Ooooooooooooooooooo

Cigarette Smoke

Ooooooooooooooooooo

Cigarette smoke. Cigarette smoke, spice and musk. It's what you've always smelled like. You're angry with me again. For what, I'm not quite sure. Some hurtful comment I hadn't thought twice about. Strange isn't it? How our roles have changed since Hogwarts. You used to be the one to say such horrible things. Just to get a rise. And now here I am. Lying in our bed. Alone. You're out with your friends. Drinking. Talking about their girlfriends and your boyfriend and how subs are too emotional.

We never talk anymore. Sometimes I think you don't even remember my name. I'm not 'babe' or 'angel' or 'sweetcakes'. And those names do not turn me on. They make you sound like a cheap pimp. I can imagine you in a big furry purple hat and velvet suit. Of course you'd never wear anything like that. You'd go on and on about how the purple clashes with your blonde hair or fair complexion. I couldn't give a damn, to be honest.

But that's our problem of late, isn't it? I'm honest and you don't want to hear it. I feel like screaming. But you hate loud noises. So I'm silent. I read a poem today. It was in one of your new age poetry books. Most of them were crap, but one I found….I liked.

'Toast'

I burnt the toast this morning

And you cried while scrapping away the black.

Little dead bird, curled in on its broken wing

And you shrug as you tell me to toss it away.

Watching bubbles rise in your champagne

And you sigh as I avoid your gaze.

What are time and space but tools to breed hate?

A love so comfortable and complete

Wasted away under the summer's sun.

And now as the leaves turn and the rains fall

A love full of passion, heat, and arrogance

I desire that love. Comfort be damned.

What happened to us? We fought and fucked and loved! And we did it all with such passion! And now. How long has it been? Am I that disgusting to you? Am I not in the same resemblance of when we first met? Of course I am older. But only twenty one. I'm not yet in a wheel chair, Malfoy.

And I'm pretty sure I'm going crazy. Like now. I'm alone in our bed. Thinking about talking to you. Like you were here! Does that make sense? Doesn't matter. He'll be here soon and by then it'll be too late to take any of it back.

He doesn't even knock. Just walks into our bed room like he owns it. His brown eyes follow my movement as I slowly stand and saunter over to him. I run my hand up his arm, across his broad shoulders, down his back….

Oliver Wood. Still just as handsome as he was at Hogwarts. He's wanted me for ages. Another thing that bothers me. When you first found out, you were furious. Possessive. I loved it. And now, on the rare occasion it's mentioned, you laugh. Like there's no chance anyone could really be attracted to me.

He's tall. Six foot easy. A good three inches taller than myself. He's shorter than you. He'd be staring at your nose. He smells like sandal wood and some expensive cologne. I'm a little startled to notice that he's already down to his boxers and that my shirt has disappeared. He works fast. He notices me staring at the plain platinum band on my fourth finger.

"Take it off." His voice is rough and his hands calloused. Not at all like yours. I shake my head, but he grabs my hand anyways and tugs it off. There's a slight red ring on the skin from where I haven't taken it off in so long.

He's pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to my neck and lowering me to the bed, all the while tugging roughly on my pants. You were never rough. I vaguely wonder if it'll hurt with Oliver. If he'll put any thought into my pleasure from this experience. Oliver has one hand on my chest, effectively holding me down, while he reaches into the pocket of his jacket with the other. He pulls out some huge, metal vibrating device and I shake my head. Firmly.

"No. No Oliver." He suddenly doesn't understand English. I push his hand away and he puts it back, closer to my throat this time and gives it a non-too gently squeeze.

I miss you. I miss your scent and the way your soft hands cradle my face and the way you talk to me while placing kisses over my chest and down to my hip bones. You always complain they stick out to far. They poke you when you try to cuddle. Your smile and your hot breath on my neck. I miss you.

But that's what all this is about, isn't it? I miss you so I decide to hurt you. Now I've only hurt myself. I don't know when you'll be back. But he has me on my stomach, holding me down and tugging at my boxers, getting frustrated. Suddenly the tugging stops. The bed moves slightly and I hear a muffled scream before the sound of a fist meeting flesh. Mmhm, your home early.

The front door slams in the distance and just a quickly as you left, your back. Your tall frame standing in the door way, just staring at me in the dark. I'm sitting with my back to the headrest now. Legs pulled up and arms wrapped around them. Your breathing heavy. You're mad. Of course you are. You were mad to begin with. I remember why now. I said I was unhappy. Unhappy.

You've moved. Picked up my wedding ring that had been thrown to the floor. Now you're on your knees, sliding the ring back up my thin finger. You just crouch there, staring at my hand.

"I'll kill him." You're so very serious that I feel like laughing. You stand and begin to walk away and I don't want you to leave. Not even to kill Oliver.

"Wait! Just…just come sit with me. Please." You sit on the edge of the bed, your arse barely touching my toes. Cigarette smoke, spice and musk. You smell so good. Why am I crying? "Are you mad at me?"

Stupid question, really. But people have a tendency to ask stupid questions when their emotional. Your tense, still riled up and ready to kill someone. I place a hand on your shoulder and see you relax instantly.

"No…I'm not mad at you Harry. But we have some…problems. Serious problems we need to work through. Next time you decide to….do whatever that was, tell me. Don't call on the first bastard that you find."

"It won't ever happen again. It didn't even happen this time." I sound tired. I am, I guess. Hadn't really thought about it. You're pulling your shoes off. Climbing into bed. Is it really over? Almost cheated. Almost got raped. Almost cared.

And just as quick, it's over. Back to not touching and not talking and not eating. You're facing my back as I curl in on myself. I can feel your hand running up my back, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck.

You've pulled the blankets up to cover us now. I wasn't shivering with cold, but I don't feel like explaining myself. I bury my face in a pillow as the clock chimes midnight and I whisper quietly to myself, 'Happy birthday Harry.'

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A/N- I don't own Harry Potter or Toast.