Cynics on Valentines Day love to share.
Disclaimer: My name, unfortunately, is not J.K. Rowling
My Utter Contempt for the Color Pink
Waking up this morning was not as hard to do as it was on pervious days. I simply rolled out of bed and into my slippers. I glanced out my bedroom window briefly, it was still dark out. And even though it was dark I did not bother turning any lights on it as I walked through the hallway and into my kitchen.
My tea was scalding hot today. I burnt my tongue and my lips on it. I pressed my cool fingers to my mouth briefly before cooling it down and applying some fast-acting lip rejuvenating lip gloss. I sat at the table, alone, with my tea that was once to hot, a scone that was now just right. I ate them in silence, wiping the crumbs on a napkin when I was finished.
I did not bother changing at all. I put on a pair of purple socks and my trainers, and in my night shirt and pants, apperated to the pitch. I was early; the only light on was in coach's office. I walked to the locker room slowly. The sun was finally starting to come out. The sky was lit a flaming orange. I shuddered darkly and quickened my pace.
There are no windows in the locker room, for obvious reasons. I really appreciated that was I pushed open the door only to shudder more. The locker room was draped with pink streamers and floating hearts and pink and red confetti of all kinds floating through the air.
The words hung in the air like a sick reminder to those of us who are alone.
Happy Valentines Day.
I sighed and shook my head. Everywhere I turned there was something horribly pink. I was reminded with a sudden lurch of his pink robes and bile rose violently in my throat. I forced it down just as I forced away the streamers to open my locker.
But the locker room's interior decorating extended into my locker as well. I doubted mine was the only one. Pink feathers and a chocolate hearts hung inside and swirled and twirled in a wind that wasn't there. There was only one girl on the team that would do this. I looked over to the locker that was most vividly decorated. Jane Simony was in a loving, committed relationship and loved this holiday almost as much as she loved her boyfriend, Jerome.
You know, relationships do imply commitment, but then again, so does insanity. The other team members trickled in. My fellow singles suppressed groans of disgust while those waiting for the big men in white robes with the big butterfly nets sighed happily.
Practice was a parade of pink. Pink is the color that clouds my mind and clashes with my thoughts. It reminded me of him. A lot of things remind me of him. Those are things that I choose to ignore now. Like the color pink; pink was the color of his work robes.
I decided not to stay and listen to Jane chatter about her plans for tonight. Instead I apperated to my flat and showered. I threw on a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt. As I was about to sit down there was an unmistakable crack and I was face to face with the one person I had tried to ignore the most, but couldn't.
George and I both suffered a loss that day. Fred was dead. I lost the love of my life. George lost his other half. We were two broken people, two broken hearts and souls, that reminded each other too much of him.
I avoided Diagon Alley for the longest time. George stopped coming over for lunch. For a month after the funeral this went on. Then, his girlfriend broke up with him, and he had no where else to go, so he came to me. And staying away from each other has been next to impossible. In more than one way.
That day we drank a bottle of firewhisky and fell into bed together. The next day we cried over Fred together. The day after that we drank more firewhisky, cried even more about Fred, and fell into bed together.
It was a habit that we couldn't break. I've tried dating, but I can't. Fred lingered in my mind of course, but now George's face hovered even more prominently than Fred's. He said that it was similar with him when he tried to date girls. We had fallen in love against our wills.
"I know you're thinking about him," George said softly. He held out his hands and my fingers curled around his. His thumb stroked my knuckles lovingly.
"We would've been in Australia right now," I sighed. I brought George's hand to my lips and kissed his wrist. "But I'm happy you're here with me now," He smiled faintly and brought me close; he kissed the top of my hand.
"He may not appreciate this if he were alive, but since he's…well, not, I think he'd be glad that it ended up being you and me," I nodded. I think he was absolutely right. If Fred were alive, well, I'd be with Fred right now. But since Fred is dead, I should be moving on (which I am). I think Fred would be glad that I choose to love his brother, his other half, instead of someone else.
"Being together is not an insult to his memory, Angel," George whispered against my neck, "It's the exact opposite. The two people that loved him most in the world were brought together by him. He'll never, ever be forgotten now,"
George was right. My Fred's soul would live on. We'd tell his stories, and we'd share his goals and dreams that he never got to accomplish. Together we understood him better than if we were apart. Our love for the red haired mischievous man would all but bring him back from the dead.
"You know, George, just because you're here doesn't make me love this holiday more,"
"And what, pray-tell, is that supposed to mean, Angelina?"
"I hate pink, George,"
"You…hate…pink…?" George repeated me, utterly confused. His eyes flashed to his robes for a moment and then back at me.
"I despise it. With a burning passion, I hate it so. It's such a cheery, baby, girly, flashy color. It makes me nauseous," I looked pointedly at George's robes.
"I won't burn them, if that's what you're asking me to do. Fred picked out the color, not me! Argue with him!" George looked up and waved to the ceiling, "Hi, Gred!"
"If you won't burn them at least take them off,"
"No. I like paying homage to good ol' Saint Valentine,"
"Wanker,"
"Bloody, bitch,"
"Well if you won't burn them or take them off at least accompany me to harass lovely happy couples,"
"No, I'm afraid I can't let you do that,"
"George!"
"Tell me why you hate pink so much, then,"
"I did. I hate Valentines Day because I can't stand other people being mushy with each other. However if I were to go out and be mushy, that would be alright,"
"So you want me to take you out so we can be mushy together and make fun of other mushy couples?"
"Precisely,"
"Well, you're going to have to wait a few hours then,"
"Geo-rge! Why not now?"
"Because I have to work! But don't worry you pretty little head, you sodding bitch, I made us reservations for a restaurant tonight. No more Molly Weasley food on Valentines Day for you and me!"
"Really? Fantastic! What shall I wear?"
"Pink!"
"I don't own anything pink, you sodding git! Did you not just listen to how I feel about that color?"
"You can borrow something of mine. Now getting going to the bedroom or I'll be late for my shift, let's go, chip chop."
And we shagged and he went back to work, and then he came back and we shagged, and we went out to eat and then we shagged and in the morning George couldn't find his pink robes and blamed me.
Let's just say that little houseelves came into my house and stole them last night, shall we?
It started off in my head as really sad but then I decided to end it on a happy note.
Review, loves?