I didn't really believe that anything like this would every happen to me again. My beautiful nymph of a lover snores lightly while I'm registering this feeling of wholeness. There is a distinct feeling of being at ease, which I didn't know I was capable of. I never realized how much anxiety I carried with me until it was just suddenly gone. I was precariously teetering on the edge of my sanity without realizing that I had actually slipped and fell to an even lower cliff, preparing myself to jump.

Maybe I'm still there, but at least I have enough sense and awareness to at least step back and see the consequences of what a harsh landing at the bottom would entail. I could lose myself in thinking about what went wrong with us from now until the end of time.

I already wasted four years doing that.

I tracked you in the newspapers, asked your family about you countless times. But you are an elusive creature. If you want to disappear you have the capability of existing in a purely fantastical realm of your stardom. Just photos in magazines and newspapers. No interviews, no public appearances, nothing. You come briefly to family gatherings and just vanish. Maybe you meant it for the best and I took it a little too personally. Maybe that's how things should be.

Or maybe you were afraid.

It's easy to delude yourself into thinking one way, when in reality it's a projected reaction to the way you feel about yourself. It was just simpler to say that it was me and my feelings of apprehension that drove you away. For that, I will never forgive you.

I curl into my lover's arms and wonder if I could let you go to make myself happy. I've just been biding my time, waiting for your triumphant return. Now I understand that you never intended on coming back to me. It was really over; even though you told me you loved me. You really wanted me to believe that in due time, the right time, when I sorted my own issues out, you would come back to me.

Perhaps this is where all my anger stems from. So you can go fuck yourself, because I've wasted enough of my time mourning what we had. And I have pushed away so many opportunities because I was waiting around for you.

My lover snuggles closer to me, wrapping her arms around me; she kisses the back of my neck. I feel myself smile and whisper a good morning.

Later I notice I've missed a call. No message. Not important.

---

Elizabeth is lovely. I like her – a lot. We have been spending a lot of our free time together: movies, art galleries, lunches, walks through the city, concerts of all sizes, and just hanging around one another's flat. She doesn't demand or really expect anything from me. She makes me feel like myself again. And she encourages me to keep writing – follow my dreams in any way I like really.

She promised never to hold me back.

She thinks I'm wonderful. She thinks I'm beautiful. She thinks I'm smart and talented. It feels good to be appreciated… and not being hung over constantly.

She's an artist along with being a musician. Anything and everything you can imagine. She draws, paints, makes ceramics, sculpts, photographs… she also has done some installations. I had no idea how crazy the contemporary art world really is. They give her oodles of grant money for executing her artwork – most of it going to fund the project of course. Because of her 'status' in the art and music industries, she is an egotist. It isn't as annoying as it is adorable.

However, I do have my qualms. She has no interest in attending a university. She spends her money on the most useless things; she has more guitars than any normal person needs. She is high more often than not. And she tries to pay for everything. But I suppose she also has more money than she needs. Her band is quite successful.

I really like Elizabeth.

I trace my fingertips over her palm absently. Her hands are gorgeous. I love the way they hold me, caress me, and soothe me. I love her quirkiness. She's so overconfident, yet down to earth, and shy. And her boyish style doesn't overtake her wonderful femininity, androgyny suiting her personality.

Smiling, I look over at her and kiss the back of her hand.

She smiles back.

I am simply smitten with this girl.

…but I still beg her to color her hair. That god awful reddish auburn hair of hers doesn't suit her at all. Maybe it's because it's the same color as yours, but maybe it's because it really just doesn't look right. Black, brown, yellow, green… anything! I sigh and let her be, enjoying the way it feels to be snuggled on her scarlet sofa. Maybe it's because her hair clashes with her sofa?

I digress. Not important.

---

Slow sexy guitar riffs flood my ears as well as the cries of my quaking lover. She pulls my hair and digs her teeth into my shoulder. She's so close, I can feel it. It's in these moments that I realize the things I missed when I was alone – not daring let another person get too close to me. The last thing I ever wanted was to be hurt the way you hurt me, so why give anyone else the chance?

But this is truly wonderful and beautiful. I feel like a teenager again, moaning and giggling while Elizabeth kisses her way down my stomach. Pleasure tickles the back of my skull and my brain becomes hazy, the lingering high making it more sensational. She makes me feel so fucking good, I want to sob in her arms like a child; instead I'm begging her not to stop… she is my goddess… oh… she is everything I could have prayed for… and oh so much more… and she doesn't stop…

I snuggle against her chest when she crawls on top of me, the feeling is amazing. Kissing her I wonder if it could stay like this for a while. It's so nice to be held. Her eyes are soft and smiling. I feel myself smile back, burying my face into her neck. She whispers to me: lovely things, beautiful things, adorable things.

She tells me she loves me.

My stomach flutters in response. I think I love this girl.

I tell her that I love her too.

How long has she been waiting to say that? Her lips come crashing down on mine again. I want this. I need this. I deserve happiness. I think I could be with Elizabeth. She makes me happy, comfortable, and safe. Can I trust her not to break my heart?

---

We talked for hours that night, passing a bowl back and forth. I told her about you and the awful way you treated me. I told her of my past loneliness. She nodded and listened. I did the same for her. She is so cheeky and honest, revisiting memories of band break-ups. I was taken aback to find out that I'm the first person she's been serious with. It's a little daunting, but I think I'm okay with it; she is only the second person I've been serious with.

I'm kind of jealous of her. She is on the cusp of becoming something amazing. Only nineteen and she already is living out her dreams. She lives how she wants and doesn't care about what people think of her. She told me that she does care, but she won't give them the satisfaction of letting them know. She is an admirable young woman.

Not to say that I haven't had my accomplishments, but there could be so much more. I've just kept my life on hold. And for what?

You.

I want to be more like her. I want to tell the world to fuck off and let me be who I am. I want to live the way I see fit. I want to finally have some fucking closure with you. There are many things I need to get off my chest. Namely I want to tell you what I really think of you.

I think you're a fucking cunt.

---

Writer's block is an awful thing. I know where I want this story to go and yet I can't bring myself to write what needs to happen in order for it to move forward. It's not quite the climax, but the events leading up to… I just keep dragging it out.

I am startled by my mobile, my heart suddenly in my throat. Not a recognizable number, again. Maybe I should take this opportunity to call Elizabeth. She's sleeping, most likely. I just want to know where we're going tonight.

She likes to take me out. Honestly, I haven't ever been this pampered in my life. Not many women would treat a person like me as a princess, but for some reason she indulges the little girl in me. I feel myself grinning thinking of her.

Things are good, for the first time in a long time. I feel so safe. Comfortable. The only issue I have is leaving her warm bed every morning to come to work. Not that I'm even really working right now. Well, I am, but not for what I get paid to do. But now I'm not even writing. I just don't want things to be all sixes and sevens for her.

(A/n: heh. Yeah so here it is, finally. But really Hermione worries too much. It's just a story.)