A/N: Once again, many thanks to all of you wonderful reviewers. I would not be writing without your support!
June 8
Holden's Flat
Holden convinced me to pop over to his flat; I'm still trying to figure out why I'm here. Neither of us felt like going out to grab a bite to eat, so we cooked some vegetable stir-fry. Correction, I cooked and Holden watched, making sure to add appropriate commentary whenever he felt I wasn't up to his standards. The wanker.
Yesterday, Alicia and I went shoe shopping. We both found a nice pair of champagne colored heels that will nicely coordinate with our dresses. I was getting so frustrated by the end of the afternoon, since all of the shops we visited had a fierce affection for stocking black shoes by the masses.
While we browsed through the rows and rows of boxes, Alicia decided to unload all of her relationship woes. I didn't think it was the smartest idea, as I'm certainly the least qualified to be dishing out advice. Asking me about the twisted thinking of the male population would be like asking a house elf about the sensation and experience of being completely free. It'd just be a cruel and unusual joke, in order to enforce my complete ignorance and confusion. I should be a professional whiner, not a Ministry of Magic employee. Too bad it won't pay the rent bills.
"So, this hoopla about Katie and Lee has got me thinking," she began, steadily eyeing a pair of candy apple stilettos.
"I'm afraid of what you're going to say next," I teased.
She rolled her eyes, fixing me with a steely glare, much like the one my Mum would issue whenever she caught me rummaging through her makeup drawer.
"Oh, shush up. Anyway, this wedding ordeal has got me thinking about George. And as you know, we've been together for years now. But I just have this sinking feeling that he's never going to make that big leap, never make that sort of commitment, you know?"
I frowned, a bit alarmed that Alicia was admitting her waning faith. I'd always thought of George and Alicia as the complete opposite of Fred and myself. George and Alicia were supposed to be the perfect couple, the poster child for tranquility and trust and teamwork. Yes, they had their fair share of arguments, but for the most part, I'd regarded them as solid. Resolute. Firm. Definite.
Fred and I tended to break up just as much as we'd make up. George and Alicia both hated confrontations and thus, their anger proved passive-aggressive. If Fred was like a bomb about to go off, George was a firecracker, extinguished with a gentle bucket of water. I knew that Alicia was starting to grow antsier, but I had no idea she was this perturbed. I didn't really know how to respond. I wanted to be there for her and I wanted to be a good friend, but I could only nod my head and stare, dumbfounded.
"How do you know?" I lamely asked.
She shrugged, though I could detect her self-assured assertiveness.
"The little things, I suppose. We live together, all right. But people can live together for years and never get married. Last night I asked him if we should get a bit more serious, and he just looked at me like I'd grown another head. I think I've always known that George was the only guy I wanted to be with. But he acts like he's still unsure, like he's missing out on other options."
I sighed, patting her hand.
"Aw, Leesh, don't be so hard on yourself. Maybe he just wants to take things slow. You guys haven't lived together for that long. Perhaps he just wants to test things out, use this as a preview. George loves you, I'm sure of it."
She furrowed her brow.
"What makes you so sure?" she demanded.
"It's as plain as day. It's written all over his face. And it's just like you said, the little things. The way he grabs your hand underneath the table at dinner. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. The smile that appears on his face when someone even says your name. This isn't puppy love, it's the real deal. The real McCoy. You know, sometimes I think we put too much emphasis on rings and anniversary dates. Sometimes it's the stuff that we take for granted that matters much more than all the flashy pretense," I wistfully philosophized.
She thought for a moment, trying on the argument for size.
"I guess it's so hard to believe it because I'm too close. I'm too close and it distorts the image, zooms in on the bad and you forget about all the good. But I try and take a step back, look at the bigger picture, and I'm still worried. I'll just feel a lot better when I've got a ring on my finger. Sounds awfully shallow, but it's kind of like insurance, you know? It's concrete proof that I'm not harboring unrequited feelings."
