So, this is a story I thought up at 4am with the song Deathbeds by Bring Me The Horizon on complete repeat for the whole hour it took to write this. There's some lyrics from the song randomly scattered in italics throughout. Also, I'm sorry I haven't been updating any other stories, but I'm kind of losing inspiration a lot, so a story like this is rare. Enjoy? I guess?
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K Rowling, all lyrics belong to the band Bring Me The Horizon, this laptop belongs to Apple, the words belong to whoever the hell decided to create words in random cavemen times. Whatever, but I own the story so suck it :3
That little kiss you stole, it hurt my heart and soul
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Fuck! He couldn't breath fuck fuck fuck fuck!
Sirius began to hyperventilate even worse than before, leaning over his messy bed as he gasped for air. He could hear the hammering of his own heart in his ears and he felt like his face was physically swelling as he sobbed worse than he ever had before. His chest ached, his head ached, but worse than any of that, his lower extremities throbbed.
Sirius kneeled over onto his bed, clutching his chest, and in a matter of seconds the pillow in front of him was soaked with tears. Even his sobs were slightly hysterical, and he felt bile rise up in his throat at the force of which the tears were coming.
He ran to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet and violently throwing up. He was still crying in between gags, trying desperately to keep breathing.
When nothing more would come up, he collapsed onto the bathroom floor, gasping in relief at the shock of the cold tiles. The coolness calmed him down somewhat, and he felt himself relax slightly, breath coming more easily to him now.
A few hours later, Sirius uncurled himself from the bathroom floor and yanked himself up, taking a deep breath and flushing the toilet. He staggered back to his bedroom, slamming the door, and stared at the suffocatingly warm-looking quilt. Changing his mind, he ran back into the bathroom, turning on the shower, stripping, and leapt in.
He kept his eyes closed, trying with all his might not to remember what was fighting to resurface.
He kept his own touch light as he scrubbed the disgusting mixture from his upper thighs and the top of his hips.
After a few minutes Sirius he was crying again.
He sat down on the floor, bowing down his head and letting the intentionally cold water run down his spine until he was calm again.
An hour later, Sirius tried to get up, but his numb legs gave out, sending him back to the floor. He held out his arms to break his fall, and knocked a razor down with him.
Sirius cursed, examining himself to see if the evil metal had nicked him. It had, as a matter of fact, and as the water coursed over it the sudden sting made him swear again. He picked up the razor, scowling, and threw it against the wall. It didn't break, so Sirius resorted to repeatedly smashing the plastic with a bottle of conditioner until it cracked.
Five blades began to wash down the drain, and Sirius went to catch them.
One cut his thumb, annoying him further, and he angrily fished the pieces of metal from the stream and slammed them down onto the side of the tub. He was so angry all of a sudden, and he clutched the longish strands of hair stuck to his head, swearing in a higher pitched scream before bursting into tears again. The heavy weight on his shoulders and chest felt like it was suffocating him, just as her hands had, and Sirius slammed his head against the wall, trying to crack the memory from his head. He did it over and over, still pulling his fringe, until the dull ache engulfed his head and shot down his neck. Sirius groaned in pain, resting the sore spot against the condensed tiles and taking deep breaths to calm himself down. He stood up gradually, wrapping the blades in toilet paper and bringing them to the bedroom with him. If his mother saw them, she'd freak out at him.
Stashing them under his pillow, Sirius curled up on the sheets, kicking the quilt aside, and fell into a light sleep.
The next morning, a drowsy Sirius woke at around three in the afternoon. He dragged himself out of bed, and pulled on a shirt to hide the deep scratch marks down his back and the bruises across his collarbones. Downstairs, his mother ignored him, more concerned with her guests.
Her guests.
Her guests.
They were here.
In the house they were here in the house.
Sirius tried to act casual, willing his hands to stop shaking, willing his lip to stop trembling, willing his eyes to stop stinging.
But when Bella winked at him, greeting him with a kiss on the lips, he felt a cold mist descend around him, and nausea rose from his stomach. He took a deep breath, wiping the cold sheen of sweat that broke across his forehead, and forced himself to give her a tiny smile.
But when Narcissa crept up behind him, running her sharp nails deliberately across the cuts down his back, and murmured in his ear "Thanks for last night, little slut. You were a good ride." and winked at him, Sirius couldn't handle it anymore. He excused himself, walking as slowly as possible up to his room and shut the door quietly. He then slid down the wooden base, gasping for air as he once again verged on a serious panic attack.
"It's over, it's over, it's over." Sirius whispered to himself as tears streamed down his face.
Then again, you probably enjoyed it, little SLUT.
"Nonononono." he muttered raggedly, his grey eyes widening as he clamped his hands over his ears.
SLUT.
"I'm a slut." he whispered.
SLUT.
"I wanted it." he sobbed.
SLUT.
"I should be punished for wanting it so much." he cried.
SLUT.
Sirius stared at his pillow.
SLUT.
The sharp little pieces of metal could punish him for wanting it so much.
SLUT.
Sirius took the metal from the tissue, collapsing onto the floor, and dragged the sharper end from his knee to his hip.
Slut.
The voice dimmed a little as Sirius mimicked the first cut, diagonally this time, across his inner thigh.
slut
Sirius kept on dragging, barely blinking the tears from his eyes. He could barely see in the dim light of the room.
..
The taunting voice finally disappeared, and Sirius dropped the blade. It had finally deemed him punished enough. For now.
Sirius curled up on the floor, sobbing his heart out. His mouth turned down as he tried to breathe, his chest aching horribly and his face soaking wet.
And like a ghost in the silence, I disappear
Sirius woke up on the floor with a tear tracks staining his face. He looked down, barely reacting to the sight of his right thigh.
Blood had dried all over the leg, pooling beneath it and staining the entire floor. Sirius got up, his face impassive, and went into the bathroom. He went through a full roll of toilet paper before he finally found the angry red groves causing so much blood to flow. Scarlet still absently dribbled from the wounds, so he just sighed, limping back into his room with the paper clamped down on the cuts, and found some tape to secure it there for now. He put his jeans back on, and walked slowly out of the house, being careful to avoid anybody.
He needed a cigarette.
He was 15 years old, but because of his height, he always got served in the shops around where he lived. He bought a pack of twenty, but after sitting on the damp bench outside for half an hour, he realised he had chain-smoked his way through pretty much all of them. Sighing again, he bought more, ignoring the odd look the manager gave him, and began to wander around absently. His only comfort was the knowledge that school began again in a week, and for the rest of the summer, his parents would simply ignore him. After 6 weeks of being inhumanely punished for the simplest mistakes, the last week was always allowed for the gashes and the bruises to fade away. No more curses, no more screaming. Just simple, cold silence.
