In The Arms Of An Angel
Disclaimer:
I only own the unfamiliar things.
Authors Note:
Please know that this story is a dark one. It involves lots of violence and language.
Please Review if you want more.
Also, you may notice this story from somewhere before. It was written by me on my other PEN name, but everything got whipped out so I have to restore it.
Chapter 1
It was one of the stormiest nights of the year. Wind blew rough, lighting flashed dangerously, thunder roared, and rain fell from the sky, harder than ever before. The streets were pitch black, due to the black out. Each and every house, that was normally light, children running inside and outside all night long, were dark and empty. One house in particular, was always dark and empty. No matter what the day was. The neighbors never talked to them, fearing of them. Some people say they were witches, and studied black magic, if they only knew the half of it.
On the second story, middle window, a girl was staring outside. Her curtains were drawn back, and she stared out, watching the storm. Her dark brown locks fell around her shoulders, and her once bright amber eyes were emotionless, and dull. This girl was the one, Hermione Granger. She was now 16 years old, and lived on 45 Rowling Rd. It was a fairly large neighborhood, and very sociable. Only, Hermione wasn't a part in this world. Ever since last year, Hermione's father started drinking. Then, the drinking turned into abuse. Nobody knew about her father's abuse, and Hermione kept it that way. No matter how hard she tried, it never got better. And her mother wasn't any help.
She was staring straight, not even blinking when lighting flashed through the sky. A couple nights ago, her mother told her, Hermione, she was barley alive. Only the outside of once was. And that is how Hermione felt. Just something left behind empty, and soulless. Like she was just an illusion.
Pushing herself away from the window, Hermione made her way to her bathroom. When she got in, she locked the door and stepped up to the mirror above her sink. Each hand was on either side of the white porcelain sink. She didn't dare look in the mirror, afraid of what was really the reality. She sighed, and slowly lifted up her head, and opened her eyes. The left side of her face was bruised, and her top lip was cut. Staring back at herself, she tried hard to remember how it had gotten there. She had no memory of it. But, she was knocked out for 3 hours.
Lifting her hand up, she touched the bruise lightly, letting the tips of her fingers feel it out. Removing her hand from her face, she stared at it. Anger rushed through her as she thought about her father beating her and her mother, for his sick pleasure. Her hand tightened into a fist, and she let out an angered cry and slammed her fist into the mirror. It shattered, blood pouring from the numerous cuts on her hand.
Falling onto the floor, she cried. Letting everything she once held in out. A scream filled the room, and echoed. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. It hurt so badly, and all she wanted was to get rid of it all; Her pain, parents and life. Lifting her head up, she gazed around the bathroom. That was it. Getting rid of her pain. Standing up, grabbing the sink for support, she walked out of her bathroom and into her bedroom. Her hand was still bloody and droplets fell onto her white floor. She wrenched open her desk drawer and pulled out her blade.
She grabbed her journal, a quill, and ink and sat down on her floor, in front of her bed. She leaned her back against the end, and grabbed her lighter and candles from underneath her bed. Putting three in front of her, she lighted them. The small blaze of fire was the only light now, since the moon was now covered.
Dipping her quill in the inkbottle she opened her journal to a fresh page. Sighing deeply, she began to write:
Feelings of sadness,
that won't go away,
Each and every hour,
Each and every day.
Hate worthless feelings,
that well up inside.
Dare not speak them,
I don't yet confide.
My day starts with crying,
my night ends so too.
Would somebody tell me,
what I should do?
It's happiness I seek,
but still have not found.
Just want to be free,
but feel like I'm bound.
Put on that smile,
for everyone to see,
so they will be comfortable,
being around me.
Can't give up living,
but feel like I'm dying.
Too much to live for,
so why am I crying?
Closing her journal, she felt tears roll down her face. Putting her journal in a shoebox, with her quill and ink she pushed it under her bed. Blowing out each candle, she too put them back under her bed and stood up. Looking down at her hand, she noticed it wasn't bleeding anymore, but starting to dry. When she noticed the power was on, quickly, she walked into the bathroom and turned on her shower. Warm water poured from the nozzle above, and she undressed. Bruised covered her body, and she hated looking at them. When she stepped into the shower, the cuts on her hand begun to bleed again and redness flowed down her hand, touched the shower floor and got swallowed up by the drain.
Leaning on the wall, she put her head in her hands, and cried again. Wondering how long she could put up the act she did when she went to Hogwarts. To everyone she was happy, and loved being a bookworm. But she wasn't really a bookworm. She was hiding. It hurt her even worse, that she was not able to tell her best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley what was going on, but she didn't speak a word. She pushed down the sadness and placed a mask on. The mask she wore showed no emotion, at least the emotion she really felt.
Sliding down the wall, she let the warm water pour on her, not caring it was Turing colder. Her eyes were closed, and she breathed in deep. After a few minutes, she stood up and turned off the water, wrapping herself in a towel. When she walked back into her bedroom, she noticed the blade still on the floor. Walking over, she picked it up and put it in her top drawer.
Dressing into a large shirt and boxers, she got into bed, and stared out the window. The storm was lighting up a little, and the streetlights were on. So was the power in the other houses. Her eyelids fluttered, and she finally shut them, falling into a deep sleep...