come here, use me, then leave! You don't even have to decency to make me come! So, why do I still, after all there weeks, still let you use me? Because I fucking love you, you idiot! And I hate myself for it I really do, but...I can't help loving you." I am bawling now, sniveling like the stupid loser I am.
Dean looks stunned.
I stare at him for one more second, and then lie slowly down on my side facing away from him. He eventually puts his hand on my back, stroking my spine slowly. My crying gradually recedes into small, silent tears. I hear Dean sigh, and get up from the bed. He comes around and looks at my tear streaked face. He leans down and kisses my lips softly. Just as I am starting to respond to the kiss, he breaks away.
"I'm so sorry, Neville..." he whispers.
"I don't mind," I say even softer. "I will always be able to forgive you. I love you."
He sighs, and parts the curtain.
He leaves.
I cry silently for the rest off the night.
The next day, Dean avoids me like the plague.
He doesn't come into my bed that night.
Or the next night.
Or the night after that.
Or ever again.
At graduation, he comes up to me.
We regard each other silently.
"I guess this is goodbye," I say quietly.
"Yes, goodbye. And good luck." He seems like he really means it.
"Same to you," I murmur.
I never saw Dean Thomas again. I never stopped loving him, either.
But I find that I don't mind. He would never be happy with me. I want him to be happy.
I don't mind.
A/N: Review, please! Comments would be appreciated. If you read my disclaimer, did you like my rant about shoes? Wow, now I really want to write a HP fanfic involving shoes...I should think about that...