A/N: Bleh! I've been sick for three days now and I've been staying home
from school. So hopefully, I'll get a couple of chapters out today. I would
work on Love Line Lane, but Carleen is at band camp. Please hold your
laughter. I went to band camp last year, but I quit band due to the
incredibly boringness of playing the trombone. Also grade seven band camp
really sucked. They got mad at me because I refused to say grace with them.
So much for freedom _ Anyways, I hope this chapter won't be too bad. If
it is, feel free to complain! But now, just read.
***Chapter Nine: Write Back Soon***
It was two weeks after she left that he realized it. He as addicted to her. He had an uncontrollable urge to have her. It was like living without soda pop. Your brain says it's for the best but the rest of you craves it constantly. The more you don't have it, the more you want it. She took over his thoughts, his dreams and anything else that happened to occupy his mind. She was his life.
But unlike other addictions of alcohol, drugs or smoking, it wasn't easily cured by a patch, or rehab. He didn't have AA meetings where he could meet with others who felt his pain. It was two weeks after she left, that Blaise realized he couldn't control his love for Samantha.
Days went by slowly, leading up to that day when he finally realized. Everyday was a routine: get up, eat a little breakfast, go to class, have lunch, go to class, skip dinner and lay in bed all night thinking about her. The reminders of her didn't help either. Pansy just kept saying how weird Samantha was and how she knew that something was wrong. Of course, the whole school now knew. The Daily Profit didn't have any means of self control. And two days after she left, the headlines read: YOUNG WIZARD MURDERERINALLY CAUGHT. And, as usual, they couldn't keep their filthy mouths shut. The detail of her trial, sentence and a day by day diary of her stay in Azkaban. Blaise stopped his subscription.
He didn't realize how wrong the paper was until he finally got a letter from Samantha herself. It was addressed to him on the envelope, but the letter inside didn't say it was to anyone, or from anyone.
***The Letter***
I can't take it here. If it weren't for knowing that you are alive, I would kill myself. It's like a freezer constantly. You can taste the smell of the dead. I know I shouldn't be making you worry, but I'm candy-coating my descriptions. They were right about Azkaban. It is hell on earth.
Each day, I'm fed a little. They're just stretching out my death. So far, I haven't heard any word about getting 'the kiss' but I know it's coming. I would rather die from starvation after seeing people in here go mad. I've seen two kisses so far. You could practically see their soul begging not to be... Eaten, I guess is the right term. But you can here them. The scream is blood curdling, painful and makes you want to die even more. But, then again, I do deserve it.
Don't come and try to save me. You would be risking your life for a life that doesn't deserve to live. But remember, I love you. I always will.
******
Blaise couldn't respond. Every time he picked up a quill, he set it down because he was too shaky to write. She stopped writing after a couple of letters. Each one got more concerned about why he wasn't writing back. Samantha eventually thought that he had forgotten about her.
She sat alone in a dark and dank cell. A little light came from a small fluorescent light outside in the hallway. The rest of the light trickled in from the tiny window at the back of the cell. Dust danced in the natural light, seemingly unaffected by the setting in which it resided. Each day, Samantha grew weaker and weaker. She poured her heart out into letters that she never sent. He wouldn't have responded anyways.
On the day that Blaise finally realized (it was two weeks after she had left), he had received one last letter.
***The Letter***
I've lost track of days, sitting here all alone. Each day, I can smell more and more rot reeking from the other cells. We'll all rot here, they all say. I'm starting to agree.
I've told you not to rescue me, and of course, you've obliged. You seem to do everything I say. If I commanded you to write me back, would you? I'm guessing not. I haven't received anything from you. I wanted you to go on with your life, but it's my turn to be selfish. I want you all to myself, but you don't want me. That's why I've stopped sending these letters. They will rot along with me. I wish you could see that. Then maybe you will realize what you have done by not responding. Then maybe you will die of a broken heart, just like I will.
