Angelina's lips were luscious, and it felt as though she were breathing life into me. I carried her into my house, blindly wandering into the kitchen, slapping the light on hastily, and sitting her on the table top. A glass that had been sitting there for Merlin knows how long fell and shattered to the floor. Angelina gasped and looked down at it.
"Pay no mind," I said, pulling off my coat and shirt. Angelina looked up at me as I pulled at her top. She didn't stop me, but only stared up at me and stood. I found the zip at the back of her skirt and pulled it down, and then she stopped me.
"You're married, Bill," she said, taking a step back.
"She left me," I said, finally, really hearing myself say it this time.
"She left me," I said with a lump in my throat. Angelina became a blur to me as the tears cascaded.
"I'm so sorry," she said, holding me. I fell back into a chair and Angelina just sat in my lap, her arms wrapped around my neck. I sobbed into her neck like a child. She didn't even seem to mind. I hadn't cried like that in a while, not since the night I came home from Fred's funeral. I was letting the pain out again. I don't believe I've ever cried that hard before. Angelina comforted me. I must have sat there clutching her for nearly an hour. When finally I controlled myself, Angelina pulled a dish towel off the table and started to wipe my eyes. I had drank too much. I started to feel sick to my stomach, a mixture of the emotions worsening the feeling. I got up, Angelina tumbling to the floor. I didn't have time to apologize for being so abrupt as I ran over to the sink and threw up. It was like this nearly every week, with the exception that this was the first time I'd cried beforehand. I felt Angelina's hands at my forehead; she was holding my hair back while I was sick. I finished, feeling disgusted that she had to see me looking such a disgrace, and furiously rinsed my mouth out. When I turned around, Angelina was in her shirt again, although it was sloppily untucked outside her skirt. She pressed the dish towel to my mouth and wiped it dry. I just watched her, feeling like a fool.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"It's okay," Angelina informed me, tucking my hair behind my ear. It felt nice for somebody to touch me, for me to finally notice it. It was different, the way she touched me. Angelina paused and I knew she was looking at the scar.
"A werewolf attacked me," I said.
"Couldn't have stopped him; he was too strong. I have to live with it," I said, opening my eyes again. Angelina was just listening.
"It was Greyback. He attacked me."
"…You're not a—"
"No, I don't turn, thankfully," I said, reassuring Angelina. She had seemed tense when she heard the word "werewolf," but relaxed once I explained to her that I wasn't turning into one on full moons. I sighed, leaning against the counter, pulling my hands through my hair.
"I should probably go," Angelina said, turning round to walk out of the kitchen. I followed her.
"You don't have to," I said a bit pleadingly. She picked up her coat which had fallen on the floor and put it on.
"Angelina, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make…a fool of myself," I said, looking down at myself, wishing I hadn't thrown myself at her.
"You didn't. You're lonely. I understand," she said, taking a step towards me, but not close enough that I could have reached out and grabbed her.
"That's why you stopped me? Did you feel badly for me?"
Angelina opened her mouth, but didn't say anything. I got malicious then, almost instinctually.
"Poor old Bill Weasley, living alone in his aunt's house because his beautiful wife left his sorry ass," I spat. Angelina's face hardened and she didn't look so sympathetic then.
"Well, I don't need anyone's pity. I've suffered enough. If you were just going to hurt me, you can get out," I snapped. Angelina looked away from me, calming her glare, although something told me she was getting angry.
"I didn't say any of that."
"But you were thinking it, weren't you? I'm not stupid, you know! But you let me take you all the way here," I added. Angelina responded argumentatively.
"You took off your ring in front of me. What was that supposed to mean?"
"I think you'd best bugger off," I said, turning around and walking back to the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway, hating myself for being so harsh. By the time I turned around, Angelina was gone, as if she'd vanished into thin air. I went back to the kitchen and picked up my shirt from the floor. I put it back on, but then tore it off in a rage, knocking dishes off the counter and watching them shatter on the floor. I shouted furiously and fell to the floor, sobbing. I needed to get a hold of myself. Only a few hours ago, I was thinking about setting things straight, getting my life back on track, yet there I sat, pathetically, alone, a mess…
My life became a blur of drinks and falling asleep on the beach by my house. Many days I'd wake up in wet sand, the waves touching my face with their bitter cold caresses. They were like hands, but nobody's hands. I was miserable. Two weeks must have gone by. I'd find myself falling asleep in the strangest places, often wondering how I got there. I began not to recognize myself again as I glared at the man in the mirror before going out again to drink myself half to death. Then one night I was sitting in Madam Romerta's, nearly blind drunk. I picked a fight with a random bloke, or so I thought he was. I was mad and I just wanted to fight somebody. I was decked to the ground before I got in a good enough punch, and I thought the face looked so familiar but I couldn't quite pin it.
"Oliver, you're going to kill him—he's drunk!" that beautiful voice screamed. I felt a pair of hands on my scruffy cheeks and thought I saw doe like eyes before finally blacking out. When I woke up, there was something hot pressed to my head and I was looking up into those familiar doe eyes. It was Angelina Johnson. She held a hot towel to my head. I could hardly see at first for the headache that was causing my head to beat painfully.
"He's awake, thank God," Angelina said. I knew I was in my house; I could tell from the ceiling.
"Well, brilliant, let's go," he said. Angelina glared over at somebody. I lifted my head and saw double for a moment, before my eyes fixed on Oliver Wood. He noticed me looking at him and took a step towards me.
"I didn't even recognize you," he said honestly, shaking his head and looking down at me with wide eyes.
"Why'd you hit me?" he asked, laughing as if it had all been a joke.
