DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything you recognise from the world of Harry Potter. The only things belonging to me are the OCs and an unhealthy obsession with a certain Scottish Keeper. This is my first try at fanfiction ever. I hope you enjoy it ^_^
A/N: I know I take forever to update but this story comes to me in bits and pieces and all disjointed. I'd have parts of it all done but then there'd be massive gaping holes in-between. I know where it's going but I have to spread some mayo on the sandwich that is the story so that all the bits come together.
Thank you everyone that reviewed or put this story on their alert! It gives me the happies! :)
Chapter 3: Beauty From Pain
I'm frozen in shock and a bit of arousal. His voice is practically laced with fury and I'm trying not to feel intimidated. How dare he? What the fuck is my problem? He's the one dragging innocent girls into empty classrooms! I'm sure that this has to be sexual harassment on some level. But Tatiana always said it's not sexual harassment if you welcome it. And been trapped between his muscular thighs and a desk... let's just say I'm feeling very welcoming.
"Well?" his voice travels directly from my ear to my nether regions... Unf!
But I'm mad. And I refuse to let my traitorous body take control of the situation. Of course it would be partial when it had spent the night curled up to next to him. I couldn't trust the stupid thing any more.
I somehow find the strength of mind, and body (cos' that boy is all muscle) to push him off of me.
"What is my problem? I'll tell you what my problem is!" I scream hysterically, poking him in the chest.
"Stupid, egotistical Quidditch captains that think I owe them explanations for anything I do. I just don't want to talk to you, in case you didn't notice the hints all day!"
He looks majorly ticked... and a bit hurt. No, my eyes are deceiving me about the hurt because he's in my face again, and I'm only a little scared. I never did have any sense of self-preservation.
"Well, I want to talk to you! Why are you so dead set against it happening? I don't know why I'm even trying! You can't tell me that you didn't feel anything last night." he pulls at his hair.
"I don't remember asking you to try! Why can't you just let me be? Whatever happened last night was nothing. It wasn't real... and I don't want it to be. I don't get why you're being so adamant and stubborn. I don't want to explore it any further!"
I'm lying through my teeth. I'm also telling the absolute truth. I do want to see where we could go, where he could take me if I was willing. But I can't. I won't. I'm afraid of our connection. It can't be right to feel so strongly about someone. Especially when it has only been one night. I wish I never went to that party. Then I wouldn't have to be dealing with this. I'd still be someone in the background, going about my business. I wouldn't have had that most wonderful earth-shattering kiss either I think sadly.
"You know, I thought you were different. It was so refreshing to find someone that I actually wanted to talk to... with. It was like discovering something that had been in front of me all along. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you're not worth getting to know. With your attitude, I'm not surprised you're alone. No one in their right mind would want to be with you."
I'm pissed and seeing red and want to bash something over his head, but I'm too overwhelmed by an onslaught of tears that are threatening to spill any moment. Our tiff is getting me all worked up. What he said is too close to home. If he'd wanted me to feel some of the hurt I was inflicting on him, then he'd hit the mark.
I sniffle. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Isn't this what I wanted? For him to not be interested in me?
I'd always told myself that the reason I was alone was because I wanted to be. It was a choice. This was my defense mechanism. I always feel bad about my harsh actions afterwards but when in the moment, I can't see reason. Was I being unreasonable? I don't think so.
The only sure way of never getting hurt is to just not take the risk. Rose-tinted glasses are so not my type of accessory.
People always go "How could you live without love?" but I think it's silly because I'm living without it and the last time I checked, I still had a pulse and a beating heart.
I don't believe in the "Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all" bullcrap either. I'd rather not find out to be honest cos' from what I've seen, it doesn't end well for the person that lost.
I don't want to go through that, or put someone else in that position ever. It is better to stay unfeeling, detached, disconnected. That way, you come out alive.
My parents had been in "love". They'd been high-school sweethearts, gotten married straight out of Hogwarts, and had me not long after.
