...Staring At the Ceiling…
Chapter 1—Intoxication
"I want so badly to believe that there is truth,
That love is real
And I want life in every word to the extent
That it's absurd
I know you're wise beyond your years, but
Do you ever get the fear
That your perfect verse is just a lie you tell
Yourself to help you get by?"
--"Clark Gabel" by The Postal Service
I had concluded at a very young age that real people—real boys in particular—are far too disappointing. They cheat, they lie, they leave. Inevitably they always break your heart; it is all a matter of time. And quite frankly, I was sick of being hurt. I was sick of sobbing into my pillow and feeling the fuzzy dampness of my tears. I was sick of pity, and rumors, and lies. I was sick of being heartbroken. Thus I vowed, a long time ago, that I wouldn't bother. I was not going to give a boy my heart, only to have it return broken as it always was.
I can still remember that day. The day, so many years ago, that I promised to myself not to fall in love. I remember burning everything a boy ever gave me. I remember watching the fiery glow of dancing flames whirl up against the night sky. I remember the tingly smell of burning wood and gentle heat washing over me. I remember crying for a long time, not even sure why. I remember letting go.
As hard as it was, as hard as it is, I know that it was the best thing I ever did. I see how people work. I see their cruel snickers and silent judgments. I see the heartbreak and the pain, and somehow it seems like no one else does. I feel like everyone else is blind to this silent undercurrent of pain. It's like everyone is determined to deal with it all alone, feeling the aching sorrow and blinding emptiness that ensues. I wish I could help them, I wish I could tell them the solution… but I can't. It's not something you teach or learn; it's something of a rude awakening. It's like all the pain and grief and loneliness that would come throughout your years, packed together into one hurtling epiphany. For me, it was the realization that love is just a sick delusion. A delusion I was hell-bent on ignoring.
There is just one downside. Since I have so vehemently shoved away all my crushes, and concealed feelings I too often construed for "love" I have become an absolute hopeless romantic. I became every beaming, blinding, searing aspect of that word. Everyone grows up thinking their love is just one of the main aspects of living a truly charmed life. For me, that was all erased with one swift tug. Thus I began to read countless romance novels and dazed poetry. I would immerse myself in the story. Being drenched in the romance, a hazy sort of liquidation would trickle over me, leaving me breathless and bemused. Romance soon became to feel passionately forbidden. It all became an intoxicating blur, washing over me. Romance became my silent addiction
On that day, along with the death of delusion was the creation of an alternate reality. Though, as I'm looking back on it, maybe it was quite the opposite. With nowhere to harbor my unresolved feelings, and not wanting to seem suspicious with a desperate lack of infatuations I created an imaginary (or rather, not so imaginary) love interest.
It was a balmy day in fourth year. I could feel the brisk wind flowing over me. We sat complacently, towering over the vast Quidditch pitch. The resounding hum of shouts and screams grew quiet as the player's names were announced. An anxious excitement filled the air. I remember studying the Quidditch team carefully, each with their distinct expression and hushed confidence.
I can still remember the exact moment my eyes slowly shifted over to him. I just remember feeling a quivering sense of intrigue. He was so handsome. So incredibly handsome. All my other thoughts washed away, being replaced with two words. James Potter. Something came over me that day, something I couldn't quite explain. Thus my fascination with James Potter began. Sitting far above the rest of the world, surrounded by a million different people and yet only seeing one.
As I watched his smooth movements with their utter perfection I could barely concentrate on the rest of the world. I watched as he swerved and veered, rose and descended, focused and smiled, all with lucid precision. He was flawless, with striking good looks and unrivaled Quidditch skills. He was a god if there ever was one.
"JAMES POTTER CATHES THE SNITCH AND THE GRIFFINDORS WIN!" announced a thunderous voice. I could see the brilliant glitter that sprinkled his face as he held the shimmering golden snitch above his head. In the ferocious cold, clouds of misty breath were visible, like a hazy glow that surrounded him. The crowd erupted into wild cheers. He was invincible.
Later that night I huddled into my bed with a thousand different thoughts. As I sat there half-dreaming an instant thought overtook me, James Potter was my new Official Obsession. It was all too perfect. He was gorgeous, he was athletic, and everyone loved him. It would be completely acceptable to have a crush on him because practically half the female population already did. He was mysterious in the best kind of way. I hardly knew anything about him, so there was no reality to poison my frequent daydreams. I could mold him into anyone I wanted him to be, with any number of different qualities; qualities that were subject to change if the whim appeared. My imagination was running wild with excitement. He was my blank canvas.
My plan was flawless. It provided me with a name for my crush, and a face to my knight in shining armor. I fell back into my pillows smiling uncontrollably. And then, the most innocent of voice's surfaced throughout me. Maybe you do really like him. Maybe he is different; he could be your true love. No No No No. I began to scramble. I couldn't let the million "What Ifs" take me over. I took a deep breath and hushed my heart. That's all it was, just my heart talking. Just the hopeless romantic in me-- nothing more.
