This is a drabble I wrote as part of an RP I'm in. It's a Harry Potter RP, but both of the characters are OCs. It's fairly self explanatory. All reviews and critique on how I can better myself as a writer is much appreciated, but do keep in mind a majority of this was written on a cranberry juice buzz in the wee hours of the morning. With that in mind, enjoy!

It was the ball, the last one of the year. If he was going to go alone he usually didn't bother at all, but the tux was rented and the date had been saved for weeks. Plus, he didn't think he could stand laying on this bed for another day, staring at the same crack in the ceiling for hours and hours more. He knew eventually he'd have to greet the outside world, and when he did, he'd have to deal with being comforted, being glared at, being talked about behind his back. He'd have to deal with her.

He strolled in late, the low candles in the Great Hall flicking to give the room a dim, sultry lighting. Couples held each other as the crowd on the floor swayed in every direction, feet taking them in little circles as the band, playing where the staff table usually sat, strummed out a simple, romantic tune. Disgusted with the obvious over attempt at creating the couple-y mood, he collapsed on a chair, both elbows resting on the seat behind him.

This used to be his thing. Once upon a week ago, he'd have been on that floor with… with her, swaying it out with the rest of them. But staring out at them all, he had to remind himself that that was over. He felt his throat thicken at the memory. They were done and it was his fault. Wasn't it? That was all that seemed clear about the situation. At least, that was all she'd made clear when she dumped his ass and ran off with his best friend.

But what had he done? He'd never cheated, he'd rarely lied. He was there when she needed him and gone when she yelled. He wanted answers. For once, he wanted things to go his way. But when had he ever been dealt that card?

"Marcus?"

He cringed at the voice, shutting his eyes. For a moment he thought it was his cruel imagination, conjuring up the worst to hurt him. The sound of her voice, the sweet, worried tone only a fool would believe but only a hero could see through. Everyone was a fool for Rafaela.

"Rafae." He used pet name out of habit, his voice stiff like cardboard as he summoned the name past the string of spring loaded curse words threatening to shoot out him at any given moment. He swallowed the urge back. He felt her move to face him, and he dipped his head down. He couldn't look at her. Not now, not yet.

"Marc," She said in the same tone, his own name a stab in the heart. "Marc, please. Are you angry with me?" He could hear her biting her lip, and the thought alone was so excruciating, he flicked his eyes up to meet hers.

The effect was so painful and so instantaneous that in the moment their eyes met, he felt nearly suicidal. He didn't understand how one person could hurt him so terribly. How one person could make all the wrong choices and come out of it unscathed. And how he could go from being the most important thing in her life to a bit a trash on the side of the road.

"Am I angry with you?" He repeated, his voice low and dangerous. He felt like shouting at her, like kissing her, like sobbing, like running. His emotions were running in all different directions, the inner turmoil setting fire to every nerve in his system. As the rage and despair burned through him, he registered the passive glow in Rafaela's eyes, the lie.

"Am I angry?" He said again, the pitch rising in his voice. "No, no I'm fine with the fact you left me for my best friend, it's completely okay that you cheated on me. It's fine that you made me think you loved me for three years, all just to kick my heart in the ass. And I'm just fucking ecstatic that you lied. About everything."

It wasn't the ideal way to start a conversation, but they were the only words he felt like saying to her. Honestly, he was surprised they were speaking at all. He was surprised he hadn't given into one of his urges, and ran out the door the moment he heard her voice. Turned and sprinted back out the moment he walked through this door and imagined what he could be getting himself into.

"Marcus," She repeated, her voice completely unaffected. She was amazing. How did she act so completely in control? "I don't like it when you curse."

Marcus noticed a few people on the edge of earshot had turned around, looking at the two of them cautiously. He ignored them, the anger bubbling up higher and higher at her condescending tone. His eyes stung with the force of the anger, but he forced himself not to give into her mind games. This would be the last time she tried to control him.