Enough of that, it's making me sick. I long for a decent conversation. Even just a 'Hello, how are you?'. The silence is deafening and the cold of evil has surrounded me. I'm on the verge of giving in. That's why I decided to write once more. If you don't write back, then I will consider you as a mere memory, as you have done to me. On that note, I bid you goodbye, for this may be the last time that we ever have any kind of communication.
******
A lump of guilt stuck in his stomach as he read her terrifying words. By now, he had thought that she had surely forgotten about him. He never had forgotten her, and never would. Blaise grabbed a yorkshire pudding off the center of the Slytherin table. Excusing himself, almost violently quickly, he rushed off to the dungeons.
Right into the common room he ran and upon discovering that no one was there, he occupied the mahogany desk right next to the window. He told himself over and over again that he must write something, and indeed, he finally did.
***Blaise's Letter***
Samantha, my dear love, Samantha! How I never could write to you has pained me so much. Every time I had picked up a quill, intending to write to you, I shook violently and could never get a word down. Your last letter has awakened me from this nightmare and only brought me into a worse nightmare. The more I hear about your pain, the more I get sickened. The world around me is going mad, like it was before I met you. You are my one last connection to reality, yet when I'm with you, it's like a dream. Please excuse my mushiness. ~Blaise
P.S. Draco just got sent to the hospital wing due to alcohol poisoning. He drank twelve muggle beers by himself, he did. They've been thinking of sending him off to counseling or something like that.
******
She was picking at her nails when the coldness started to grow. It was shocking and downright terrifying. A single dementor was striding up to her cell. She knew that it was the end as it came closer and closer. It reached out with its boney hand and she struggled to stand and run from the creature. It carried the essence of the dead.
The struggle was for nothing. It handed her a letter that was in a dark emerald envelop with silver cursive on the front. The dementor left, taking with it, all the depressing thoughts. The ones that were left were soon crushed by the contents of the letter. But the contents weren't the real reason. The real reason was the fact that it was from Blaise.
***Letter from Samantha***
I've read your letter over and over and over again. I cannot believe that it is true. You have finally written me back, and you haven't changed. I wish I could say the same for myself.
I've become more depressed than before, and I think about suicide more than ever. That letter saved me from an early death. I'm having another trial on Tuesday, though I'm sure you have probably already heard. The Daily Profit is quite interested in me. At that trial, they will decide my sentence. Either I will get 'the kiss' (Oh God, I hope not) or I will rot in this fucking cell for another year. Many times before, I have said that I deserved this punishment, but now that I think, I believe that I only deserve to be here for another year. No one should ever go through the terrible ordeal of being kissed by those evil hooded creatures. Though, I would most certainly love to see that foul Pansy Parkinson be scared out of her wits by one.
How is she anyways? Has she got a new boy toy? How about Draco? You said that he is in the hospital wing. Is he out yet? And has he changed? I hope so. He most definitely was as foul as Pansy beforehand. I'm sorry about my blabbering. You are my one link to Hogwarts. It was the only place where I ever really belonged. ~Samantha
***Dear Samantha***
I stopped getting the daily profit weeks ago. It seemed like all lies. They portrayed you as evil, which I most certainly know is not true. As for Pansy, I believe she has something going on with Snape. Yes, it's disgusting, but Pansy always was a whore. And Draco, he's getting better. I'm sorry to say that he hasn't changed much. That is, he hasn't changed in my point of view. Draco's still the little alcoholic who, though he denies it all the time, obliviously has a thing for Hermione Granger. I don't get what he sees in her. She's always been quite full of herself and ruse to anything that resembles a Syltherin. Speaking of Granger, her, Potter and Weasley have been interrogating me in the corridors. They think that I know more about old Voldemort than Dumbledore does. I assure you, I don't. They stereotype me, though.
I'm getting lonely here. I can't find a decent Slytherin friend and all the people from other houses believe that I'm evil due to the fact that me and you were... umm... Yeah. But don't get me wrong, I don't think that you're evil. And the other kids wouldn't either if it weren't for the damned Daily Profit. ~Blaise
P.S. I want to come find you, but only if I have your permission.
