Disclaimer: Harry Potter, names, characters and indicia are solely JK Rowling's. I do not take credit for any thing you recognize in this story.
A/N: Yes, yes, you see true. It is indeed a story by yours truly, except it's completely different from everything I've written before (mind you, each of my stories are completely different from one another, so that wasn't saying much). This story is extremely angsty and depressive because I've been extremely angsty and depressive. So it kinda exactly reflects my thoughts at the moment. I wrote it fifteen minutes before going to university, so I consider it quite an achievement.
-Three Days-
-&-
Three months and a half.
They've been together for three months and a half and at times they were the best three months and a half of her life, and other times they were the worst.
The best were when he did completely unexpected things, like showing up in the middle of the night at her door just to remind her he loved her, he loved her so fucking much, with all his heart, and her heart would be pounding in her ears and her eyes would be brimming with tears because she loved him so much as well, never thought she would ever love someone so much.
He would change the course of corny things by sending her a piece of foam where he would carve "I (heart) Lils" with "Jamesey" signed at the bottom and flowers and hearts painted on, instead of carving their names on the trunk of a tree like other boring couples.
When they would make love, it was all about passion and love and becoming one and sharing their souls, and when he would be close to orgasming, he'd whisper her name over and over again, kiss her all over her face and groan how much he loved her, how much he loved being inside of her.
Sometimes she loved how he teased her, how he would hit her thigh as hard as he could, ignoring her moans and cries of pain and her dirty scowls, and just tell her that the harder he hit her, the more he loved her.
Other times, she hated his teasing. It was part of the bad times.
He would call her stupid for not getting his jokes fast enough, or he would call her naïve for believing some lie. She knew he was just joking around, but time after time after time after time, it hurt.
It hurt so much that she felt tears at her heart.
She hated smoking. She just couldn't stand it and he knew that very well. She was a little ticked at him one time and they were sitting around with his friends, and as a mean to taunt her, he had asked Sirius to pass him a cigarette. He had glanced at her to see her reaction, but she purposefully had looked away, for him not to see the tears glittering in her eyes. He had apologized for that of course, and assured her he would never smoke. Then one day she had kissed him and he tasted of cigarette and she had scowled a trifle and told him she didn't care that he had been smoking with his friends, just as long as he didn't do it in her presence. She did care of course, but she knew she couldn't control his actions.
There was some kind of burning on the left side of her heart. It had settled there the moment she realized she loved him. Sometimes that burn made her feel alive and passionate, especially in the throws of passion, in his bed, swallowed by the dark and the sound of his grunts in her ears. Other times, it hurt so much and she just wanted to get rid of it but she knew she couldn't because it was always going to be there, for the rest of her life, she just knew it.
She shared everything with him, she gave him everything she had, she loved him with all she had. Sometimes he showed her just how much he appreciated that, how much it meant to him. Other times it was like he enjoyed being sadistic and hurting her until she shouted at him and cried her heart out.
She had always been in control of her emotions, never got too overwhelmed by anything. Until the day she met him. At first, she would just lash her anger out at him, but when she finally fell for him, it was another kind of lashing. He had turned her into an emotional rollercoaster.
She would cry for hours over some meaningless fight, knowing deep down she was just making a big deal out of it and that at that moment, he wouldn't be weeping his heart out. He wouldn't care that much, no matter how much he loved her. He was just a boy who was acting like a man. He looked like a man. He had experienced so many things many men haven't. And yet, he was still an immature little boy.
He liked pranks and girls' arses (and groping her arse when no one was looking) and getting pissed until he couldn't see straight. He was a boy through and through no matter what anyone might think.
-&-
She had a thing for sitting in the dark. That sense of emptiness that comes with lack of light, that sense of suffocation of being surrounded by blackness, that sense of being alone in the world was something she desperately graved for when her senses crumbled down and she felt depressed and sad and all she wanted to do was drown in her tears.
