He slammed the door to his quarters as he stormed in at the completion of a terrible night. Curse those fools – he could smell the blood on his robes. The acrid, metallic stench only adding to his thoughts as his mental state continued to spiral. He stormed to his liquor cabinet as he tossed an absent minded spell at the cold fireplaces. Riffling through the cabinet he found his cheapest whiskey. Tonight was not a night for appreciation and slow drinks – it was a night to numb the pain as quickly as possible.
He started to poor from the bottle but his hand was shaking so much that the whiskey splashed on his shoes. His nostrils flared as he grabbed the glass from the top of the liquor cabinet and flung it into the fireplace with all his might. Turning towards the shattering sound, he drank straight from the bottle before staring at the remains of his glass as it reflected the swaying flames his magic had created. Stalking to the fireplace, he rested his forehead against the mantle as he mechanically drank from the liquor bottle and stared at the shards his anger had created. His thoughts continued to replay the terrible, needless deaths he had witnessed tonight as the stench of blood and the alcohol came together to torment him.
After some time, he had emptied the bottle of whiskey but continued to stare into the flames letting his dark thoughts continue to swirl through him. The pain of this double life was becoming too much. Living these lies, pretending to be someone he was not – it was taking its toll on his body. It was taking its toll on his mind. As he became aware of the empty bottle in his hand, the hurting and angry man slowly raised his head from the mantle where it had rested since he turned his dark gaze to the fire. His eyes fell to a wooden box sitting at the end of the mantle next to the floo powder. His salvation from the pain was mere inches from him and slowly he moved closer to the box.
Inside was such a small thing – something he had been given as a young man and originally kept for sentimental value. But he had found another use for it. For the small thing that could provide such relief from the emotional turmoil. Such a small thing that could stop the never ending hatred for just a couple of minutes. Taking the box with him to the nearest chair, he opened it and pulled out the silver blade.
The whiskey bottle had long sense been forgotten and the flames of the fire that had been a physical manifestation of his rage from the beginning of his return home were dying now. He stared at the blade, not really taking it in but staring nevertheless until finally, in the flickering light of the embers, he slowly and deliberately pressed the knife into his left wrist and pulled once, then a second time. Watching the blood well up, he felt the pain inside quell just a tiny bit. Enough to make it bearable for a short time. He reveled in the physical pain that distracted him from the deaths he had witnessed mere hours before.
He lost track of how long he sat there in the fading firelight. Every time the pain began to gain strength, he would lift the blade to his wrist and cut again. It was the most in control he had felt in so long. With each slit, he would watch the blood – usually just a trickle but sometimes more if he was careless. Sometimes more on purpose. He needed to see his own blood. Somehow, in his mind it made up for the blood on the robes that he still wore. Finally, he was emotionally spent and simply sat limp in the chair, his wrist splayed across the arm, his head tilted back to stare into the dark shadows of the ceiling.
Between the whiskey and the emotional ups and downs of the night he did not hear when she entered the room. But he felt her small hands on his knee as she knelt in front of him and stared at the broken man. He had been watching a single drop of blood form and hang on his wrist, waiting for it to drop to the floor. Her touch returned him to reality enough that he just barely registered the whisper in the dark.
"Oh, Severus, not again."
It was accompanied by a single tear as she simply gazed at him. It was the whisper and the single tear that did him in.
After so many dark moments, Severus Snape broke.
A/N: Thank you for stopping in to read. I know this is very short and very dark but it was something that I needed to get off my mind. As always, reviews are always welcome!