Chapter 9: Razor Blade Prince
By Vahn and Vahn alone (though Redhawk is speaking to me again. (YIPEE)
Disclaimer: well I've got nothing to say.
Notes: Every other * * * is a time jump. It starts off in the past, then present. This goes on and off. Until the present segments end, and they become a narrative of a farther back past, a memory. Sorry if it's confusing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No. Love is surely no godsend. No extraterrestrial blessing, no fallen stars. not even as necessary as oxygen we breath without thought, every other second of our existence. Love is an addiction, an affliction. Love is a narcotic, with windswept pull and reckless, orbital high. Carving out the marrow of you bones, making you light and airy. Smearing your incandescent, angel dust spirits across the walls. Love is a withdrawal, feel it drain from you veins, burning thoughts like dry leaves. Hazy glowing, the radiant nightmare.
You were what I saw, running through the twisted halls, snaking, winding themselves around each other. You were what I saw, tear streaked face and murdered love. Over lapping and bending in my haste to find you. With your words on my ear, writing themselves across the senses.
'To think someone like you could ever love me, let alone look at something as hideous as me.'
The lengths to which I'd go, to prove I didn't love you, that it wasn't me at all. This person who'd kiss you, and tell you he'd love you, and wouldn't stop. That it was all farce, impostors and flimsy lies. This wasn't me was all I could say. No one would ever believe me, all the time I'd spent making myself someone else, was time I didn't have. and now, no one will see me like they had, and none will believe. Not even myself. Pious spiteful Malfoy has been reduced to me, this whimpering, self defeated lover. I'm on the verge of frenzy. So keep on running, watching the corridors melt on the soles of my shoes.
* * *
I'm sitting on a bench in some train station, in the district of who knows where. With my suitcase and this train arrival schedule. There are rumors that the body they're using at the 'viewing' isn't even yours. Just an illusion they're using to cover you. People are saying it's because they couldn't find a body. Others, in whispered hush, say there wasn't enough left to show. And these stupid hopefuls tell me you're still alive. What fools.
* * *
I watch Harry from across the great hall. All these things, the stitches keeping us intact, have been sheared with such malicious force. And by my very own hand no less. And these things I remembered have become blurry and obtuse. All the solid matter, every tepid molecule, all of them buzzing. In flux, and my hand feels like it'll just pass through. No definition, no composition. Just frivolous cells, jumping up and down, running in circles. Sensations missing acute potency, and the world itself, my victim. Harry glares at me with his turned back. He hasn't spoken to me since it happened. To little has been said. Rightly so.
* * *
I'm on the end of my tether. It's strange these delicate straps haven't snapped under the pressure, under all this time. Contemplating the imaginary ropes around my waist, watching the people walk by. The all seem like they have places to go, meetings to attend, whores to fuck. Me and my bench, this scrap of paper half paced suitcase. I've felt so aimless these days.
* * *
"I don't want to hear it Malfoy, frankly I'm not in the mood." his voice scares me like nothing else. It stings with such ease, it sounds like someone I used to know. He's learned this voice from me. My eyes are pleading, and these thoughts are bleeding. We were still born children in a sense. And now, I've cut you out of the womb. Freed us. We died before we ha a our first breath of air.
"It wasn't like that! I di-" I'll keep on trying, and trying and trying. And you'll ignore me. Push me back away, and pretend nothing has happened here between us. Rightly so.
* * *
I have it in my bag. That slice of mirror. I took it after Hermoine stormed out on the last day of school. I had given it to you after the first time we made love. Huh. There I go again with the pink lens.
Well, I gave it you, on some morbidly romantic whim. I had cut myself with that shiny piece of glass every night for about a month I think. My father had caught me ogling some man's ass or something like that. I can't really remember anymore. It was something small like that. Well dear old pop taught me a lesson about perversion of the sort. The thing I find really odd now, for with time brings objectivity, how he had this terrible five o' clock shadow. I had noticed this when he had thrown me in to a fire place. Burnt my palm before I scrambled out trying not to cry in front of him. You were walking away. And so I grabbed a sliver of that mirror that you broke with my skull the moment the last guest had collected themselves and left. I lunged and you, succeeded in cutting my fingers with my grip and tearing the front of your silk shirt. Father just gave me this look and pushed me off, I thought he was going to leave. I was relieved and mortified when I found myself crying. I barely felt the chair hit the side of my head, only the blood leaking out of my fractured skull on to the spotless marble floor. The stain's still there.