I spotted a pair of black kitten heels, subtly sophisticated, the kind of shoe that you'd wear with a flattering, black dress. The kind of expensive dress sewn from expensive cloth, the type of garment you'd wear on a date to a fancy restaurant where violin players surrounded your table. They were exactly the type of shoe that I'd probably never get to wear, just because the guy I'd wear them for had decided I wasn't worth it. I felt a little queasy and looked away.
"I was so worried after my birthday. Fred and I fought all the time, but we'd never fought like that before. The next day, after it was all over, I wasn't even that angry anymore. But I just didn't want to look like the weaker one. And look where that got me. Back to square one. Alone and chasing after him again. Except this time, I've moved from the best friend role to the dreaded ex part. I'm not allowed spotlight time. I've been pushed backstage," I whispered.
Alicia had been walking in front of me, lazily inspecting possible purchases. However, once she heard my declaration, she twirled around, all self-doubt erased like a line in the sand. She put both hands on my shoulders, aiming her gaze directly into my pupils, as though her own convictions would silently travel through her stare and diffuse throughout my entire body.
"Angie, you've got to stop blaming yourself. It just makes you more and more upset. I know it sounds terribly trite, but I think when two people are meant to be together, eventually they will be. It might take awhile and it might take a few false starts, but it'll happen. You don't think you and Fred are meant to be, but I do."
I didn't say anything and she didn't elaborate. Surprisingly, I didn't have a difficult time blocking my tears. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely dead. Thoughts were howling through the walls of my mind, but the void was overwhelming.
June 10
Home
I could have literally kicked myself today. Went over unannounced to Alicia's flat, hoping she would be around. Or even George. But no. Out of all the people in the entire country, in the entire world, I had to bump into Fred. I appeared in the living room and heard scuffling in the kitchen. Assuming that it was either owner of the apartment, I shuffled down the hall. A tall, lanky bloke with a head full of ginger hair was sticking his face into the refrigerator. I knew who it was before he spoke.
"George? You want a sandwich, I was just about to make something," he offered, too lazy to turn around.
I cleared my throat, crossing my arms over my chest. The only good thing about this impromptu meeting was my outfit. I'd come straight from work and had actually put some effort into this morning's ensemble. I'd chosen a tweed pencil skirt that played up my hour-glass physique, along with a short-sleeve, cream colored, V-neck sweater. I'd straightened my hair and clipped back the sides. Although I knew I was going to be thrown into an inescapable argument, at least I looked all right.
"If I were George, I'm sure I'd say yes. However, I'm not George and I'm not hungry, so I'm going to say no."
Fred nearly smashed his head on top of the fridge, as he whirled around to face his opponent. He glared like a lion rudely roused from a deep slumber.
"I can't escape you!"
"I think it's the other way around," I icily corrected.
"What are you doing here?" he questioned, as though I'd broken into the flat and been caught stealing.
"Looking for Alicia. But I see she's not here. Teaches me to pop over uninvited. Why are you here?"
He shut the fridge door with unnecessary force, leaning against the adjacent countertop.
"Looking for George. But, as I now see, he's not here."
"Fine. Do you happen to know when Alicia will be back?" I tersely wondered.
He shook his head.
"Nope. Don't bother to wait around, it might be awhile. Wouldn't want to keep Ollie waiting now, do we? Or is it someone new this week?" he sneered, with only the spite reserved for Slytherins.
It was like an arrow piercing through my heart. I knew that part of his motivation stemmed from revenge, but I couldn't help but take personal offense. In Fred's mind, I had crossed the border and become a traitor. An enemy. Each time he now saw me, it was like a bull seeing red.
"What is it with you and your obsession with Oliver?"
"Obsession? I'm not obsessed," he scoffed.
I barked out a coarse laugh, one that harshly rubbed against the walls, rather than echoing and bouncing off.
"For someone that's not obsessed, you sure find a way to bring up his name every time we talk," I pointed out.
"Well, what else am I supposed to say? I'm only making conversation. You're the one shagging him."
