Broken and Left Behind
The two of you had been owling since before you could remember. It had never been frequent, just a 'this is my life at the moment' letter every few months.
You've had a crush on him forever. Now, you're the best of friends with him. Attending his graduation, laughing as his normally turquoise hair turns pink as your family cheers as he walks the stage.
You've been owling him everyday fro the past few week. So he surprises you. He brings you a shiny white box- an iphone he calls it. Now you two can talk instantly and your owl won't die from exhaustion and you won't have to keep buying more quills and ink.
He flirts with you and you flirt back. He mercilessly takes your breath away and you decide you never want it back. You show the only person you've told a bout him- your older cousin, she's the big sister you never had. She's positive he likes you and you grin like a bloody idiot the rest of the week.
Your mum and dad find out and they're less than pleased but you don't care. What they say doesn't matter anymore. They say he's too old for you. He's 18 and you're 15 and he's don't with seventh year and going into the real world. He's leaving you behind they say, you can't compete with the older girls. But you're in love you say, he's your Romeo and you're his Juliet, and Merlin knows the first lot never had it easy. They're disappointed in you but nothing can burst your bubble.
But then everything crashes down. He stops talking to you and you can't help thinking that you did something wrong. You try to message him, you owl him, but nothing comes for days. Then you get an owl five days after he stopp[ed speaking to you. There are only three words:
I can't anymore.
Your heat stops. You cant breathe. The world starts spinning and you collapse in a mess of tears and tendrils of hair splayed out behind you. You scream into you pillow. You scream and scream until you can't anymore. Your heart is torn, no, completely destroyed.
You run to your fireplace and floo to your cousin. She's completely surprised when she finds you sitting in her flat, green soot stuck to old tear paths while new tears create cracks so very like the ones on your heart. She doesn't ask questions, just simply holds you as your screams fill the silence that seems to surround you. You finally pull yourself together to say, 'I thought he loved me.' Her reply is a simple 'I know' as she pushes your hair back from your face. You remember, as she draws you a bath and tells you to stay as long as you like, why she's your favorite cousin.
She never asks questions or pushes for answers. She simply waits until you're ready to tell her without complaint.
You spill everything to her, even how you love him, you've never told anyone else, let along him. And when saying his name becomes too painful, she comes up with 'You-Kow-Who.' This brings a giggle to your lips since the first You-Know-Who was so evil, but you reckon your 'You-Know-Who' is too. The two of you decide that breaking hearts should be an unforgiveable as well, besides, four is a better number than three (it was his favorite number.)
You finally go home after a week. Your 'screw him' mentality making you feel more in control of your life. You decide that there's no bloody way you're ever reading Romeo and Juliet again. You do rather well, "You-Know-Who' isn't constantly on your mind. Until you find out the one question that seemed to have burned itself into your mind: why.
Merlin knows that you have a billion or two cousins, what he didn't know is that one would be apart of breaking your heart.
She's gorgeous- blonde hair, icy blue eyes, the works. You could never complete with your long, unruly mane, your green eyes, and too long legs. She's perfect and you're not, she's got him and you, well, don't.
Your family is so happy for them- the 'perfect couple' they say. They make quite a pair, but you think he'll always look better with you. You feel pure hatred as she parades around with him and pure agony when he kisses her.
There's only one thing to do- you run. Out of the house and into the forest you know so well. You hide in the only secret spot you never told him about and you cry and cry until your throat is hoarse and your eyes are dry.
You go home in the middle of the night, walking silently up the stairs to your room only to find him waiting there, head in his hands. He looks up into your red-eyed, puffy face and suddenly jumps up. He grabs your shoulders, demands to know where you went and why. You remain silent. He lets go and you push him out of your room.
You hear him slump down to the floor as you walk to your cupboard. You've packed every article of clothing you won, every shoe, everything, well everything except the ring he gave you when you turned 13, the one you had never taken off.
You know him well enough to know that he's fallen asleep by the time you're done. You walk out of the house and into the night.
It's been months, you've been travelling the world, only your favorite cousin knows where you are.
You're currently in France, enjoying the gorgeous sight and the boys. Merlin, there had been so many boys but not one had lasted more than a week. You tell yourself it's because they don't fit your life but you know it's because they don't have turquoise hair and you're forced to admit that you've always been rubbish at lying to yourself.
That dear cousin of yours keeps you updated on the family events but you nearly drop the most recent letter when your read that he's getting married to that slag of a cousin of yours. To top it off, you read that the slay wants you in the wedding since you're his 'best friend' and he 'misses you.'
The next thing you know, you've packed your bags and you're on the train going home (you rather like muggle travel) and you walk home since no one in your world has a telephone and knows how to use it if they actually have one.
You knock when you reach the front door to be suddenly engulfed in a hug from your mum. She scolds you for running away but her hearts not in it because she's so bloody relieved that you're back, if not thinner than the last time she saw you.
You head to your old room and unpack. Nothing seems to have changed and a small smile comes to your face. (What you fail to notice is that the ring is missing from your nightstand, where you left it the night you ran away.) You walk down the stairs to see a man with somewhat shaggy brown hair speaking quietly to your mum. You accidentally step on the stair that's always creaked. He turns and it's him, his turquoise hair no where in sight. He whispers your name, but he might as well have screamed it as your stumble back and run up the stairs, back to your room.