"You lost the fucking right to tell me what to do when you fucked another guy." He said, the blunt words falling out of his mouth instantly. Finally, a flicker of emotion shot across her face like a lighting bolt. Something in her words struck her, and he saw her fumble with her facade.

Good riddance. He thought bitterly. He glared at her with cold, uncaring eyes, as he watched her begin to crumble. She bit her lip, looking at him with hurt eyes.

"Marc, stop it. You don't know what you're talking about. You're being terrible." She said, reaching forward to take his hand. He jerked back as if she was some sort of monster, dodging her hand by getting to his feet. They both straightened up, a small crowd around them. He felt his heart pounding in his ears as they stood facing eachother.

"Then explain!" He didn't bother to keep his volume in check as he shouted, and suddenly a small hush fell over nearby table, previously unaware of what was happening a few feet away. "Explain why you did this, Rafae, because I'm completely lost." He threw his hands up in exasperation, the honest words spilling out every hurt feeling he'd bottled up over the past week and a half. "Why did you give up on us? What did I do?"

And there was her breaking point. He saw fissure in her so carefully constructed mask as the tears started to form at the corners of her eyes, streaming down her face in black lines of salty makeup. She took a shaky breath and looked at him resignedly. "What what I supposed to do, Marc? You were never there for me!" She spat the words at him, and the force of the accusation shook a few tears to the floor.

He felt the emotion fade as the numbness crawled through him, stinging him drying like every muscle in his body had fallen asleep. Better asleep that in this agony. But the throbbing was there where his heart should have been, reminding him of all the reasons he should be at his knees in pain.

"I was always there for you." He contested, his voice shaking uncontrollably. "There wasn't a single time I wasn't there when you needed me." His finger shot straight down five feet from the ground, emphasizing each word with respective vertical jabs.

"Well that wasn't what I need!" She panicked, her cheeks stained with the black makeup. "You we're always there, Marc! You-" She broke off, a hand flying to her mouth, holding back sobs. "You s-smothered me, Marc! W-what was I supposed to d-do?"

He shook his head, trying to escape the madness for a moment as they stood here. He wasn't prepared for this, for her. The battlefield, the manipulation. He didn't feel like shouting anymore. He didn't feel like crying, or running, or living. Everything around him felt a bit hopeless, a bit darker. He looked up at her plainly, the wounded versus the liar.

"You were supposed to tell me. We were supposed to talk about these things." He pleaded quietly with her, but she shook her head in denial. "We were supposed to be in this together!" His voice picked up, forcing her to listen to his. One of her hands raised, her fingers grazing the egde of her face with her fingernails lightly as her head bowed, threatening to cover her ears and block him out. "Rafaela, why won't you listen to me!" He shouted, his voice echoing across the circle, and her chin lifted, revealing her agonized face.

"Marcus, I can't talk to you when you're like this." She whispered frailly, like a frightened child. He almost failed for a moment, widening his fingers and raised them halfway to his head in frustration before lowering them with a grimace. Why was she acting like this? Why was she so set against accepting the tiniest bit of responsibility for what she'd done to him? He thought of the simplest question there was, and felt it spilling out of her lips before she could get the chance to think it through fully.

"I thought that you loved… me?" The words tumbled out nearly incoherently, his voice weak. He was giving up. What was the point of fighting for her when she seemed to be begging for him to stop?

"Marcus, you were wrong." She said, emotions pouring through her voice that Marcus could no longer comprehend. Everything was the same boring tone of beige. She could have been vindictive, cheerful, afflicted, he wouldn't have known the difference. He stumbled backwards, feeling like his life had just been stripped of all meaning and purpose.

"Well, fuck you then." He said simply, the words giving him no satisfaction. They were nothing more than fact, a simple necessary statement like every other sentence he'd ever spoken. Meaningless. What impact had his words ever made? What meaning would they ever hold?

The crowd parted as he turned to finally run back through the doors of the Great Hall. He couldn't hear if she called after him of if she let him run, and didn't care regardless. He knew he should be mourning, he should be angry or devastated, or afraid, even, but he just felt dull. He felt broken.

Marcus Cascade had fallen apart.