- - -
"She screams in silence
A sullen riot penetrating
Through her mind
Waiting for a sign to smash the silence
With the brick of self control…"
- - -
Chapter Nine: Brick of Self Control
- Seventh Year -
"Wands away. Books out. Turn to Chapter Fifteen and please read."
I open my book and gaze into my Defense Against the Dark Arts text, not absorbing a single word. Umbridge sits there, behind her desk. Merlin, I hate her. I'd love to throw this book at her and see what happens. I think I'd know what would happen. I've heard horror stories about her detention. She's apparently sadistic as well.
Alicia sits there next to me. Doodling in the margins of the book. Drawing what I think is supposed to be a unicorn, but looks oddly obscene. I drum my fingers on the desktop, pretending to be lost in Chapter Fifteen. Funny. I don't remember chapters One through Fourteen. I make a mental note to review this material. Bloody N.E.W.T.'s coming up. Far too quickly.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. I peer back. And it's him. We haven't talked in a couple of days. Since we slept together. I don't like to think about it. Nervous breakdowns aren't fun to remember. He drops a crumpled piece of paper in my life. As carefully as I can, I smooth the paper out. 'Meet me in the locker room after practice.'
So this is what we been resorted to. Passing notes in the middle of class to arrange our secret rendezvous.
I think I'm going to be sick.
- - -
I'm walking down the halls. To lunch. Caught in between a bickering Katie and Alicia. Arguing over the age-old debated rule concerning ex-boyfriends. I'm not listening. I wonder if they get sick of that. Me not listening to them. I do it so often. I never used to be this way.
I have his note in my pocket. His scribbled handwriting on the wrinkled parchment. He has the worst handwriting. I always have difficulty reading it. As do most of the professors. That's one of the ways to tell the difference between Fred and George. George's handwriting is far neater. Fred's is a mess. A disaster across the page. A mystery to the naked eye.
I keep on thinking about meeting him later. It's making me nervous and nauseous. That's really not the reaction he was gunning to achieve. At least I hope not.
I hate that things have been so weird. Ever since I had to go and open my big fat alcohol-stained mouth. But it's only weird for me. He's fine. Or at least seems to be. Still chatting me up like he always has. Still wants to fuck my brains out. It's not that I've lost interest. Rather, it's that I'm uncomfortable.
I feel cheated. And cheap. I don't like lying to him. I don't like the fact I have to disguise how I really feel about him in order for him to stick with me. I don't like what that means.
We reach the table. The argument between the two more heated than ever. I sigh, sitting across from them. Letting them duke it out over the pumpkin juice.
I glance up. At exactly the wrong time.
There's Fred. Over at the Ravenclaw table. Whispering in a girl's ear. The same girl I saw him with before. The blonde. The Nameless Blonde. My arch nemesis.
They look cozy. He looks happy. And I don't understand. I thought he merely threw the girls away once he was done with them. I didn't know that he occasionally recycled them.
Something about her tells me she hasn't been recycled though. She's been with him all along.
My appetite slips away. And I sit there staring at my empty plate.
- - -
The day passes far too quickly for me. Before I know it, I'm walking back into the locker rooms after practice. An extended practice, I might add. I've always been one to try and put off the inevitable.
Eventually all the showers turn off, the steam settles and the team disappears. And suddenly it's just the two of us. Face to face. In the locker room.
I want to run. But he's right there. And blocking the only way out.
He's got that glint in his eye. And he's approaching me. I close my eyes. Trying to pull myself together. When I open them he's there. Face to face with me. Looking at him hurts too much.
He's kissing me. And there's nothing tender or romantic about it. It's about speed and efficiency and I realize that now. His tongue is roaming down my throat. And I think I'm going to gag. His hands are pulling at my clothes. And suddenly we're back up at the Owlery, the same terrifyingly sickening feeling creeping through me.
I can't do this.
"No." The words get lost, his mouth connected with my own. I push him back, my hands shoving at his chest. "No." He frowns. Not liking what I'm saying.
"No?" I nod. Looking at the floor, the sinks, the towels. Anywhere but at him. I know he's frustrated. And fear he's angry.
"Alright. Alright. Ange, what the fuck is going on?" He's running a hand through his already tousled hair. Messed up by me short minutes ago. And he's looking at me. Looking at me as though I just escaped from St. Mungo's.
He still doesn't understand. And he's never going to understand. Not until I put it out there, in clear and legible print, and hand him a pair of reading glasses.
I never thought he was this blind. I stand corrected.