* * *
I consider barging in to your room. Taking back what I had given to you. Which seems hypocritical considering you had no way of retrieve everything I took from you. Besides the point, had I seen you doing your work, lying on your bed. Not Speaking, I would've broken right there, started crying and humiliating myself. I've been doing a lot of that lately anyway. I hate crying in front of you like that.
* * *
So I decided to spite Luicius. I had quite a few rosy fantasies about him finding me, swinging from the rafter in my bed room. With a broken neck and delicate wrists covered in merciless gashes. And I'd imagine you tearful, sobbing and regretful. Of ever hurting me, touching me. But of course, that would ~never~ happen. Even if I were to suspend myself in such a fashion, you wouldn't give my corpse a second though. Just a disdainful glance, and with a snap of your fingers I'd be removed from the premises. I think that made me angrier. It all just made me hate you more.
* * *
"What was it then, your clothes disappeared and you happened to trip and fuck her?" It kills me to know I've done this to you, why does someone wonderful like you always get stepped on by people like me? God, I've been such a fool. You can't forgive me, how can you forgive any of us?
* * *
Strangely I don't feel anything other than a dull sting. Not much blood is coming out, I'd always imagined there would be more. Spreading out across pale flesh, sliding and dripping. Sheared capillaries and nothing but released, stagnant blood. I want to feel more than what he's given me. I press hard on the slit. Willing the blood from my body, just wishing to get him out of my veins, wanting, needing so desperately. I'll smear it across the walls. Show him everything, I want so much for him to know. How he's stolen me. Educate the father of his son, smear his genes. This unwanted symbol of a one night stand. Paint his 'love' with the very soul he's given me. Make daddy see everything...
* * *
"God Harry, I'm sorry! I don't know what else to say! It wasn't like that, I never meant"
"For me to find out, well I did and I'm asking you nicely to get the fuck away from me!" You sniffle and try and wrest your arm from my grip. I don't let go.
"Would you let me finish? I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything to ma-" I say, stuttering.
"Well I can see you're sorry, but that doesn't mean anything."
"How ca-" he cuts me off again, starting to cry, breathing fast and trying desperately to keep his lungs full.
"You threw it all away, not me! You can't make it up to me. You just can't!" his fingernails dig in to my wrist, aligning themselves with a prior wound of similar birth. You pull my hand off and run. as fast as you possibly can, tears all over his face. He rubs them away covering his face with my blood and betrayal
* * *
I know it'll scar. I make a twin, a companion wonder on my right wrist. It's sketchy, shallow. I'm right handed. I press as hard as I can. I have this dream, this fancy, that I could hollow myself completely, cut out every piece of him. Every mean word, every sadistic touch, every hateful look, every single ruined memory. Purge him from my body, scratch him out of every picture. And sooner or later I'll be free of him and this house and these scars.
* * *
I stand there for a moment, hours maybe. Time has trickled by, like the veins have run themselves dry. I don't cry. I am my father's son after all.
* * *
A glorious stain on the wall. This is my memoir, hideous and disfigured, it's beautiful. Raw and violent, like concentrate of memory that aren't mine at all. The child of our love, Luicius and I. This is glory and awe of father and son.
* * *
I head back to the dungeons. I just want to sleep, and be thoughtless for a few hours. And just let go of all this pettiness and Harry's face when he saw me with Lisa. To just leave this place, which is reaching the dismal high or rather low of my life. I open the door. Just crisp silence like folding paper. I collapse, falling face first on to the bed. Inhaling the scent of down and my own shampoo. His hair too. Fuck.
* * *
I'm sitting in the darkest corner of my room. Rubbing my wrists angrily, I have no idea why. I'm just angry at myself, I don't know why I feel this way either. Just secured in the havoc of this spinning room. I rub my eyes, they're itching and dry. I succeed only in blinding myself.
Daddy's footsteps on the stairs. I lie down, curling in to fetal position.
Daddy's footsteps in the hall. I was born just like this, wrapped around myself, trying to hide. My sight stolen by a membrane of my own flesh covering my face. Does the blood intend to shield me or deprive me, what were the intentions of the caul. With my father waiting patiently outside as my mother damn her soul, brought me kicking a screaming in to this world. Is it the same know, was the caul a blindfold to keep me from his disappointment. So I would never see, he couldn't love me. And still he stands right outsides, with nothing but antique mahogany between us.