***To Blaise***
You now have my permission. I'll give you the details why when you get here. Please get here before next Friday though, or I will be a body without a soul. You can probably guess my sentence.
***End Chapter Nine***
***Chapter Nine: Write Back Soon***
It was two weeks after she left that he realized it. He as addicted to her. He had an uncontrollable urge to have her. It was like living without soda pop. Your brain says it's for the best but the rest of you craves it constantly. The more you don't have it, the more you want it. She took over his thoughts, his dreams and anything else that happened to occupy his mind. She was his life.
But unlike other addictions of alcohol, drugs or smoking, it wasn't easily cured by a patch, or rehab. He didn't have AA meetings where he could meet with others who felt his pain. It was two weeks after she left, that Blaise realized he couldn't control his love for Samantha.
Days went by slowly, leading up to that day when he finally realized. Everyday was a routine: get up, eat a little breakfast, go to class, have lunch, go to class, skip dinner and lay in bed all night thinking about her. The reminders of her didn't help either. Pansy just kept saying how weird Samantha was and how she knew that something was wrong. Of course, the whole school now knew. The Daily Profit didn't have any means of self control. And two days after she left, the headlines read: YOUNG WIZARD MURDERERINALLY CAUGHT. And, as usual, they couldn't keep their filthy mouths shut. The detail of her trial, sentence and a day by day diary of her stay in Azkaban. Blaise stopped his subscription.
He didn't realize how wrong the paper was until he finally got a letter from Samantha herself. It was addressed to him on the envelope, but the letter inside didn't say it was to anyone, or from anyone.
***The Letter***
I can't take it here. If it weren't for knowing that you are alive, I would kill myself. It's like a freezer constantly. You can taste the smell of the dead. I know I shouldn't be making you worry, but I'm candy-coating my descriptions. They were right about Azkaban. It is hell on earth.
Each day, I'm fed a little. They're just stretching out my death. So far, I haven't heard any word about getting 'the kiss' but I know it's coming. I would rather die from starvation after seeing people in here go mad. I've seen two kisses so far. You could practically see their soul begging not to be... Eaten, I guess is the right term. But you can here them. The scream is blood curdling, painful and makes you want to die even more. But, then again, I do deserve it.
Don't come and try to save me. You would be risking your life for a life that doesn't deserve to live. But remember, I love you. I always will.
******
Blaise couldn't respond. Every time he picked up a quill, he set it down because he was too shaky to write. She stopped writing after a couple of letters. Each one got more concerned about why he wasn't writing back. Samantha eventually thought that he had forgotten about her.
She sat alone in a dark and dank cell. A little light came from a small fluorescent light outside in the hallway. The rest of the light trickled in from the tiny window at the back of the cell. Dust danced in the natural light, seemingly unaffected by the setting in which it resided. Each day, Samantha grew weaker and weaker. She poured her heart out into letters that she never sent. He wouldn't have responded anyways.
On the day that Blaise finally realized (it was two weeks after she had left), he had received one last letter.
***The Letter***
I've lost track of days, sitting here all alone. Each day, I can smell more and more rot reeking from the other cells. We'll all rot here, they all say. I'm starting to agree.
I've told you not to rescue me, and of course, you've obliged. You seem to do everything I say. If I commanded you to write me back, would you? I'm guessing not. I haven't received anything from you. I wanted you to go on with your life, but it's my turn to be selfish. I want you all to myself, but you don't want me. That's why I've stopped sending these letters. They will rot along with me. I wish you could see that. Then maybe you will realize what you have done by not responding. Then maybe you will die of a broken heart, just like I will.
Enough of that, it's making me sick. I long for a decent conversation. Even just a 'Hello, how are you?'. The silence is deafening and the cold of evil has surrounded me. I'm on the verge of giving in. That's why I decided to write once more. If you don't write back, then I will consider you as a mere memory, as you have done to me. On that note, I bid you goodbye, for this may be the last time that we ever have any kind of communication.