I chuckle softly. My hurt masquerading beneath the sound. "You really don't get it, do you? Fred?" He continues to gaze at me. As though I'm certifiable insane. I'm getting angry now. "You haven't a clue, do you? You haven't a fucking clue. Not a clue. Not a single, bloody clue." I'm yelling at this point. And I really don't care. No one's here to listen. No one's here to judge. No one but him. And lately, that really hasn't meant too much. He makes it seem as though I might as well be talking to myself. "Okay. Okay. You want me to spell it out for you? Do you, Fred? Because I will. Because lately we have been getting nowhere. We're on two different pages on two fucking different continents." I inhale sharply. "So, here it is. Fred. Here it fucking is." He's been on the receiving end of my anger before. But never like this. It was always both Fred and George I was mad at. Now. Now it's just him. "Here it is." I breathe deeply. Trying to be brave. Trying to be strong. "I meant every word I said that night on the stairs." I see him start, and know what he's about to say. I put my hand up to stop him. "I know – I know I said I didn't remember anything. I lied. I lied to try and make things…normal again. I lied because I needed to have you. Back with me. Even just in this sense." Why am I telling him this? "But it's not the same. I can't do this. Pretending I want things to be all…platonic." This is so hard. I'm not this brave. Not this strong. This forward. "I like you." I'm talking softly now. Scared of what may come next. "A lot. I really, really like you. And not just as a friend." I can't bring myself to say those three words to him. Not this time. Not again. My fingers are joined together in front of me. Nervously wrestling with each other. I finally look back at him. Back at his bewildered expression, feeling the air whoosh out of me as I'm quickly deflated. "So, there it is," I end lamely. Dropping my hands down to my sides. Gazing up at him. 'Hope' tattooed to my forehead.
"There it is." His words are measured as he repeats me. Studying the floor beneath him. Jiggling his foot slightly.
And then there's silence. And I can't believe he's doing this to me. Again.
"Are you going to say…anything?"
He finally looks up. And I see it. Etched into his face. The upcoming apology. I hear my heart hit the ground.
"I thought you knew…"he starts. Clears his throat, and begins again. "I thought you knew about, about Bridget."
"Bridget." Sounding the name out. Hating how it feels in my mouth. I look up, anger shooting through me. "Who the fuck is Bridget?"
He winces. "Ravenclaw. Sixth-year. Blonde. I've been – uh – spending some time with her lately, and, well, I really, really like her. I was sure I told you."
"No. No, you never did." I'm whispering again. Feeling the tears well up in my eyes. Bridget. Bridget the Blonde. Bridget the Fucking Blonde. The Nameless Blonde. My arch nemesis. I'm going to cry.
I can't let him see me cry. I can't let him see me I can't let him see me he can't he can't he can't he can't. I have to leave.
"That's - - really - - - fantastic." I turn to leave, my throat constricting, vision blurring. I'm dying. "I hope that you two are really - - really happy together." My voice cracks. Giving me away. I start to move.
"Wait! Angelina! Wait! Wait a bloody second!" He grabs my arm. I hide my face. I can't let him see me. I can't let him see me now. "Are you – are you okay?"
Something snaps.
I let out a sob. Not caring anymore. He's already seen me put my heart on the line. Why shouldn't he see me cry too? Halfway through, I start laughing bitterly. Defense Mechanism #1 kicking in. I jerk my arm out of his grasp, surprising him with the violence of the action. "Am I okay? Am I - - ? What the fuck, Fred? No. No, I am not okay." I keep crying, trying to take in air. "Do you – do you have any idea as to how much courage it took – to tell you all that? And – and – and then you –you tell me! Tell me about her! No, Fred, I am not okay!" I hate myself. Hate myself for being so stupid and so weak and so naïve and for letting him see me like this. I hate him for watching. I hate him. So much. My face is buried in my hands, and I let them fall away. I greet him head-on. Let him see the tear tracks and my reddened nose.
"Angie…Angelina…I'm sorry…" He's coming towards me again. I back away.
He words make me even madder. Make my temper flare up once more, eclipsing the sorrow and the pain I feel.
"I don't want your bloody apology." The words escape through clenched teeth. Making my jaw ache. "I don't want your pity or your sympathy." I'm spitting the words out now. Glaring at his face. I'm an inferno now. He's burning me to the ground. "I don't want to see you or talk to you. I - don't - want - you - anymore." My voice is quite low, but reeking still of anger and rage and frighten me all the same. He looks shocked, hurt even. Blondie will make it better though.
Thinking of her makes me shudder. He notices, and looks all the more upset.
I can't stay here. I need to leave.
I grab my bag off the bench and head towards the door. I turn around once, once more to take him in. Take in his slouching posture and the hands inside his pockets. "I'm sorry I thought I meant more to you. I'm sorry I thought you were someone else."
I'm being a bitch. And I know it. I turn around one last time and walk away. I hear him call my name and just keep moving.
I slept alone that night. Feeling more alone than ever.
- - -
"She's figured out
All her doubts were someone else's point of view
Walking up this time
To smash the silence with the brick of self-control…"
- - -
A/N: Song lyrics from She - Green Day.
Oh, and the angst continues on flowing. Meh. This wasn't one of my favorite chapters. I'm sure I'll end up changing it later…
I know that not all of us here are angst fans, so I must let you know, we're going to be knee-deep in the angst for a while here. But I'm a hopeless romantic all the same, so that should give you a clue as to how this all shall end…
I've made an executive decision, and have come to the conclusion that there will be seven more chapters, and then the show's over. Just thought I'd let you know.
Thank you for all the awesome reviews. They make my world and make me smile. So please, continue on in that vein and please read and review!