BOTHER
Wish I was too dead to cry
My self-affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater
You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
"Well Hermione Granger, I hope that you are happy! Because of your insistence about going to that bloody 'Magic School', all I can say is that if your mother and I divorce, it will be no one's fault but yours!"
With that the door slammed and her father left only the residue of wrath in his wake, leaving Hermione dissolved in a flood of tears on her bed. All she wanted was for her family to be happy and to be allowed to live the life she was meant to.
Up until last year, her parents had appeared reserved but outwardly supportive of her choices in school. She had just recently been informed that they had felt she would "grow out of this silly phase" and pursue a school that would lead to a career as a Muggle doctor. Though medicine appealed to her, she knew that going back to the impossibly slow and brutal methods that they were resorted to using in the non-wizarding world would only make her miserable. She would choose to live her own future, and her parents. well, she was sure that they would choose their own anyhow. She had been ignored by them all summer, except for choice moments like this when her father or mother had decided to "convince" her of her maligned decisions in life.
Tears coursing down her face, she felt her chest tighten and the breath catch in her throat. She couldn't breath, she couldn't think, and her whole body was in agony and seizing up.. She rolled over and reached into her nightstand drawer. Way in the back, hidden behind the largest tomes she could find, was her relief. It was cool in her hand, and she could feel the tension across her back start to release. Bringing the blade up to her forearm, she disassociated as her father's words rung in her ears, and memories of the last miserable two summers flooded to the forefront of her mind. The arguments downstairs, the breaking glass, her mother's tears and fathers outrage, and the knowledge that it was all, indeed, her fault..
The blade bit into her skin deeper than usual, and the relief at seeing the deep crimson flow start down her arm was instantaneous. She could feel the course of relaxation within her, and the exhaustion at the sleep she had been missing the last month and a half was beginning to take over. She ran the blade down her arm twice more, the opening chords of a song she had heard on the radio that morning strumming through her head at 100 decibels. Taking the towel under her pillow and folding it under her arm, she fell into a restless sleep watching the blood flow freely down the curve of her forearm into the waiting towel, reassured in the knowledge that she could now deal with what her parents dealt her.
Wish I was too dead to cry
My self-affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater
You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
"Well Hermione Granger, I hope that you are happy! Because of your insistence about going to that bloody 'Magic School', all I can say is that if your mother and I divorce, it will be no one's fault but yours!"
With that the door slammed and her father left only the residue of wrath in his wake, leaving Hermione dissolved in a flood of tears on her bed. All she wanted was for her family to be happy and to be allowed to live the life she was meant to.
Up until last year, her parents had appeared reserved but outwardly supportive of her choices in school. She had just recently been informed that they had felt she would "grow out of this silly phase" and pursue a school that would lead to a career as a Muggle doctor. Though medicine appealed to her, she knew that going back to the impossibly slow and brutal methods that they were resorted to using in the non-wizarding world would only make her miserable. She would choose to live her own future, and her parents. well, she was sure that they would choose their own anyhow. She had been ignored by them all summer, except for choice moments like this when her father or mother had decided to "convince" her of her maligned decisions in life.
Tears coursing down her face, she felt her chest tighten and the breath catch in her throat. She couldn't breath, she couldn't think, and her whole body was in agony and seizing up.. She rolled over and reached into her nightstand drawer. Way in the back, hidden behind the largest tomes she could find, was her relief. It was cool in her hand, and she could feel the tension across her back start to release. Bringing the blade up to her forearm, she disassociated as her father's words rung in her ears, and memories of the last miserable two summers flooded to the forefront of her mind. The arguments downstairs, the breaking glass, her mother's tears and fathers outrage, and the knowledge that it was all, indeed, her fault..
The blade bit into her skin deeper than usual, and the relief at seeing the deep crimson flow start down her arm was instantaneous. She could feel the course of relaxation within her, and the exhaustion at the sleep she had been missing the last month and a half was beginning to take over. She ran the blade down her arm twice more, the opening chords of a song she had heard on the radio that morning strumming through her head at 100 decibels. Taking the towel under her pillow and folding it under her arm, she fell into a restless sleep watching the blood flow freely down the curve of her forearm into the waiting towel, reassured in the knowledge that she could now deal with what her parents dealt her.