"Shh, shh," Angelina said, making me lie back down on the couch.
"Merlin, you're a bloody mess," he said.
"Oliver, that's enough," Angelina said. He sighed and shook his head. I closed my eyes.
"Somebody's got to stay and watch him. You really knocked him out," Angelina complained.
"Alright—I'm sorry! Stay, nurse him back to health," Oliver laughed.
"It's not funny," Angelina said.
"Okay, alright," said Oliver seriously. He sighed and I heard his footsteps. I could see that it had gotten darker through my closed lids. I heard a soft noise and opened my eyes a bit to see the underside of Oliver's chin. He was kissing Angelina. I closed my eyes again.
"Alright, I have to get home and sleep. I've got work tomorrow," he said.
"Alright," Angelina said quietly. I heard him kissing her again.
"Bill, I really am sorry. I know you're drunk and you probably won't remember any of this by tomorrow…I'm sorry about Fred…" And then the front door opened and closed, and he was gone. Angelina sighed and stood up, removing the towel which had gone cold, from my forehead.
"I'll be back, just lie down, okay?" she said. I heard Angelina's footsteps as she wandered off to my kitchen. I opened my eyes and sat up, leaning back on the armrest. I swore there was a war raging inside my head. I was nearly sick. I knew I had a problem. I heard the kettle go off and shortly Angelina returned with some tea and a tall glass of water.
"Try and drink this. You'll be dehydrated from all the drinking you've done."
I threw my long legs over the couch, creating space for Angelina to sit down beside me. She placed the drinks on the coffee table and hurried back to the kitchen. She came back with a bag of frozen peas and pressed them to the side of my face where Oliver had punched me. I winced and shied away.
"Oo, sorry, sorry," Angelina said. She gingerly pressed the bag against the bruise again.
"God, Bill, of all the men in that pub to rough up, you had to pick Oliver." Her voice was reprimanding, but I laughed after taking a large gulp of water.
"You look terrible," she said, refusing to find the situation comical.
"Thanks," I said sarcastically.
"Bill, this place is a wreck. When was the last time you cleaned?" she asked.
"Do I look like I clean?" I said with some difficulty. The liquor was still in my system. Angelina sighed.
"I wouldn't be able to leave here with a clear conscience knowing that you're living like this. I'll tidy up. And you may want this," she said, producing a bucket with her wand, and in due time as I leant forth to be sick. I felt disgusting then. I didn't even want her to see me.
"Don't look at me," I said, shamefully, feeling her fingers against my forehead, holding my hair back, just like before.
"Shh," she said.
"You don't have to—"
"Yes I do," she said, cutting me off.
"Bill, you haven't seen or spoken to your family in months. I see them nearly every day, and they're worried about you. I couldn't tell them that I ran into you, how poorly you've been doing. They need you. You need to snap out of this. There are better things waiting for you, if you just try—"
"Try what?" I snapped, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.
"I can't…I can't stop this. I've lost my way. I'll never find it back," I said dismally.
"Don't talk like that," Angelina said, wiping my mouth with the warm cloth. I looked over at her.
"Like what? Like I'm not a thirty-year-old loser who lost his wife and job because he couldn't pull himself together?"
Angelina shook her head.
"I'm here now. I can help you. We can help you, Bill. You've got family and friends, and people who care about you. You've been hiding from us all. It's time to stop. Come back," Angelina said. Come back, Fleur's voice echoed delicately in my ears, in my memory. My eyes watered and I began to sob.
"Oh, Bill," said Angelina gently. I found myself a weeping mess, my head in her lap. She didn't seem repulsed by me and only sat there, stroking my hair comfortingly, telling me it was going to be okay. I calmed down until I fell asleep. Angelina went about her way cleaning up my house. When I awoke again, it was sundown and I realized I'd slept nearly a full twenty-four hours. I stood up, feeling much better after having been some water. I got off the couch to find that my house was spick and span.
"Angelina?" I called, walking into the kitchen. She wasn't there. I went up to my room, finally noticing the horrible taste in my mouth. I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. When I was finished, I got into the shower, throwing my vomit-stained shirt in the hamper. I shaved in front of the mirror when I got out, and found myself looking a bit livelier. I went and got dressed in a fresh shirt and pants. I was about to go downstairs again when I paused in front of the guest room door. It was slightly ajar. I opened it and found that the lamp was on inside. I went in and saw Angelina lying in bed, asleep. Her skirt sat neatly on the chair and her shoes were tidily standing underneath it. I stood there looking down at her. Her braids were sprawled out beneath her head and she looked rather angelic, I thought. I don't know how long I stood there watching her. I didn't even notice myself getting closer.
"Angelina," I whispered. I was reaching out to touch her when the doorbell rang and I jumped slightly. I quietly backed out of the guest room and closed the door gently. I went down the stairs to look through the peephole. I could see Oliver Wood waiting outside in the dark with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. For some reason, I didn't want to open the door at first. But then I heard Ron's voice and pulled it open. Oliver looked surprised to see me looking clean and whole. Ron stepped inside, followed by Harry and Ginny, who threw herself into my arms.
"Why haven't you been around?" she asked me. Ron looked me up and down, staring at my black eye and looking over at Oliver.
"He was drunk," Oliver explained, "my, you've really fixed up," he said, looking around my house.
"No, actually, Angelina did," I informed him. I noticed for the first time that Oliver's lip was busted, and I knew it had been the work of my fist.
"Where is she?" Oliver asked, stepping further into the house.
"Sleeping in the guest room," I said. With that, Oliver went straight upstairs where I'd gestured. I wasn't sure why but I suddenly felt a strong dislike towards him, and it wasn't because he'd punched me.
