In Too Deep: Pain of Separation
Once I reach my rooms I lean my forehead against the wall, hoping the cool stone will freeze my headache. I hurt. Why do I hurt? I meant to hurt him, not myself. But my hands itch to hold him, and the image of his pale, tear streaked face is stuck in my memory, taunting me. Through my open door I hear the sounds of someone sobbing softly, and it takes a minute before I realize it's him.
I walk to the door and look out in the hallway, catching a glimpse of a little huddled shadow in a far corner. The sobs are heartbroken, pitiful little sounds, each one cutting deep into my heart. A brief bit of pain makes me look down; my nails have dug deep into my skin as I clenched my hands. Why does he have this effect on me? I don't understand. I look up again as the sobs change, getting hoarser. Poor thing, he's crying himself sick.
I stop myself from going to him, but just barely. Why do I feel the need to comfort him? Seeing him in pain like this doesn't bring me the sense of satisfaction I thought it would. Instead, I feel empty, dirty for having done that to him. My arms ache to hold him, and my heart aches to see him so sad. This is wrong. I cannot feel this for him. I rest my head against the wall again, closing my eyes and trying to close my ears to the sounds of his sobs.
Gradually they fade. Either he's left, or he's fallen asleep, curled up in the corner like that. Personally, I think the latter is far more possible, and stop myself from going to see. He's not my problem anymore. Not my problem. I turn that phrase over in my mind. He is my problem. Somehow he's gotten into me, in a way that I never imagined. It hurts, being separated from him like this. Knowing that tonight, when I am ready for bed, there will be no willing, beautiful boy to hold and touch, to love until we're both exhausted. Somehow in my quest to use him, to hurt him, to get to him like his father got to me, I was had as well. I curse softly as I realize this, realize that I need him far more than I let on. He's my angel. I cannot wish him happiness with anyone else. I want him with me. Just with me.
Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm halfway down the hall to where his slender form is curled up into a little ball, asleep, like I thought. I come to my senses and stop, but close enough that I can see the pain written in his features, the way his fine brows are drawn together in an expression of bleak sadness. He looks like a tragic heroine from some Shakespearean play. I kneel by him, reaching out towards him with a shaking hand. Wrong or not, I need him. I know that. But will he still want me after what I said to him?
I touch his face lightly, wiping away the last traces of tears and he opens his eyes, looking up at me. For a moment, I think he's going to smile, and then he jerks away from my touch.
"S-stay away from me!" There is bitter anger in those words, and I sigh, knowing he has every right to hate me now. "Did you just come to hurt me again? I don't want to hear it!"
"Harry-"
"What, not Potter anymore? " He's crying again now, tears of anger and pain as he lashes out at me. "I-I don't need you either! I don't!" He struggles to his feet and pushes past me, and I catch his arms before he can get out of reach.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry." Quietly, I say those words, knowing they won't be enough to heal the rift between us.
He stops and looks up at me, still upset, but quiet.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I…wanted to hurt you, because your father hurt me. I shouldn't have done it."
"It…still meant nothing though, didn't it." Those words are spoken softly, and I realize with a jolt that it really had meant a lot to him.
"It…meant something," I admit hesitantly.
He looks up at me, hope flashing in his eyes for a moment before he shakes his eyes, dropping his gaze from my face. "Not what it meant to me," he says, and pulls away from my grasp. Before I can stop him he's gone, vanished like smoke on the wind, and I am left alone with my guilt and pain.
TBC
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