Word count: 189
something/everything
She screams herself awake some nights, Tom's embrace like smoke against her soul. Sometimes, she thinks she can taste ink in her mouth, and it makes her sick. She thinks about emptying all of her inkwells in the bathroom, about watching the black ink dissolve under the water like blood would—maybe then, she'd finally be rid of Tom's remains.
She doesn't, in the end. They can't really afford to replace it, and besides, she knows in her heart and mind that it wouldn't really work. Or at least, not for long.
And perhaps that's the worst part, how nothing she tries actually makes her feel truly better.
And yet, somehow, she does get better. There are no exams to take this year—the only good thing to come out of this whole debacle, she thinks—but Ginny likes to think that she'd have passed them anyway. She resurfaces slowly, piecing back together her life and her soul.
She doesn't think all the pieces fit quite like they used to—no, she knows that they don't—but it's something.
And right now, something feels a lot like everything.