You hear his heavy foot steps run up after you and you sit on your window seat and stare out at the forest and he bangs open your door. He wants to know 'where the bloody hell you've been.' You ignore his questing by saying he's changed his hair. He accuses you of changing the subject just like you always do. You offer him a humourless laugh and tell him to simply 'shove off.'
He yells that he's a right to know where you've been. You retort that he doesn't, he isn't your parent and he bloody well isn't your boyfriend either. He doesn't respond, he simply storms out of your room and slams the door as he leaves. You let yourself breathe again. His storming away makes you want to run away again but, you know that avoiding the problem would only make it worse. You grab your purse; throw on that fabulous dress you got in Paris, a pair of heels and walk down stairs. You kiss your shocked father as you pass him and walk once more out of the door and into the night.
You eventually come back home, head pounding, heels in your hand. You stumble up the stairs and collapse on your bed, tears running down your face and yet you haven't the faintest idea why. You remember why you like firewhiskey- it numbs everything and makes you forget for a little while even though it makes your feel like hell the next day.
The sunlight hurts and yet you welcome the pain with open arms, anything is better than feeling empty, lonely, and heart broken. But you don't have a chance to wallow in your own misery since The Slag has shown up and giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek and starts spewing out all of the wedding plans. She wants to go over the colour scheme with you, wants to know what you think of her dress. She asks you if he'll like this or that or what you think he'll like for the wedding night. What kind of bikini should she wear to the honeymoon, does he even like bikinis?
You feel sick, and not just from everything you had to drink last night. Simply lying about being 'oh so happy' for the slag makes you wonder if the hat was right for thinking you would do well in Slytherin, your lying skills have become rather superior. But then you remember that you're being brave right now and you know deep down that Gryffindor was really the right place for you. A pair of fingers snap in your face, you realise that you haven't been listening to the slag while you were silently musing. You promptly vomit on her shoes.
You've been going to every food tasting, dress fitting, every wedding thing the slag can drag you to for the past week. You've been a perfect lady, complimenting her on her dress (even though you think she looks like a cream puff), and even complying to the God awful bubble gum pink bridesmaids dresses she's insisting on (even though it clashes with you and everyone else's hair.)
You don't make a fuss about anything and it drives him mad and you know it. You used to argue and protest against everything presented to you growing up. You didn't wear the stripped dress your aunt made you, you screamed about it until it suddenly changed to the colour you wanted it to be. You let your hair grow past your bum because you knew it annoyed your cousins to pieces because you were the youngest and yet had the longest hair of the lot. You refused to wear make up and paint your nails by 12. You never did anything you were told, you always were making trouble. And now the quiet, demure, agreeing person you were pretending to be was driving him up the walls. But you smiled all the more the deeper his scowl became.
The day of the wedding was simply a disaster. The slag had all of the bridesmaids up at the crack of dawn. The entire lot of you had to sit and watch her get her hair and make up done because she simply couldn't do anything without an audience. You were grateful the moment the make up artist grabbed you and sat you down. Luckily you had convinced the slag to go for a more natural look for you and the girls, did want the lot of us to shine more than her on her big day (more like the lot of us didn't need to look even more like bloody clowns.) Your hair took forever since the unruly mane, you had taken to calling it, was so thick. But in the end you hair soft ringlets and well you looked more like the you from Paris that you hadn't seen for a few short weeks.
It went off without a hitch, he was married to the slag and you wished them the best. All through the night, he tried to speak with you but you allowed yourself to be whisked away to the dance floor by anyone who was willing.
You hugged your favorite cousin, who gave you a soft, sympathetic and yet knowing smile, before you snuck out early from the reception. You apparated back home, thankful that the 'of age' law had been changed to 15. Running to your room, you shoved all of your belongings back into your bags (minus the bridesmaids dress and matching shoes from hell) and you walked out of your front door and into the night for the third time in your life.
Three years had passed and you still hadn't gone home. You were 18 and free and travelling the world. You were determined to see every country by the time you were 19. The travelling kept your mind off of things, that favorite cousin of yours was still the only one who knew exactly where you were. She kept you in tune with the happenings of everyone in the family, well almost everyone. You sent her a charm depicting one of the sites for every country you had been to in return.
You were almost over him, you realized that nothing would've ever come from that and you had accepted it. Or at least you thought you had. But you couldn't deny the 'whoop' you gave when you read that they'd gotten a divorce (she'd cheated of course; there was a reason you mentally referred to her as the slag.)
You were on the train the next day.
Your arrival was unexpected of course. Three years had gone by and you hadn't come home for any weddings or birthdays. But there you were in all of your Parisian glory (you couldn't stay away from Paris, they understood pain) and you walked into your childhood home and up to your room to find him there once again in your room but this time asleep on your bed.
He was a bloody mess when you woke him up- a blubbering, sobbing, grovelling mess on his knees begging you to forgive him. And here as he cries into your knees that you know you'll never really be over him. You're lying skills aren't quite as good as you had thought. You kiss him hesitantly and take his hands and you pull him down onto the bed with you and you both fall asleep, his arms around you, and you realize, as you fall towards the land of dreams, that this is the first time you've really slept since the first night you walked out the door.
Time passes and you find yourself married, to him of course. You both were so broken and left behind that the only way to be whole was to be together, no matter how much it bloody hurt at first. And you realize as you kiss him for the millionth or two billionth time that if you hadn't run away, you don't know where you'd be. And so, even though you had been broken and left behind, the only one who could fix you was the one who needed saving himself.