Slash
I was once perceived as beautiful. How ironic is that? Because now, my body is decrepit and weak with despair. I no longer cry for you. That time has past. I cry for the person I am changing into. Cynical and pessimistic I am; your betrayal has left me cold. I miss the person I use to be; so pure and full of wonder. I was beautiful then. Now I am the ugliest thing out there.
I slash the pale of my skin, scars marking past discrepancies. A night of crazed trances, I muttered sentences full of words of hate and anger. I said these things only to myself. Because I am the only one who deserves them. And that is why I am here, in this room, this familiar blade laying in my hands. Has this become an obsession I ask myself? The liar in me screams 'of course not, everyone does this. It feels good doesn't it? 'And it does. But then, the ever logical side of my brain screams 'Yes it has, and there's no going back'. Lately this voice has gotten louder and more demanding. It's harder to ignore. And that is why I get angry with myself. I can't even ignore a simple voice in my head. I have to listen to it, just as I have listened to everyone else in my life. I argue with myself, screaming and ranting. Independence rules out, and then the blood draws from my skin. Then the overpowering guilt comes through and I am dead with worry.
My parents worry, for they are the only ones who seem to care. They lost their marriage a while ago, and now they worry that I may be taking it the hard way. I'm fine now with their decision to burn their love to the ground and leave the ashes to blow in the wind and drift away. I don't care anymore. I just wish someone would see me for what I am now. I am no longer who I use to be. I dream of the person I use to be. She sits under a willow tree in a pure white dress, her brown hair blowing in the soft summer breeze. She is smiling and humming a tune that I do not recognize. She seems to feel a presence and turns towards me. She stares at me with the brown eyes that mirror my own. We were once the same person, but now I am damaged goods, and she was the prize before the tragedy. Why did the prize have to be dropped by someone so careless? Why did the prize have to break?
Slowly she opens her mouth and just above a whisper I hear.
" Jai guru deva um "
And then I wake up, back to the real world where every time I blink I am reminded of the person I am. I am a disgusting poison that grew from such a beautiful flower with such sweet nectar.
I use to dream about you. I use to wonder, when is the time when you aren't in my mind? Setting flames, ravaging my dreams? Now I know that it's was stupid and naïve of myself to think about you, to dream about you, because you weren't doing the same. And that made the situation even worse.
I feel the familiar sting of the sliced skin on my forearm. I wince slightly, still not use to the pain at first. It will always hurt I guess. It's a clean cut, no jagged skin on the sides just straight and shallow. Why is it that I can't face reality, when really, the harm I cause on myself is more harsh than any real thing I've encountered.
People cut because it gives them tangible ways to explain their emotional pain. I read that in a book once. Books, my world revolves around them. That is probably why I am so out of touch with the world around, why I am filled with neutral empty space.
You sneered at me the other day, saying I was nothing more than a good lay, your green eyes sparkling maliciously.. I immediately went up to my room, denying that you had actually said that to me. I clutched my beloved blade within my hands, and brought it to my calf; I cut everywhere. I am beyond hating you now; I just accept life the way if truly is. Harsh and useless. The pale of my flesh is red now, not from blood, but from irritation. Everything has been irritated, moved around and left to rot within this terrible heat that is my self loathing.
(&&)(
"Granger why do you do this to yourself?" He clutched her forearm tightly, the red marks on her arms becoming more apparent by the pressure
"Sod off Malfoy!" She yelled, ripping her arm away from his pale hand. They were alone in the hallway; they were on a sweep of the hallways.
"No I will not sod off you stupid cow! I've seen those marks on your arms, the red scratches. I know what they are. Why would you do this?"
She just glared at him.
"Is it because of Potter, the stupid wanker?"
"Like I said, Sod. Off. Malfoy!" She seethed.
"No!"
"Oh, really why is it that all of a sudden, Draco Malfoy has taken a sudden interest in that I do with myself? Aren't you suppose to be happy that I cut? Aren't you suppose to make some snide remark saying that I deserve it or something? And yet here you are concerened. Honestly Malfoy, what in the bloody hell are you getting at?"
" I—"
" I'll say it once, and I won't repeat it again. Sod. Off." She turned swiftly on her heel and walked down the hallway.
Screw prefect responsibilities.
She was going to bed.
((&
" And she thought I loved her!" Harry Potter said loudly. " Can you believe that? Stupid wench said she love me! And guess what I did, I said it back. And guess what it got me?"
They all laughed.
Hermione sat two rows down, listening to the whole conversation while at breakfast the next day. She knew he was talking about the incident again. Not wanting to hear anymore of it, she quickly got up and started to leave.
"Hey Hermione, you really were a great lay…" Harry called while Ron guffawed next to him.
"Bite me." She snapped.
"Gladly." He snickered. "Did you hear that Hermione, I said I loved you, and you believed me? After what I got, I should be happy. Even though I've had better. "
She turned and ran out the hall, not aware of cold grey eyes following her.
Her feet carried her up the cold white stairs and into her room. And it was in there that she found her friend. A friend of cold steel.
(&(&&&
He couldn't fathom how that must have felt, as he watched that whole scene take place. He saw the whole range of emotions in her eyes; her first love maliciously bombarded her with insults and innuendos, tears swiftly taking the place of the angry look in her eyes.
Potter took pleasure in it, her pain. He knew that Potter saw the marks on her arms, but yet, the boy wonder did nothing to take care of her problem. The wanker really did change.
He watched her in classes. She was still as studious as ever, hand raised and homework always on time. But he knew there was something missing in her life, in her eyes. The spark was gone, the remnants being that of a dull glow.
He didn't know the girl that well, hell he didn't even like her. She was nothing more than an annoying fly in her ear, always there to irritate him. But he couldn't help that he felt drawn to her. Her sadness radiated towards him, and pulled him in.
And it was at this point as he watched Potter laugh at the retreating back of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy got up quickly and curled his fist and connected it with his jaw.
To those wondering why I'm making Harry out to be such an asshole, well here's my answer
I love Character emotional torture. I absolutely adore it. But only Hermione's emotional torture, no one else's. And Harry seemed pretty fitting to be the bad guy here. So don't get mad Harry fans. Read my other story, Beyond Fragile, it has Harry as the good guy not the bad. Shameless plugging yes, but hey its mah story.
Songs that helped me:
1. Something Corporate; My Constantine
2. Scarlet Tide; Cold mountain soundtrack
3. Spitalfield; she said l.a
4. Bjork; New world