Daddy's hand on the door knob. I'll make him see his son, and what his love has made of me.
* * *
I recognize a thin layer of sound, just beneath the dreamy silence. It's drifting from the key hole and crevices of the room. It's in the adjacent dorm. I get up to investigate, already knowing what I'll find. Must they be so loud, some of us do enjoy sleeping at night?
* * *
It turns, the door opens with a decisive click. It swings wide open, and I can see him, his silhouette before the threshold.
* * *
Harry's arms, bound to the bed post with pliable leather straps.
Crabbe thrusting impatiently, moaning in his ecstasy.
Goyle, his arms around Harry, face nestled in his neck. Biting and murmuring thinks I cannot hear.
Harry eyes wide open, not shocked by my entrance. His eyes fixated on me, where the blank door once stood under his gaze. He's been waiting for me to come here and find him. He smiles sadly over Greg's shoulder, and I stand there, watching without really seeing.
* * *
The door stands ajar and he is gone. He takes this from me, unwilling to even acknowledge my pain. I sit disheveled and spattered in blood, the father is gone.
* * *
"Harry..."
* * *
The doorway is naked, and I am the razor blade prince.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note: The tittle 'razor blade prince' had to do with disasscociative tendencies, which allow a person to who suffers huge traumas to continue to function. In this case, he was giving himself power by saying it was his domain, it made Draco feel as though he was in control of all the things that happened to him, that way he wasn't being violated and abused, if he was controlling it. Anyhoo, what have I done with the couple. I promise this is going somewhere better.
Ru Av Natten: yes well what did this chapter do for the 'god Draco what's wrong with you' anger. Looks like Harry's trying to get back at him. Such terrible fighting, wouldn't it be nice if they could just screw? hee hee
Goddess of Wombats: Well, yes Harry tells Draco about Sirius during their 'reconciliation'. Yes this will have a happy ending and yes someone is sure as hell dyin'. Can you guess who?
PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE! I need 'em or I'll stop writing, I swear it! ADVERTISE ME IF YOU HAVE FICS! Anybody! Anybody! *sobs*
By Vahn and Vahn alone (though Redhawk is speaking to me again. (YIPEE)
Disclaimer: well I've got nothing to say.
Notes: Every other * * * is a time jump. It starts off in the past, then present. This goes on and off. Until the present segments end, and they become a narrative of a farther back past, a memory. Sorry if it's confusing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No. Love is surely no godsend. No extraterrestrial blessing, no fallen stars. not even as necessary as oxygen we breath without thought, every other second of our existence. Love is an addiction, an affliction. Love is a narcotic, with windswept pull and reckless, orbital high. Carving out the marrow of you bones, making you light and airy. Smearing your incandescent, angel dust spirits across the walls. Love is a withdrawal, feel it drain from you veins, burning thoughts like dry leaves. Hazy glowing, the radiant nightmare.
You were what I saw, running through the twisted halls, snaking, winding themselves around each other. You were what I saw, tear streaked face and murdered love. Over lapping and bending in my haste to find you. With your words on my ear, writing themselves across the senses.
'To think someone like you could ever love me, let alone look at something as hideous as me.'
The lengths to which I'd go, to prove I didn't love you, that it wasn't me at all. This person who'd kiss you, and tell you he'd love you, and wouldn't stop. That it was all farce, impostors and flimsy lies. This wasn't me was all I could say. No one would ever believe me, all the time I'd spent making myself someone else, was time I didn't have. and now, no one will see me like they had, and none will believe. Not even myself. Pious spiteful Malfoy has been reduced to me, this whimpering, self defeated lover. I'm on the verge of frenzy. So keep on running, watching the corridors melt on the soles of my shoes.
* * *
I'm sitting on a bench in some train station, in the district of who knows where. With my suitcase and this train arrival schedule. There are rumors that the body they're using at the 'viewing' isn't even yours. Just an illusion they're using to cover you. People are saying it's because they couldn't find a body. Others, in whispered hush, say there wasn't enough left to show. And these stupid hopefuls tell me you're still alive. What fools.
