Portrait of a Tragic Woman
Session Four: A Picture Paints a Thousand Words
A/N: I kind of want to make the two characters have like a battle of the minds or something, like where they have to outsmart each other, have to know what moves the other will make before they are made. Sort of like a chess match. But I don't know if I'm doing it right or if I will be able to pull it off. Oh well, we'll see.
"Please don't worry over me, Narcissa. I'll be fine. It's your sister who is hurt and bleeding." You are standing in the middle of the room, Bellatrix sitting and looking convincingly sullen about her 'incident' as her sister panders to you and not her.
"Are you sure she just tripped and fell and that she didn't...didn't hurt you?" Narcissa's blue eyes are piercing and you can feel the wounds under the neck scarf you you wore to cover them itching uncomfortably.
"Ms. Malfoy, I assure you she did not. She merely got excited during our session, started pacing around and then tripped over the corner of my rug and hit her head on the desk corner. Really, I'm worried for her. I suggest vising a doctor and making sure she hasn't hurt her head too badly." You draw the blonde woman's attention to the bloody desk edge where Bellatrix smeared some of her blood on it in an effort to make it more convincing.
"Yes, Narcissa, I tripped and fell. But it's alright. I am hard headed after all and I won't need to go anywhere," Bellatrix insists. You both tended to her head wound and were pleased to find out she wouldn't need stitches. Now she is holding up a bag of ice over it to cause the swelling to go down.
Narcissa clearly feels like something is off about this situation and you aren't surprised. After all, her sister has a history of getting violent with her therapists. The only thing is why would you be covering up for her when she got violent with you? In her mind it made no sense. But she thinned her lips and clutched her hands together. "Next time be more careful Bella. Thank you doctor." She smiles at you appreciatively and then flexes her fingers in a gesture that means she wants Bellatrix to get up. The dark haired woman does and together the sisters leave without another word. You let out a breath of relief. Well, that didn't go too badly. Bellatrix could have easily snitched on you and gotten you in trouble for attacking her. Bellatrix had attacked first but as the non-ill person it was your duty to act more rationally and you definitely weren't being rational in that moment. With an exhausted breath you plop down in your desk chair. How is it that Bellatrix's sessions always drain you so much?
You take out the first aid kit and pull up the desk mirror. You unravel your hastily acquired scarf and see that there are now black blue bruises in the shape of fingers on your throat. They look painful and feel even worse. But there is nothing you can do about them for now. All you do is smear a cooling cream that will take the edge off and pop a few pain pills. Then you put your attention to the bite mark on your collarbone. It looks angry and as you gently run your finger tips over it you feel...weird. Never before have you been bitten before and the whole situation had been so intimate when the both of you had been on the floor. And she had said those words, that you were her's...what was going on in the others mind? What was the point of this?
You sigh once again and dab at the bite marks with an alcohol swab. Done with them they join the broken shards of the porcelain cup that you swept up before Narcissa entered the room. Right now you feel much like that cup.
When you go home that day you immediately go to paint. You need to let out some steam. Changing into your painter's overalls you take up your brushes and set to mixing some colors on your palette. You start out with light colors, like yellow and orange. You don't know what you will paint-you never plan out what comes out. It's more based on the raw emotions that are coursing through your body. And right now there is a lot of frustration in you. But you try not to think about it. The good thing about painting is that you don't have to think too much. It's the one thing that doesn't require you to use your higher cognitive abilities and gives you a rest form your mentally taxing job.
You bring the brush up and begin to paint. You go with the background first, but a couple of strokes in and the colors feel off. They don't match and you add some darker colors to your palette. A lot of blacks and browns-different shades and depths of them. Then you get to painting. Your mind is only empty for a couple minutes. Soon the words exchanged during the session run through your mind in a never ending circle and your brush strokes are getting faster in increased agitation.
You're boring. So boring. That's what a boring person would say. So tragic because it must be boring watching the paint dry.
I am not boring! You want to snarl out loud. I am as interesting as any other person around me. How dare you call me boring!
Your strokes get more violent and you mix the colors haphazardly, slopping them onto the canvas. I will prove to you I am not boring! You will see. They will all see. How much fun I am. How great it would be to have me as a friend! And they will all be sad they missed out on the chance to know me!
