I try to breathe/Memories overtaking me/I try to face them but/the thought is too/Much to conceive/I only know that I can change/Everything else just stays the same/So now I step out of the darkness.
~~Staind, Fade
Hollow eyes stared blankly into the depths of the Black Lace, the smell of the alcohol twisting upward toward him, tickling his senses. Each little bubble slipped and swirled in the dark liquid, but he couldn't see anything but them. Those lovely faces floating around in the inky blackness, tossing about on the ebony waves. He sighed and put down the drink again. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be funny. He groaned softly. He wasn't laughing. They were everywhere, taunting him. SHE was always out front, her wide sad eyes pleading for something he couldn't give her. He closed his eyes again as each experience wracked his body. The heaving, the inconceivable pitch of the pleasure. He brought the drink back to his lips, tipping several drops onto his eager tongue. The Black Lace burned his throat going down, nearly making him gag. He slammed the glass down again, realizing that the taste of it only reminded him of them. Each of them, so perfect, so dangerous. He'd been caught in their trap, but in the end he'd gotten them all. It was what he had wanted. Somehow, this was no comfort. He stood up abruptly, wrapping his ashen cloak around him in one fluid movement. He'd already paid for his drink, and it seemed a shame to waste it, so he took that with him too. After slapping down a couple of bills on the counter for Madam Rosmerta, he wove his way out of the Three Broomsticks. The winter night was one of the darkest and coldest of the year, and Snape shivered under the moonless chasm of sky. Christmas lights winked merrily at him from the snow-dusted Hogsmeade houses, and it only made the wad of bad feelings in his stomach seem to weigh more. He moved slowly along the deserted main street, still clutching the Black Lace tightly with first one hand, and then the other. His robes billowed behind him, and the cold wind bit deeply into his skin, seeping through his pores. How long had it been? A month? He hadn't been counting. He hadn't been able to think since the note had arrived. That note had set everything into perspective. He had never thought of himself as an evil person. Cruel, certainly. Cold, he prided himself on that. But the sight of her handwriting on the page had squeezed his heart until he couldn't breathe. She had destroyed him, and he was wasting away, a shell of who he had once been. All because of her. He clenched his teeth angrily, reminding himself why he had done it all in the first place. The bet. He hadn't asked to be the prize in their silly competition, and he'd done what was necessary to put them in their places once he had realized their goals. It hadn't been evil, not even cruel by his usual standards. It had been a warning. No one could hurt Severus Snape. It simply wasn't possible. He took another swig of the Black Lace, forcing it down. He'd taken to drinking it a lot more than he should lately. Maybe because he was so depressed. Maybe because it reminded him of them. Either way, he felt as though it was his friend, the only light at the end of the dark and dismal tunnel he had dug for himself. He stared at the peeling label on the side of the bottle. The words "Black Lace" stretched below an amply endowed woman in a black lace corset. He closed his eyes again when he reached the woman's face. He knew what he'd see. Sometimes he liked to pretend that the woman in the corset was alive. She was the only one that really loved him, after all. And they could be together forever, without having to worry about stupid bets and students and teachers and cruel, heartless actions by people you thought really cared. He slumped against the wall outside Zonko's Joke Shop, staring harder at the bottle than he ever had before. Without another thought, he flung it into the night, his desperate desire to get it as far away as possible taking him over. Turning, he trudged away into the silent night, the silence falling around him with promises of what would never be.
~~Staind, Fade
Hollow eyes stared blankly into the depths of the Black Lace, the smell of the alcohol twisting upward toward him, tickling his senses. Each little bubble slipped and swirled in the dark liquid, but he couldn't see anything but them. Those lovely faces floating around in the inky blackness, tossing about on the ebony waves. He sighed and put down the drink again. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be funny. He groaned softly. He wasn't laughing. They were everywhere, taunting him. SHE was always out front, her wide sad eyes pleading for something he couldn't give her. He closed his eyes again as each experience wracked his body. The heaving, the inconceivable pitch of the pleasure. He brought the drink back to his lips, tipping several drops onto his eager tongue. The Black Lace burned his throat going down, nearly making him gag. He slammed the glass down again, realizing that the taste of it only reminded him of them. Each of them, so perfect, so dangerous. He'd been caught in their trap, but in the end he'd gotten them all. It was what he had wanted. Somehow, this was no comfort. He stood up abruptly, wrapping his ashen cloak around him in one fluid movement. He'd already paid for his drink, and it seemed a shame to waste it, so he took that with him too. After slapping down a couple of bills on the counter for Madam Rosmerta, he wove his way out of the Three Broomsticks. The winter night was one of the darkest and coldest of the year, and Snape shivered under the moonless chasm of sky. Christmas lights winked merrily at him from the snow-dusted Hogsmeade houses, and it only made the wad of bad feelings in his stomach seem to weigh more. He moved slowly along the deserted main street, still clutching the Black Lace tightly with first one hand, and then the other. His robes billowed behind him, and the cold wind bit deeply into his skin, seeping through his pores. How long had it been? A month? He hadn't been counting. He hadn't been able to think since the note had arrived. That note had set everything into perspective. He had never thought of himself as an evil person. Cruel, certainly. Cold, he prided himself on that. But the sight of her handwriting on the page had squeezed his heart until he couldn't breathe. She had destroyed him, and he was wasting away, a shell of who he had once been. All because of her. He clenched his teeth angrily, reminding himself why he had done it all in the first place. The bet. He hadn't asked to be the prize in their silly competition, and he'd done what was necessary to put them in their places once he had realized their goals. It hadn't been evil, not even cruel by his usual standards. It had been a warning. No one could hurt Severus Snape. It simply wasn't possible. He took another swig of the Black Lace, forcing it down. He'd taken to drinking it a lot more than he should lately. Maybe because he was so depressed. Maybe because it reminded him of them. Either way, he felt as though it was his friend, the only light at the end of the dark and dismal tunnel he had dug for himself. He stared at the peeling label on the side of the bottle. The words "Black Lace" stretched below an amply endowed woman in a black lace corset. He closed his eyes again when he reached the woman's face. He knew what he'd see. Sometimes he liked to pretend that the woman in the corset was alive. She was the only one that really loved him, after all. And they could be together forever, without having to worry about stupid bets and students and teachers and cruel, heartless actions by people you thought really cared. He slumped against the wall outside Zonko's Joke Shop, staring harder at the bottle than he ever had before. Without another thought, he flung it into the night, his desperate desire to get it as far away as possible taking him over. Turning, he trudged away into the silent night, the silence falling around him with promises of what would never be.