A\N: I love you, you know that right?
Disclaimer:I do not own Jk Rowling's work, I will not pretend I do, i am not a jerk
"She loves you."
They tell you over and over again, Sirius, Peter, Remus and even Marlene once. You want to believe them. It tears you apart that you don't. You even almost did once, but you can't. You can't. You can't. You can't. And you want to rip your hair out because you want to but you can't. You're not even sure why.
You remember that time she told you that she couldn't love you. She couldn't. She couldn't. She couldn't. And you wanted to rip your hair out because you wanted her to but she couldn't. You're not even sure why.
Maybe it's because you're a prat.
Or because of Snape.
Or because she loves someone else.
Or because you're a slut.
Or because you just aren't worth it.
"She isn't worth it."
They all say it at least once; Sirius, Remus, Peter, Marlene and even McGonagall said it once, in her office, after she offered you a biscuit. (You would go on to tell everyone she caught you vandalizing the dungeons, you would never admit she found you weeping in an abandoned classroom which you destroyed in a fit of heartbroken rage.)
You remember that time she told you that you weren't worth it. (You would go on to tell everyone that it didn't matter, you were fine, you would never tell anyone that later that night you destroyed an abandoned classroom in a fit of heartbroken rage.)
"You have to stop killing yourself over this."
Sirius said this a lot. Over and over, because only he knows the extent of the damage you've inflicted upon yourself because of her. But you're not killing yourself over this, not yet anyway. Actually, you might be. Slowly and painfully tearing yourself apart inside, and sometimes it hurts so bad you think it might be a bit better if you were a little more dead.
You remember the time she told you that you'd be better off dead. That was the first time you actually considered killing yourself over this (you convince yourself that it's also the only time, but it's there in the back of your mind, on the bad nights). She apologised, she knew she took it too far but you still dwell on those words when the lights are out and your mind is clouded with the smoke and other (i.e.: booze, perfume, pills, sex, bad judgement, etc.)
"You're broken.'
This one's all you. Always you. You used to just be ruffed up around the edges but then she cracked you and then you shattered yourself. No one wants cracked, but with shattered you can pick and choose the pieces you want. Most of the time people just use your pieces and then throw them back, but you like it better when they take them. There's less of you for you to hate and it hurts a lot more, which always reminds you that she's not the only source of pain in this world. And that others are just as broken as you, in your dirty little corner of the world, stealing the pieces they want to try to use to fill in their spaces. You never tried that, never would.
You remember when you finally, really offered her a piece of your broken ass self. She declined, told you to pull yourself together. But there was not enough time, too many holes and not enough pieces to fill them. You wished and wished that you could go back to pretending that you were fine and normal around her but she saw your broken pieces and that's something you could never take back. You let her into the dark room with the smoke and other (i.e.: booze, perfume, pills, sex, bad judgement, etc.) She would never look at you the same way.
"I think I know what you're missing…"
She said. She was talking about your drink that you mixed at the Gryffindor Quidditch party. It was missing lime, you think. Her eyes were sparkling, smile dazzling. You nodded.
"And I think I have it."
She led you up to her room. It was lit by the moon and smelt like strawberries and clean linen. She didn't have lime, but she did have everything else you needed.
"Lily and James Potter, you guys are the perfect couple."
Perfect, ha, no one ever knew how big a lie they were telling.