Title: Misery
Author: Lenomdeplume
Disclaimer: JKR owns the characters. Cia own 'Gryffindor Red' which is just
bloody amazing.
Warnings: Eating disorders, angst, slash, self-mutilation
~~~~
Sometimes he watches him when no one is looking.
He likes to stare at him because, to him, he is beautiful. Many do not see his beauty the way he does. They think that his messy hair, his clumsiness and somewhat awkward frame are displeasing.
He is perfect in his imperfection.
He likes to see him hurt, to see angry but only because it reminds him that the beautiful creature is human, he can feel.
Sometimes he forgets that he is human.
He has make himself feel again, make himself feel alive.
He takes the glass shard and runs it along his skin over and over until the blood rushes to the surface to form tiny beads before finally flowing down his pale arms and onto the white marble floor of the bathroom. The contrast is beautiful. Deep red blood against the ethereal paleness of his skin.
Glorious Gryffindor red..
It seems so forbidden to have his obsession's color coming from his body. His arms throb with exquisite pain and he shuts his grey eyes for a brief moment allowing all the emotions to wash over him; pain, anger, loneliness, despair, and sadness.
There is always sadness.
His breathing becomes ragged and everything seems to blur as the tears come one after the other sliding almost regretfully down his cheeks. He does not bother to wipe them away, he never does. It is his moment after all, when he is away from the rest of the world, safe from the judging stares.
They will never understand.
Sometimes he likes to hit his head against the wall, just as he is doing now. It makes the voices stop, if only for a little while. He does not want to think anymore, it would be better to just forget. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is captivated by what he sees. A thin boy, a sad boy, sitting barely clothed. He can see the boy's bones.
It is horrible and it is beautiful.
What scare him the most are the boy's eyes.
They are dead.
If you look into them you will see nothing, If you look deep enough you will find only nothingness and maybe the barest hint of despair. He runs bloody hands along his protruding ribs to count them.
One.two...
No one seems to notice that he only picks at his food. No one seems to notice that he hasn't eaten in days.
Three.four...
He glances back at the haunting image and stops. Slowly, hesitantly, he begins to bend his shoulders back until his shoulder blades come in contact with each other. He does this again and again and again.
They look almost like wings.
Just like an angel.. An emaciated angel.
But he is no angel, and he knows that. Angels are pure, untainted. They are beautiful and he is not. The glorious Gryffindor red has blackened and there is nothing but a dull throbbing left as the voices return and he is consumed by the darkness.
He hopes it will never let him go. ~~~
Please Review, e-mail me , or IM me. Thank you.
~~~~
Sometimes he watches him when no one is looking.
He likes to stare at him because, to him, he is beautiful. Many do not see his beauty the way he does. They think that his messy hair, his clumsiness and somewhat awkward frame are displeasing.
He is perfect in his imperfection.
He likes to see him hurt, to see angry but only because it reminds him that the beautiful creature is human, he can feel.
Sometimes he forgets that he is human.
He has make himself feel again, make himself feel alive.
He takes the glass shard and runs it along his skin over and over until the blood rushes to the surface to form tiny beads before finally flowing down his pale arms and onto the white marble floor of the bathroom. The contrast is beautiful. Deep red blood against the ethereal paleness of his skin.
Glorious Gryffindor red..
It seems so forbidden to have his obsession's color coming from his body. His arms throb with exquisite pain and he shuts his grey eyes for a brief moment allowing all the emotions to wash over him; pain, anger, loneliness, despair, and sadness.
There is always sadness.
His breathing becomes ragged and everything seems to blur as the tears come one after the other sliding almost regretfully down his cheeks. He does not bother to wipe them away, he never does. It is his moment after all, when he is away from the rest of the world, safe from the judging stares.
They will never understand.
Sometimes he likes to hit his head against the wall, just as he is doing now. It makes the voices stop, if only for a little while. He does not want to think anymore, it would be better to just forget. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is captivated by what he sees. A thin boy, a sad boy, sitting barely clothed. He can see the boy's bones.
It is horrible and it is beautiful.
What scare him the most are the boy's eyes.
They are dead.
If you look into them you will see nothing, If you look deep enough you will find only nothingness and maybe the barest hint of despair. He runs bloody hands along his protruding ribs to count them.
One.two...
No one seems to notice that he only picks at his food. No one seems to notice that he hasn't eaten in days.
Three.four...
He glances back at the haunting image and stops. Slowly, hesitantly, he begins to bend his shoulders back until his shoulder blades come in contact with each other. He does this again and again and again.
They look almost like wings.
Just like an angel.. An emaciated angel.
But he is no angel, and he knows that. Angels are pure, untainted. They are beautiful and he is not. The glorious Gryffindor red has blackened and there is nothing but a dull throbbing left as the voices return and he is consumed by the darkness.
He hopes it will never let him go. ~~~
Please Review, e-mail me , or IM me. Thank you.