You put down your brush, realizing that you are out of breath for some reason. Your anger curls in your chest and you want to punch something. You want to punch the smug look from Bellatrix's face. She stares back at you from the easel. Her chin is held up arrogantly, her eyes all knowing and her lips smirked up in a sneer. Her hair curls around her blacker than the dark and you take a step back from it, then another.
She's even poisoning your art now! Disgusted you throw down your brush and leave the room.
Changing, you decide to head down to the bar. It's a Saturday night and you decide to get smashed to get your mind off of your work. Off of a particular person. You head down to your favorite bar, one that doesn't get particularly full even on Saturday nights. It's mainly full of old men but it's perfect for drunken contemplation and besides, none of your associates at work will see you looking like a complete wreck. It might even be called a 'shady' bar, home to criminals and the lowest of society. With the all wooden interior, dim lighting and secluded booths, it didn't look to be the safest of places.
You sit down on the stool at the bar, waving to the familiar bartender Ginny. She knows you quite well as you've been a regular for a while now. "Mione. I haven't seen you in a while. Too busy to visit a girl and her drinks?" Ginny has a British accent. Her family moved here recently and she helps them run the bar after she finishes her classes at college. She has approximately five other brothers, but you can never be certain as you have only ever seen three of them. One of them is Ron, the youngest of the boys and the other two are Fred and George, the twins who make you laugh so hard your sides ache and drink comes out your nose.
"I've just had a new case I'm working on. And it's quite taxing," you sigh, sitting down, carefully adjusting your turtle neck so that it remains covering up your injuries. It wouldn't do well to have people asking.
"Why? What's up with them?" Ginny asks and slides you a shot of vodka. "On the house," she comments and smiling you raise it up to your lips. The first drink is always on the house for you. It's custom.
"Their very complicated." You are not one to divulge patient secrets but it's Ginny. She's a bartender and probably the closest thing you will ever have to a friend in this town. So you decide to tell her but to keep it vague enough that she will understand but not fully. "They have a lot of pressing issues. Like personality disorders, anger issues, the likes. And they don't see anything wrong with it."
"Ah, those are always the worst." Ginny shakes her head and goes to scrubbing some glass clean with a rag in front of you. "How long have you had them for now?"
"About three months. And no progress." You set the empty glass down and Ginny immediately moves to refill it.
"That's bad. I know that usually you'll have results for people in weeks. This must be really frustrating you."
"You have no idea." You lift the glass to your lips and down it. The alcohol burns but it soothes at the same time. "But I'm not going to give up so easily. I promised the sister I would help. That I wouldn't give up like other therapists have."
"I'm sure you can do it." Ginny smiles. "Just take it easy here. I don't want you drowning out your frustrations in a glass." She refills your cup again as you hold it out to her.
"And what's the purpose of a bar if not a place to drown out my sorrows with drink?" You arch a brow. A table of drunken old man behind you cheer at something playing on the TV.
"You're not wrong. I just don't want to see you being a hot mess. It'll ruin my image of you as a doctor forever," Ginny teases.
"I'll make sure to keep that in mind when I want to get drunk next time. Wouldn't want the bartender to have a low opinion of me," you jest back and take your third shot in ten minutes. You can already feel the drink. It stays hot and heavy on your stomach, sluggishly coursing through your veins. You decide to stay with a mixed drink for the next hour, nursing it sullenly as you pull out your phone and scroll through social media updates. You're quite buzzed, your ears buzzing and your vision a bit blurry on the phone, that's why it takes you a while to realize that something is going on.
There's loud shouting behind you and you turn around on your stool as much as you can without falling off and note with a groan whose there. There is a man, big and buff, with tats on his arms arguing with none other than one of your patients.
"Bellatrix, of course who else," you mutter to yourself, rubbing your eyes to make sure you're not just seeing things. But no, it's her, and she's dressed rather...provocatively. You've never seen her revealing so much leg before, all her sessions lending her to wearing long pants or a long skirt that covered them up. She's shouting back at the man, although over what you can't really comprehend because the man is drunk and so is she. Both of them are stumbling on their feet.
With a sigh and a curse under your breath aimed at the woman who is ruining your night, you approach the two of them. Other patrons in the bar are looking at the escalating argument. Where is Ginny? The bartender is gone. Perhaps gone to fetch her brothers to stop this. But you can't wait on her. There's no telling what Bellatrix will do given her anger problems. You will have to stop this from getting any worse.