******
A lump of guilt stuck in his stomach as he read her terrifying words. By now, he had thought that she had surely forgotten about him. He never had forgotten her, and never would. Blaise grabbed a yorkshire pudding off the center of the Slytherin table. Excusing himself, almost violently quickly, he rushed off to the dungeons.
Right into the common room he ran and upon discovering that no one was there, he occupied the mahogany desk right next to the window. He told himself over and over again that he must write something, and indeed, he finally did.
***Blaise's Letter***
Samantha, my dear love, Samantha! How I never could write to you has pained me so much. Every time I had picked up a quill, intending to write to you, I shook violently and could never get a word down. Your last letter has awakened me from this nightmare and only brought me into a worse nightmare. The more I hear about your pain, the more I get sickened. The world around me is going mad, like it was before I met you. You are my one last connection to reality, yet when I'm with you, it's like a dream. Please excuse my mushiness. ~Blaise
P.S. Draco just got sent to the hospital wing due to alcohol poisoning. He drank twelve muggle beers by himself, he did. They've been thinking of sending him off to counseling or something like that.
******
She was picking at her nails when the coldness started to grow. It was shocking and downright terrifying. A single dementor was striding up to her cell. She knew that it was the end as it came closer and closer. It reached out with its boney hand and she struggled to stand and run from the creature. It carried the essence of the dead.
The struggle was for nothing. It handed her a letter that was in a dark emerald envelop with silver cursive on the front. The dementor left, taking with it, all the depressing thoughts. The ones that were left were soon crushed by the contents of the letter. But the contents weren't the real reason. The real reason was the fact that it was from Blaise.
***Letter from Samantha***
I've read your letter over and over and over again. I cannot believe that it is true. You have finally written me back, and you haven't changed. I wish I could say the same for myself.
I've become more depressed than before, and I think about suicide more than ever. That letter saved me from an early death. I'm having another trial on Tuesday, though I'm sure you have probably already heard. The Daily Profit is quite interested in me. At that trial, they will decide my sentence. Either I will get 'the kiss' (Oh God, I hope not) or I will rot in this fucking cell for another year. Many times before, I have said that I deserved this punishment, but now that I think, I believe that I only deserve to be here for another year. No one should ever go through the terrible ordeal of being kissed by those evil hooded creatures. Though, I would most certainly love to see that foul Pansy Parkinson be scared out of her wits by one.
How is she anyways? Has she got a new boy toy? How about Draco? You said that he is in the hospital wing. Is he out yet? And has he changed? I hope so. He most definitely was as foul as Pansy beforehand. I'm sorry about my blabbering. You are my one link to Hogwarts. It was the only place where I ever really belonged. ~Samantha
***Dear Samantha***
I stopped getting the daily profit weeks ago. It seemed like all lies. They portrayed you as evil, which I most certainly know is not true. As for Pansy, I believe she has something going on with Snape. Yes, it's disgusting, but Pansy always was a whore. And Draco, he's getting better. I'm sorry to say that he hasn't changed much. That is, he hasn't changed in my point of view. Draco's still the little alcoholic who, though he denies it all the time, obliviously has a thing for Hermione Granger. I don't get what he sees in her. She's always been quite full of herself and ruse to anything that resembles a Syltherin. Speaking of Granger, her, Potter and Weasley have been interrogating me in the corridors. They think that I know more about old Voldemort than Dumbledore does. I assure you, I don't. They stereotype me, though.
I'm getting lonely here. I can't find a decent Slytherin friend and all the people from other houses believe that I'm evil due to the fact that me and you were... umm... Yeah. But don't get me wrong, I don't think that you're evil. And the other kids wouldn't either if it weren't for the damned Daily Profit. ~Blaise
P.S. I want to come find you, but only if I have your permission.
***To Blaise***
You now have my permission. I'll give you the details why when you get here. Please get here before next Friday though, or I will be a body without a soul. You can probably guess my sentence.
***End Chapter Nine***