* * *
I watch Harry from across the great hall. All these things, the stitches keeping us intact, have been sheared with such malicious force. And by my very own hand no less. And these things I remembered have become blurry and obtuse. All the solid matter, every tepid molecule, all of them buzzing. In flux, and my hand feels like it'll just pass through. No definition, no composition. Just frivolous cells, jumping up and down, running in circles. Sensations missing acute potency, and the world itself, my victim. Harry glares at me with his turned back. He hasn't spoken to me since it happened. To little has been said. Rightly so.
* * *
I'm on the end of my tether. It's strange these delicate straps haven't snapped under the pressure, under all this time. Contemplating the imaginary ropes around my waist, watching the people walk by. The all seem like they have places to go, meetings to attend, whores to fuck. Me and my bench, this scrap of paper half paced suitcase. I've felt so aimless these days.
* * *
"I don't want to hear it Malfoy, frankly I'm not in the mood." his voice scares me like nothing else. It stings with such ease, it sounds like someone I used to know. He's learned this voice from me. My eyes are pleading, and these thoughts are bleeding. We were still born children in a sense. And now, I've cut you out of the womb. Freed us. We died before we ha a our first breath of air.
"It wasn't like that! I di-" I'll keep on trying, and trying and trying. And you'll ignore me. Push me back away, and pretend nothing has happened here between us. Rightly so.
* * *
I have it in my bag. That slice of mirror. I took it after Hermoine stormed out on the last day of school. I had given it to you after the first time we made love. Huh. There I go again with the pink lens.
Well, I gave it you, on some morbidly romantic whim. I had cut myself with that shiny piece of glass every night for about a month I think. My father had caught me ogling some man's ass or something like that. I can't really remember anymore. It was something small like that. Well dear old pop taught me a lesson about perversion of the sort. The thing I find really odd now, for with time brings objectivity, how he had this terrible five o' clock shadow. I had noticed this when he had thrown me in to a fire place. Burnt my palm before I scrambled out trying not to cry in front of him. You were walking away. And so I grabbed a sliver of that mirror that you broke with my skull the moment the last guest had collected themselves and left. I lunged and you, succeeded in cutting my fingers with my grip and tearing the front of your silk shirt. Father just gave me this look and pushed me off, I thought he was going to leave. I was relieved and mortified when I found myself crying. I barely felt the chair hit the side of my head, only the blood leaking out of my fractured skull on to the spotless marble floor. The stain's still there.
* * *
I consider barging in to your room. Taking back what I had given to you. Which seems hypocritical considering you had no way of retrieve everything I took from you. Besides the point, had I seen you doing your work, lying on your bed. Not Speaking, I would've broken right there, started crying and humiliating myself. I've been doing a lot of that lately anyway. I hate crying in front of you like that.
* * *
So I decided to spite Luicius. I had quite a few rosy fantasies about him finding me, swinging from the rafter in my bed room. With a broken neck and delicate wrists covered in merciless gashes. And I'd imagine you tearful, sobbing and regretful. Of ever hurting me, touching me. But of course, that would ~never~ happen. Even if I were to suspend myself in such a fashion, you wouldn't give my corpse a second though. Just a disdainful glance, and with a snap of your fingers I'd be removed from the premises. I think that made me angrier. It all just made me hate you more.
* * *
"What was it then, your clothes disappeared and you happened to trip and fuck her?" It kills me to know I've done this to you, why does someone wonderful like you always get stepped on by people like me? God, I've been such a fool. You can't forgive me, how can you forgive any of us?
* * *
Strangely I don't feel anything other than a dull sting. Not much blood is coming out, I'd always imagined there would be more. Spreading out across pale flesh, sliding and dripping. Sheared capillaries and nothing but released, stagnant blood. I want to feel more than what he's given me. I press hard on the slit. Willing the blood from my body, just wishing to get him out of my veins, wanting, needing so desperately. I'll smear it across the walls. Show him everything, I want so much for him to know. How he's stolen me. Educate the father of his son, smear his genes. This unwanted symbol of a one night stand. Paint his 'love' with the very soul he's given me. Make daddy see everything...
* * *
"God Harry, I'm sorry! I don't know what else to say! It wasn't like that, I never meant"
"For me to find out, well I did and I'm asking you nicely to get the fuck away from me!" You sniffle and try and wrest your arm from my grip. I don't let go.
"Would you let me finish? I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything to ma-" I say, stuttering.
"Well I can see you're sorry, but that doesn't mean anything."
