I thought that you loved me but I guess I was wrong. I thought you were my friend, but I guess I was wrong. I thought I could trust you, but I guess I was wrong. You've been lying to me now for seven years, and I'm sick of it. Did you really think that I could not tell? Did you really believe I was that blind? You must have, because you've been screwing me over more times than I can count, and you've never said sorry, once. Never. I thought that at first, it might have just been an honest mistake, that you wouldn't do it again, that you were embarrassed it happened, were drunk or something, so I never mentioned it. But then I watched you carry on, guiltless. I don't believe it. I don't believe you, but it is true.
I have you. You are mine. I am yours, it should have been so perfect, but why isn't it? Is it because you aren't mine? Is that it? Am I not good enough for you? Or are you too good for me? Is it both? No. See, you never would have said yes, if that were the case. Another lie, our marriage. It makes me feel sick. What could he give you that I could not? Was it because he was off-limits? Was it because he was a bad boy, forbidden fruit? I don't understand. At Hogwarts, you hated him, and he hated you just as much back. What changed? Was it you, or was it me?
Is this my fault? Is it because I didn't spend all my spare time on you, didn't pay enough attention, didn't make you feel beautiful enough, didn't touch you gently enough? Am I to blame? I ask myself these questions as I lay next to you, late at night, images of him touching you, caressing you, feeling you flowing through my head, nightmares. I don't want to dream anymore, is that so much to ask?
I don't think you understand me. I see your face screw up in puzzlement when I say that I don't feel in the mood tonight, or when I take a day off work because I can't stop my crying over something else of his I found. "Are you ok?" you ask, your gentle face, just for a moment, masking everything you've done against me, and for that single moment, I feel like things are back to the way they were before him. I feel weak. It's your fault. You've changed me so much that when I look in the mirror, I can barely tell it is I.
The alarm screams again. I could just so easily roll over and go back to bed, back to dreams of you and him together, but I can't. I have babies to feed. What am I going to tell them when they're older? Why won't you be around? He'll be your stepfather, but I'm telling you now, don't think that is going to happen. I've fought too hard, gone through too much in life just for my kids to let them slip right through my fingers, like sand in the wind. I'll fight tooth and nail before I give in. Its something I can still feel passion about. They almost prove that I am still alive, that I am not just a shell, at least, not yet. Its strange, you helped make them, but they aren't yours. I sometimes wonder if you even remember that they are there. You are that absorbed into him, dreaming. I can tell when your eyes, such beautiful eyes, glaze over and I know that's when you think of him instead of me.
It always is him instead of me. I'm so jealous. You should be mine.
You know, I always thought you were perfect. I knew from the moment I met you that I loved you. I knew you did too, I could see it in your eyes. But we never really realised it then, well you don't when you're kids. The day we were married was probably the happiest in my life. I thought that you would love me forever. I wonder if when you're with him, do you think of me? I'm laughing as I think this now. How could I hold such high a hope with such a fierce determination? I wonder though, if you don't think of me when you're with him, do you still love me?
What am I saying? I already know most of the answers to these questions. No, you don't think of me. No, you don't love me anymore. Yes, you've moved on. Yes, you're happy now. I wanted to be happy but you had to go and take that away didn't you. I'm so glad that everyone feels it is ok to sacrifice me. I'm not some toy, I'm not some bloody puppet in a play that'll have a happy ending. I'm real, I'm scared and nothing's going right anymore. I thought it would. I remember watching Voldemort die with a savage intensity, after all he had done to me, messing with my head, my friends, my life. I thought, with him gone, things would get better and things would change. I guess that they did change. Looking back, I think I was happier when he was still alive. Maybe this is his revenge? I wouldn't be surprised but then, nothing surprises me anymore. I'm jaded.
That was the night you proposed. Do you remember? The battle was over; we were all in the Common Room together. Luna had sneaked in, to be with us all, and I remember thinking that this was the start of something new. The fire was chuckling merrily; it was so warm I was drowsy. You asked me if I'd marry you and I thought that I was dreaming, I was.
There's blood on my hand. I wonder how it got there. It's dripping onto my paper, and hurts when I write to you, like I am doing now. Sorry about the droplets on the paper. It would be easy enough to use magic to clean it, but then, this makes it mine. This will make you remember me. I could take my own life now you know? Nobody would realise until it was too late. I can still remember how to cast that curse you know, and its not like I have to live for anything, other than the kids, but when I look at them, even though they are mine, I see you. It's driving me mad, I can see your face, your eyes in them. They are not enough sometimes. I'm falling apart. I'm broken. I've kept this façade up for so long. I'm impressed with myself actually because nobody has suspected a thing. I suppose I've spent my whole life pretending that I'm something I'm not, it doesn't feel any different. I take lies, and warp them into some twisted type of truth. Nobody has noticed. It saddens me, but its nobodies fault except yours.
I can smell vanilla. It reminds me of you, you know? Its sweet, tempting and lingers on, like a drug. Its so sweet, it demands you to smell more, to drink in all you can, and even when you do, you still want more. It's the perfect scent to describe you. Like a drug, you make, made me want more of you every time you breathed. I could taste it in your kisses, very faintly, but it was there. Either that, or I'm imagining things, which to be honest, is more likely the truth. When was the last time you kissed me? Do you remember because I for one certainly don't.
I've made up my mind. I'm running away. I'm too strong to kill myself, but too weak to stay and watch you live while I die inside. I'm running away, and I doubt that you will ever find me. I'm taking the kids with me, and that will be your punishment. I hope that we are the price he asks for, because that's how much he's asking, I wonder what people will say when they find out. The press will have a field day. I've already written letters to everyone else, telling them what they need to know. One day maybe, I'll come back. You won't forgive me, I know, but then, I don't forgive you either. I'm just sorry that it has to be this way, you know? I'm just sorry that we couldn't quite make it. I'll still blame myself, I'll still have the nightmares, but over time, they'll fade, and eventually, I won't love you anymore. The kids are all I need, even though at times, they will remind me of you.
Tell everyone that I couldn't keep this façade up anymore.
I do still love you. It's just that you don't love me.
Love Me.
The figure hurried about, gathering what few things they would need. Hoisting a backpack over his shoulder, he picked up his young son, holding him in one arm, and picking up his screaming sister in the other. Together, they looked around their house one last time. This really was the end. He had no idea where to go, or where he would up. He didn't care as long as it was as far away as possible. He laughed to himself, though it was a laugh without any trace of humour. As he turned to apparate away, the redheaded woman burst through the door. Brown eyes widened and met a pair of green.
"Harry...?" the woman asked, looking puzzled at her husband with her children, the younger of which was screaming away in one arm. What was going on?
The man spat. "Tell Draco that this was the promised price. As agreed."