At first those little out bursts terrified me. I was determined to erase them. But as the weeks and months went on they became louder and more frequent. Though it horrified me, I adored the thought of being in love. At this point it didn't even matter if it was reciprocated. What I wanted and needed most in the world was love. The one thing I had denied myself.
The very next morning with a heavy heart and pounding adrenaline I set out to make my deluded crush known. I woke up with the warm sun beating against my cheek and settled smell of dust. I looked down at my watch seeing the tiny golden hands tick away. Dancing and twirling. It was 5:34 in the morning. The room around me was so silent that I hardly dared to breathe; I didn't want to upset such serenity (because lord knows it's rare). So as delicately as possible I lilted off my sheets, feeling the air wash against me. I padded through the room with slow and deliberate steps. I clicked the door shut and continued toward the bathroom. All I could hear was the heavy thud of my footsteps. They were so quiet and rhythmic that it almost put me into a trance. I didn't want to break the chain and so as I neared the bathroom I could feel my feet veer onward. They had taken control of me and lead me without hesitation. I felt like my thoughts were lost somewhere deep inside of me. I could almost hear them cooing in the distance, but made no attempt to bring them back.
The walls blurred into each other and the silence quivered. That early in the morning it's hard to think and easy to breathe. I didn't know where I was going; all I knew was that I had to keep walking. I needed to hear the delicate thwap of footsteps against stone. This continued and soon I bean to lose track of time, and place and the world around me. I was slowly slipping into my dreams and letting reality glide away. It was as if I was sleep walking. I was aware of nothing but my self and my footsteps. It was a most peculiar feeling, but not unpleasant in the slightest. Each time I passed a window it felt as if the sun hushed itself. Like it melted away its intensity simply for me. Colors around me became watery and edges became dull. It was like the entire world smeared itself into a hazy silence.
Suddenly I could feel my footsteps halt. I jolted into consciousness, like waking up from a most pleasant dream. My eyes peeled open and I could see two large oak doors in front of me. Instinctively I knew these doors. They were familiar. Its wood was soft and its handle was crisp. I grabbed the small golden knob letting the coolness of metal seep into me. For just a second I wondered if maybe they were locked. Then I carefully turned it and pushed against the thick wood. They were heavy, but as I pressed my self against them I could feel the sun drench in from a crack. I quickly stepped into the vast room feeling the overwhelming bulk of its immensity. I had walked smack dab into the Dining Hall. The windows were clogged with the sun, lighting the room up. I had been in here hundreds of times. I had eaten my three meals a deal in here for four years of my life, and somehow it seemed completely different.
The room seemed to have a golden glow about it (which could be attributed to the glaring sun). It looked so much larger now, now that it was completely empty. I felt powerful standing there surveying the room. It was so empty that it almost seemed full. It was just my size. Like a comfortable shoe that slips on with ease. I felt like I belonged. Simply one more person would ruin our co-dependence. I could see the four long brown tables, my eyes immediately flicking toward Gryffindor table. But somehow, sitting there looking so bare they were indistinguishable from one another. The marble floors seemed to stretch for miles. I walked slowly over to my usual eating-place. I plopped down, wincing at the sound I made. Even though I was alone I still tried to maintain the silence. So I sat there for a while, just thinking. Thinking about life and love and peace while staring up at the impossibly blue ceiling.
I remained this way for a long time. Breakfast didn't start until eight and I doubted that I would be joined by anyone. As the minutes melted away I became lost in my imagination. Then, as the whispers of this room began to murmur to me, I heard far-off footsteps. Then I could see the towering wooden doors being pushed open. Inside I was screaming but I was too comfortable to move. So I remained how I was with my head resting against the table and my hands in my lap staring at the walls.
I became aware that I was no longer alone and, reluctantly, I lifted my head to see the intruder. At first my vision was blurred, but soon I could see details being etched into a face. It was… now I know his name. What is it? Oh yes, It was Remus. Remus Lupin. He had sandy blond hair that fell onto his face and piercing gray eyes. Eyes that held secrets. He smiled, looking a little puzzled and quite amused. He looked surprised to see me there. He smiled a big, bright, sincere smile. I liked his smile. He stopped a few feet in front of me.
"Hello," he said cocking his head to one side.
"Good morning." I said, drawling out my words. We knew each other from my advanced Charms class, so it wasn't awkward or bothersome.
"I must admit I am a little surprised to see you up so early Lily Evans." He said raising his right eyebrow and continuing to smile. I liked the way he used my full name. And I liked the way he used proper grammar. And I like the way he said it as more of a statement than an accusation.