"Excuse me? Excuse me? Sir, sir, can you turn around?" You shout at the man who can't hear you over the volume of his own voice. "Sir, can you-" you touch his arm to get him to turn around and the next thing you know your world has turned upside down and your lying on the floor, legs hanging over your head. The fuck-? Your alcohol addled brain takes a second to comprehend what just happened and as you uncurl your body into a more natural position, the bar goes to shit.
After the man threw a punch at you, knocking you heels over head quite literally, Bellatrix took advantage of his split attention and kicked him from the back in the balls hard. The man went down to his knees with a groan before she round house kicked him in the back of his head with her heels, knocking out a tooth as he hit the floor hard with his face. The other patrons, sensing blood, jump to their feet and start rushing at each other, grabbing and punching at whatever they can. And you are right in the middle of all this. You raise your hands over your head as they collide like two opposing factions of an army, praying that they won't crush you in this mad stampede.
"Oh god, oh god," you groan. Fucking Bellatrix starting shit!
You feel a hand on your shoulder helping you up and notice it's Bellatrix, her face open in wild delight. "Bellatrix!" you stutter out, ready to admonish her but she pulls you along, out of the crowd of fighting men, ducking as wild arms fly past her head.
There's a gun shot, and you think it must be the Weasley family trying to calm down the animal like crowd but you don't have time to check because the both of you are outside, the air cool on your wet face. You bring an arm up and see that there's blood on your fingertips. "That motherfucker hit me. He hit me," you say, surprised by this development. It hurts and you know that you're going to have a bruised lip tomorrow.
Bellatrix laughs next to you. She's pulling your hand and leading you down a busy night street, but to where you do not know. People are either too drunk to pay attention to the two of you, or just don't care why you look like shit. "You should have seen how you flew. It was some shit out of an action film." Her laughter makes this more embarrassing and you scowl at the back of her head.
"I'm glad I could provide some entertainment for you," you mutter out. "What were you even doing at the bar?" Both are you are walking at a brisk pace, crossing streets and not waiting for the light to change to do so.
"Getting plastered. What else? Or am I not allowed to?" She casts a look at you, her lips twisted up in amusement. Their painted a ruby red and it reminds you of the color of the poisonous apple that Snow White ate.
"You're not supposed to, it's a bad idea because it interferes with your meds. And you'll lose control like you did now and beat up and hurt people."
Bellatrix shrugs. She has pulled the both of you into a small park out of the way of the main street in the downtown area. One that you've never been to before. She tugs you down to a bench by a small pond and the two of you sit. The quiet here is soothing. Different from the chaos you just escaped from. Your heart is pounding in your ears, and adrenaline still pumps in your veins.
"What are we doing here?" you ask her. She has spread herself out on the bench despite the fact that she is wearing a dress and is exposing herself. You frown and push her legs together. She shoots you a look but you ignore it. "We're relaxing here. I come here to enjoy the nature sometimes. It really puts my mind at easy when nothing else does." Her gaze goes out to the water and it truly looks nice, the way the moon is reflecting in it.
You hum but don't respond. You follow her gaze until the trickle of blood reminds you you are hurt. "I have to get some band-aids," you reach for your bag when you realize you don't have it. You must have left it back at the bar. "Fuck!" you swear out loud. "I don't have my bag!" That means you left the keys behind, and your phone and your wallet. How were you going to get home now? The bar was probably already closed down. This was all Bellatrix's fault. If only she didn't start the fight then you wouldn't have left it behind. You get up to go but a hand on your wrist stops you. It's her hand and it's warm for once.
"Where are you going?"
"I have to go back to the bar, because my purse is there. Maybe if I yell and pound loud enough Ginny will open the door for me."
"Alright. But you can't go around with that blood on your face."
"Well I don't have much choice, do I?" You go to wipe at it angrily but Bellatrix's other hand goes up to grab yours. She pushes your hands to your sides and then grabs you by the cheeks and pulls your face closer.
Oh god is she going to kiss me? The thought runs in your head and you swallow deeply. But the woman's lips don't meet yours. Instead her tongue does and it traces the blood away on your face, all the way from your lips to your chin. You screw up your eyes, fighting the urge to open your mouth and swallow that tongue up. The moment seems to drag out and you are aware of the sound of your thumping heart in your ears.