I could have lunged right for his jugular, I swear. But I pressed my nails into my palms, rooted to my spot. I wasn't about to throw myself into his ring of fire. He was like a vampire, gathering his strength and draining his victim. However, blood was not his power source, but my agitation. It was for the love of the game, devotion to the rush of an unjust and conned victory. I was as much at his feet, as I was behind him, stabbing him in the back.
"You're disgusting. First of all, I'm not bloody shagging Oliver Wood. Second of all, IF I were, or IF I ever decide to, it's none of your business!" I ferociously snapped.
He remained relatively cool, glancing down at his nail beds with exaggerated ennui.
"So said the hypocrite."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard what I said. So, I'm disgusting for asking about Oliver, yet it's all right for you to accuse me of messing around with Lavender. After months of not speaking to each other, the only thing you can think about discussing is my alleged promiscuity with Lavender Brown. Real classy, darling," he hissed.
He had a point, but I'd already heard the hiccup of the gun shot. I was up and running, ready and set to go. I wanted to beat him to the finish line and leave him in the dust, grinning while he choked on my dirt.
"Oh, so that explains why you decided to leave without telling me? Go off and sign up to get blown to a million bits? That explains why you seemed to disappear off the face of the Earth after that night? All because I'm a hypocrite? Go look at yourself in the mirror, Frederick. Stop trying to save your integrity. Don't even try, baby. Makes you look like a fish flopping around on dry land," I caustically advised.
In one swift motion, he'd barreled away from his position and towered over me, his hands on my forearms, dragging me closer. I pretended to put up a fight, squirming like a worm on a hook. He was livid, his iron grasp reminding me of a straight jacket. The atmosphere had grown unbearably intense and stifling, like the humid and thick haze of a Southern summer night, when the tails of fireflies seem foggy from the heat and it hurts to inhale.
"Let me go," I ordered, the words barely slipping out of my pursed lips.
His grip loosened a noticeable amount, but he didn't release me and I stopped attempting to make a jail break. It was apparent that neither of us had any intention of leaving. We were too engrossed in our pathological destruction, extracting sick pleasure in seeing who would crack first. I wanted to break him, as much as he wanted to break me. Funny enough, we proved both broken and ripped at the seams. Yet like sharks sniffing blood, we pushed forward, entirely transfixed by our temptation.
His voice was thin like the lip of a razor, sending a chill down the knots of my spine. His words were heartbreaking and gut-wrenching; a tear rolled down my cheek and splattered on the floor.
"If you want Oliver, go ahead. No one's stopping you. But if you're only going after him to shove it in my face, then you'd better quit while you're behind. It takes two to tango, Angel. You say I stopped coming around, well, you never showed that you were still interested. You knew I was out there, on the front lines, going head to head with those bastards. And you never wrote a single letter. I was already a dead man in your eyes."
I didn't want to think about it, so I finally gathered the nerve to do what I should have done much sooner. I apparated out of Alicia's flat and into Oliver Wood's bedroom. Oliver surely must have heard the crack and came in from the kitchen, carrying a stack of mail.
"Oliver!" I burst out, my emotions falling to the floor and smashing like a glass vase.
"Angie, you all right?"
I shook my head and fell into his arms. I looked up at him, wishing I could have felt hollow and numb, like I'd felt with Alicia while shoe shopping. But I was feeling too much, everything heightened from my passionate rage and guilt. The situation felt too familiar, as though I were outside of myself, watching old mistakes on a monstrous movie screen. I wove my hands through his head, stood on my tip-toes, and kissed him. It wasn't anything too fierce, barely a peck, but affectionate enough to indicate the lust behind the proposition.
The mail had fallen out of his hands and onto the carpet. He peered down at me, neither smiling nor frowning. I almost thought he'd get angry and tell me to go. However, I was both relieved and ashamed when he kissed me back, the kind of kiss that leaves a girl dizzy and she thinks her heart is going to pop right out of her chest.
And as we kissed, I finally started to feel hollow, the tips of my toes and fingers tingling, as each limb began to shut down and die.