And so there she was, her tears streaming down her face, her silent sobs shaking her body. Her bottom lip trembled as she stared out of the window, watching the rain trickling down the pane. It was incredibly cliché, but the weather really was reflecting her mood.
He hadn't talked to her in three days. Three days. They've both been extremely busy with N.E.W.T.s and classes and Head Duties, but they've always managed a way around that to see each other for at least an hour every night.
But it's been three days and she has seen no sign of him. She'd spot his friends in the corridors and would ask about him but they'd just mumble something about not seeing him anywhere.
Her heart would contract painfully and she'd feel a sob rising in her throat, but she would take a deep breath to get herself together until she was alone in her dark room, and then would let go.
She was extremely paranoid and a million questions and doubts and worries would creep into her thoughts and dreams and she couldn't sleep at night, her puffy red eyes tired from crying and begging to be closed, but never managing to drift off.
Then his voice came to her from the doorway and she froze, her face still tearstained since she had long since given up on wiping them away seeing as fresh tears always resurfaced.
He asked if she was okay, if there was anything he could do.
She hated being mean to him, but he had hurt her so much and she couldn't help it. She ignored him and kept her back to him.
He crept closer to her and sat opposite her on the windowsill, pulling a pillow between his arms and holding it close to his chest. She wished so desperately to be that pillow but she had to keep her face neutral and set.
"Three days," she whispered and he looked ashamed and averted his eyes towards the grounds outside.
"You don't even bother to ask about me," she continued and cursed herself when she heard how weak and pathetic she sounded.
He murmured a weak 'I'm so sorry', and she scoffed and shook her head, telling him sorry couldn't fix everything, that he had ignored her for the past three days, didn't say 'hello' or ask how she was, didn't tell her he had missed her or that he loved her.
She had gotten so used to his constant attention for the past three years, she couldn't live without it.
"I've been busy," was his muttered reply and she chocked back a pathetic sob and told him to do what he had promised to do, to finally get it over with.
They had both made promises to each other when they first started dating, they had promised that the moment they stopped loving each other, they would say it and not keep dragging it and lying to each other's faces.
He held her face in his hands and she flinched away slightly, not noticing the flash of hurt in his eyes. His grip on her face tightened and he leaned his forehead against hers, feeling the way her chest heaved with silent sobs against his own chest.
He felt a tear drop on his bottom lip and he licked it away before gently wiping away a stray one in the corner of her eye.
She couldn't stand it. She could swear her heart was going to jump out of her chest and instead of calming down, her sobs only grew harder.
He whispered her name over and over again, his pain and redemption clear in his voice in the way it shook and croaked. He told her he loved her, voice steady and clear this time. He kept saying it until she looked up at him, her breathing heavy but at least the tears had ceased.
His lips brushed against her cheeks, her ears, her forehead, her lips, and her body responded to his ministrations as she crumpled in his arms, holding him tight against her.
"Please, please, please, please, please," She pleaded and it broke his heart.
"Please what, Lily?" He whispered.
She pulled away softly and her eyes were bright and his eyes were dark and she immediately understood the need and desperation written on his face.
There was something delicious in misery sex that appealed to her. Maybe it was because she was miserable and it was a way of sharing that misery with him.
"Don't hurt me."
It was abrupt and clear and it shook him to the very core.
The sex was rough and desperate and her screams and moans were barely maintained as he slid in and out of her with extreme concentration. There was a sheer layer of sweat on his forehead and one between her breasts, and the sounds the slapping of skin made was driving her mad with desire and need and she felt so incredibly aroused that she bit his neck, his shoulders, his ears, pleading him to thrust faster and harder, to make her cum.
Her orgasm was so powerful it brought tears to her eyes, and he caught her tears with his thumb, kissing her forehead and promising her he would never hurt her, because he would be hurting himself. The thunder rumbled outside and she was tired and sleepy, and that night, she was finally able to fall asleep, in his arms, the sound of rain tapping at her window.
-Fin-
A/N: Feedback is appreciated, of course.