Then my mum decided out of the blue that she didn't want to be a wife or mother any more. I was barely crawling when she packed her trunks and left our lives to go rediscover herself. She must have gotten mixed up with someone who was involved in the Dark Arts or something because she was tortured and killed along with said person who had not followed orders from He Who Must Not Be Named.
I'd just turned two. My father was devastated. She'd never tried to contact him since she left but he was clearly still pining for her because he was dead the next day.
My great-aunt had floo-called and seen me sitting on the parlour floor bawling. It was mid-day and I hadn't eaten so I was cranky. Of course, I had no idea my father was lying somewhere in the house in a puddle of his drying blood.
She'd called for him until she was hoarse in the throat and then flooed in, picked me up and searched the house for him. I'm sure she expected to find him passed out somewhere. Apparently, he'd taken to drink ever since my mother left.
When she got to the drawing-room, whatever she saw there had her apparating me out of the house.
She never went back. I immediately started living with her. She was his only living relation and none of my mother's family wanted me. She'd gotten home a sobbing mess.
Her neighbour lent her baby things for me, she had a grandson that was over a lot. That was how I met Skylar. He hadn't liked having to share his bottle with me.
I was an orphan at two. I didn't know any better. I had a relatively happy childhood somehow.
I only found out what happened when I was thirteen. She told me the story then, when I'd asked, leaving out the gory details. She said he must have had an accident with a broken bottle of drink.
The papers said it was a self-inflicted Sectumsempra. He'd literally tried to rip his heart out.
Mamie as I call her still doesn't know that I know exactly how he died. I sometimes think it was my fault. There must have been something about me that had made my mother want to leave us, that made my father not think twice about leaving me.
I sometimes have almost-memories of him. A burly man that I ran towards, hands outstretched; sitting on his lap as he sang to me and played the piano while I pounded my little fists on the keys creating a duet in my toddler jibberish.
If he ever drank, I never saw it. I was thankful for that at least. Could you really miss something that you never really experienced? I felt that way about my father sometimes.
I didn't notice that I'd been talking out loud until I find arms cradling me.
I'd hadn't told anyone that before except Skylar. I don't know how or why it came out. Oliver must think I have Daddy issues now, in addition to being generally bonkers.
I never thought any of what happened shaped me into the person that I am now. I must be really good at deluding myself. I try not to think about it and succeed for the most part. I'm a happy person aren't I? I have good friends and an okay life. I just don't like addressing what I found out. It would only confirm how messed up I am.
He couldn't have real feelings for me. I'm practically unlovable. Besides, we are in different cliques. He is like Hogwarts VIP and I'm a P. And that even barely, but at least I was better than that one girl that no one knows her name or her house. There's a rumour that she's actually a ghost.
He doesn't say anything as he sits us down on the very dirty floor. I can't be bothered about that at the moment though. His voice is soothing as he rocks me slowly.
"Look," he lowers his voice to a whisper here as he presses his lips to my hair. " I can't pretend to understand what you've been through or what goes through your mind. I just feel something here. I don't know what it is and don't think I'm not shit-scared cos' I am. I barely know you and if you were any other girl, I wouldn't give a rat's arse if you were ignoring me. I want to give this a try, whatever it is, however it turns out. You don't have to decide now."
He gets up to the door and looks back at me for a second before he leaves.
It already hurts and we haven't even gotten together. Why am I doing this to myself? Is it worth it to try?
I stay seated on the grimy floor and finally let the floodgates open.
A/N 2: It's a bit shorter than the others but it's something no? I didn't intend for this chapter to come out this way. There was totally a make-out scene there. Don't hit me! I've never written anything remotely angsty but I was feeling all gloom and doom today cos' I haven't gotten my student visa for the UK yet and I'm tired of waiting for the darn thing.
The characters got the brunt of it. But it's going to get better.
REVIEW! There's steamy times ahead!