"How ca-" he cuts me off again, starting to cry, breathing fast and trying desperately to keep his lungs full.
"You threw it all away, not me! You can't make it up to me. You just can't!" his fingernails dig in to my wrist, aligning themselves with a prior wound of similar birth. You pull my hand off and run. as fast as you possibly can, tears all over his face. He rubs them away covering his face with my blood and betrayal
* * *
I know it'll scar. I make a twin, a companion wonder on my right wrist. It's sketchy, shallow. I'm right handed. I press as hard as I can. I have this dream, this fancy, that I could hollow myself completely, cut out every piece of him. Every mean word, every sadistic touch, every hateful look, every single ruined memory. Purge him from my body, scratch him out of every picture. And sooner or later I'll be free of him and this house and these scars.
* * *
I stand there for a moment, hours maybe. Time has trickled by, like the veins have run themselves dry. I don't cry. I am my father's son after all.
* * *
A glorious stain on the wall. This is my memoir, hideous and disfigured, it's beautiful. Raw and violent, like concentrate of memory that aren't mine at all. The child of our love, Luicius and I. This is glory and awe of father and son.
* * *
I head back to the dungeons. I just want to sleep, and be thoughtless for a few hours. And just let go of all this pettiness and Harry's face when he saw me with Lisa. To just leave this place, which is reaching the dismal high or rather low of my life. I open the door. Just crisp silence like folding paper. I collapse, falling face first on to the bed. Inhaling the scent of down and my own shampoo. His hair too. Fuck.
* * *
I'm sitting in the darkest corner of my room. Rubbing my wrists angrily, I have no idea why. I'm just angry at myself, I don't know why I feel this way either. Just secured in the havoc of this spinning room. I rub my eyes, they're itching and dry. I succeed only in blinding myself.
Daddy's footsteps on the stairs. I lie down, curling in to fetal position.
Daddy's footsteps in the hall. I was born just like this, wrapped around myself, trying to hide. My sight stolen by a membrane of my own flesh covering my face. Does the blood intend to shield me or deprive me, what were the intentions of the caul. With my father waiting patiently outside as my mother damn her soul, brought me kicking a screaming in to this world. Is it the same know, was the caul a blindfold to keep me from his disappointment. So I would never see, he couldn't love me. And still he stands right outsides, with nothing but antique mahogany between us.
Daddy's hand on the door knob. I'll make him see his son, and what his love has made of me.
* * *
I recognize a thin layer of sound, just beneath the dreamy silence. It's drifting from the key hole and crevices of the room. It's in the adjacent dorm. I get up to investigate, already knowing what I'll find. Must they be so loud, some of us do enjoy sleeping at night?
* * *
It turns, the door opens with a decisive click. It swings wide open, and I can see him, his silhouette before the threshold.
* * *
Harry's arms, bound to the bed post with pliable leather straps.
Crabbe thrusting impatiently, moaning in his ecstasy.
Goyle, his arms around Harry, face nestled in his neck. Biting and murmuring thinks I cannot hear.
Harry eyes wide open, not shocked by my entrance. His eyes fixated on me, where the blank door once stood under his gaze. He's been waiting for me to come here and find him. He smiles sadly over Greg's shoulder, and I stand there, watching without really seeing.
* * *
The door stands ajar and he is gone. He takes this from me, unwilling to even acknowledge my pain. I sit disheveled and spattered in blood, the father is gone.
* * *
"Harry..."
* * *
The doorway is naked, and I am the razor blade prince.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note: The tittle 'razor blade prince' had to do with disasscociative tendencies, which allow a person to who suffers huge traumas to continue to function. In this case, he was giving himself power by saying it was his domain, it made Draco feel as though he was in control of all the things that happened to him, that way he wasn't being violated and abused, if he was controlling it. Anyhoo, what have I done with the couple. I promise this is going somewhere better.
Ru Av Natten: yes well what did this chapter do for the 'god Draco what's wrong with you' anger. Looks like Harry's trying to get back at him. Such terrible fighting, wouldn't it be nice if they could just screw? hee hee
Goddess of Wombats: Well, yes Harry tells Draco about Sirius during their 'reconciliation'. Yes this will have a happy ending and yes someone is sure as hell dyin'. Can you guess who?
PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE! I need 'em or I'll stop writing, I swear it! ADVERTISE ME IF YOU HAVE FICS! Anybody! Anybody! *sobs*