Then she is pulling back and leaving the park, not waiting for you. "There. All cleaned up. Now let's get out of here and find your bag before my generosity to help you ends." You let out a breath you were holding and press your fingers to your lips, eyes opening. What the fuck was that all about? Does she have an obsession with blood? She had done the same thing but with the blood on her own face last time.
You follow after her, watching in amazement as she doesn't stumble or fall in her heels like most drunk girls would. Her curls bounce with each step and you want to run your fingers through them. As soon as you have this thought you scold yourself. What is up with all these odd thoughts? Is it the alcohol? You blame it on that and the fact that you haven't had anyone in your bed for a while. Shaking your head you run up to catch her. You get back to the bar and thankfully it's still open. Pushing open the doors tentatively you find Ginny, Ron, and the twins, cleaning up the place. Its a mess, tables overturned, broken glass on the floor and some lights have been knocked out.
"Ginny?" You ask and the redheaded girl looks up from the floor where she was sweeping up some shards.
"Hermione? Just the person I need. You left behind your personal items." She rushes over to hand you your pink bag back and you are so relieved you wrap your arms around her in a brief hug. "Thank you so much. I was freaking out. I didn't know how I would get home and-" Ginny laughs at this, and cuts off your rambling. "It's fine. I was gonna wait up for you to come back for it. And you don't have to worry about paying for the drinks tonight. I'll put it on your tab."
"Thanks." You blink gratefully at her. "What even happened?" You ask, indicating to the sad state of the bar. "Did you manage to clear it out?"
"Well there was a bar fight. I bet you got a first hand experience with that," Ron grunts out as he leans down to pick up a broken piece of wood. "I heard you got smacked pretty hard."
An angry blush settles your cheeks. "Yes, but it wasn't like I was trying to start it. In fact I was trying to stop it."
"Ah, Mione, always the peace maker. Don't worry, we don't blame you for it. Drunks will be drunks, besides we scared them so that they ran out with their tails between their legs." Fred waves away your apology before you can even make it.
"It was quite fun actually. Been a while since we had to shut one down," George adds happily.
"Yea, if I'm recalling it correctly, wasn't she the one who started it?" Ginny points accusingly at Bellatrix who was looking the place over by her spot at the door, enjoying the damage done to the place with an appreciative whistle.
"Me?" She arches a brow, a smirk on her lips. "I was as much a victim of it as anyone else."
"Uh, uh, you are not getting away with that excuse!" Ron calls out. "You ought to pay for these damages!"
"If you want me to, you'll have to talk to my therapist." At this Bellatrix slides up to you and places a hand on your shoulder.
"Your therapist?" Ron is confused but Ginny is sharp and she puts things together quickly.
"So you're the patient," she mumbles under her breath but not low enough because Bellatrix catches her.
"What? What did you say?"
"Just take her home, will you Hermione?" Ginny says. "And keep her away from this bar." You can sense the questions brimming from the younger girl but you can't answer them now.
"I will." You smile and steer Bellatrix out the bar.
"Wait, you're letting them go?" Ron cries out as you two leave.
Whatever Ginny responds with you don't hear because the sounds of the street are in your ears. The buzz you had has faded a bit. You want to go home. Your easy night out turned into a babysitting episode.
"Can you make it home by yourself?" You ask the older woman.
"I suppose I can," she smirks and pulls out her phone to call a cab. You're going to wait until she is safely inside before you call your own. Phone call over, she tosses the device back into her cleavage, where it seems she is keeping her essentials. You look down at your own chest gloomy. You wish you could do the same but sadly genetics weren't so generous to you. "And can you make it home by yourself?" she asks coyly.
"I can. I'm a capable adult."
"Are you sure about that?" she taunts and you snap your mouth shut so you don't say anything stupid. "No answer? What, no smart quip? Has the alcohol dumbed down your brain?"
"I just am not in the mood to talk."
"It's probably for the best. You'd probably talk about something boring anyways."
You turn on her, your eyes flashing dangerously. "I am not boring!"
Bellatrix raises a finger to her lips. "It seems that is a sore point for you. Would you like to talk about it in Monday's session?"
"I'm the therapist, not you!" You can feel the urge to slap the shit out of her, tingling all the way down to your fingers. You have to forcibly keep yourself under control.
Bellatrix doesn't answer this because her cab is here. With a wave she slides into the backseat and she's off. You wait on the street, making sure the cab is out of sight before you call your own. All you want to do right now is go to bed and forget this ever happened.
Bellatrix fucking Black. What an infuriating being.