"I'm not usually. But I must say the same of you." Though thinking about it, this seemed like something he might do.
"Well I hope you make your visits more often. It gets lonely sometimes." He murmured.
"I'll see to it that I do." I nodded. We held our gaze for a moment and then he continued right on his path as if he had never stopped. He walked to the very end of the table and sat down. He understood the unspoken code of the morning. That silence was precious and thoughts were your guide.
From that morning on it became a ritual. There is something about mornings that are so comfortable. You feel like you're the only person alive. It's a time when everything it beautiful and perfect. It was the same routine each day. Each morning we would have a short little conversation, which soon strayed from the norm. I learned that he likes coffee ice cream, blues, grass and astronomy. I felt like I knew him, like we had this special untouchable bond.
Anyways, soon people began to file into the dining room. Talking and laughing and being loud. At first the volume stung me, but I soon adapted. The food appeared on the table and the room morphed back into its regular self. I could see my best mate Becca walking toward me. She shook her head a little and plunked down next to me. "Where in hell did you go? We all woke up this morning and you were gone."
"I came down here"
"To the dining hall?"
"Yep."
"Pass the toast"
"And thought for a while"
"Your crazy"
"For thinking?"
"For getting up in the wee hours of morning and coming to the Dinging hall to think"
"Wee?" I chuckled.
"Early"
"I know"
We were silent for a little while, her still waking up and me munching on food. A few others joined us telling random stories and gossiping frantically. Sigh. The rest of November was a familiar blur. Nothing particularly important happened. But that day was one of the most peaceful days I had that entire year. It was beautiful.
Not another thought of James Potter passed through my head until Early January. I believe it was a Saturday, January 2nd if my memory serves me. The rest of Hogwarts would be returning in two days, but for then it was quiet. That particular year a surprisingly low number of Students stayed for the Holiday Break. I spent most of my time with a wonderful Ravenclaw I knew, Cassandra. She has the most beautiful auburn hair I had ever seen; it was shiny and sleek and perfect. We mostly mulled around, playing Wizards Chess, complaining about lord knows what, and visiting the library occasionally (a true Ravenclaw at heart, eh). She often said that she quite admired Gryffindor for their outlandish endeavors and sheer fortitude, but was quite contented with being a Ravenclaw, thank-you-very-much (her words not mine). So, I decided it would be a worthwhile "outlandish endeavor" to bring her to the Gryffindor common room and hopefully change her dismal outlook on us Gryffindors. I knew she would be anything but keen on (A) breaking into another house's common room, (B) Changing her views on us crazy Gryffindor and (C) agreeing to break any school rule. I figured, hey no problem, I'll just be sneaky. So I begged her to come upstairs with me so I could get my Charms Textbook and of course she could stand outside and wait for me. Once we were there I convinced her to come in, only for a minute or two.
I decided that I would introduce her to some of my wonderfully outgoing and friendly housemates. I saw two boys off in a corner playing Wizard Chess, and led her toward them. As we drew closer I could see that it was Remus and… James. Oh shit. I kept walking, keeping my cool. I pondered what I should say. "Hello Remus" no, then I would be excluding James. "Hey boys" Sounds flirtatious. "Good afternoon friends" ok, whoa, where did the hippy come from.
We were standing in front of them and I decided on "How is the game going?" I asked casually.
"James is winning. He has my queen, the bastard," said Remus without breaking his stare.
"Oh." Awkward pause. " Well guys this is Cassandra. She is a Ravenclaw, just showing her 'round a bit."
James looked up, smiling jovially. "Hello Cassandra." God he was gorgeous. "Do you have a brother named Marco?" he asked rather quickly. She nodded. "Bloody brilliant beater," He added.
"Nice alliteration" Remus interjected.
"What?"
"Nothing mate." He sighed, chuckling. "Nothing."
We watched for a few minutes, they were both quite good. James especially. Then I moved on, continuing to show her around. She seemed a bit unenthused, but noticed that we had "very symmetrical living arrangements."
That night I had my very first James Potter dream. One of many to come. It was rather dull, not at all racy or exciting. James was playing at the Hogwarts Chess Championship (as if there was one). He was facing some Slytherin, I think in the dream it was Lusious Malfoy simply because he is the only Slytherin in James' year I know of. James was losing horribly, oh the horror, but I came in to save the day. I whispered this amazing move in his ear—of course very seductively—and he ended up winning instantly. He jumped up, pumping his fist in the air. His face looked exactly like it had that first day I saw him on the Quidditch field just a few months ago. Then he leaned into me and kissed me passionately. And we rode off into the sunset on white stallions. Well, that last part I made up but the rest was real (as real as a dream can be anyway). It was quite a lovely dream. I had the adoration of James Potter, and all of Griffindor. Needless to say I was quite pleased.
That was how it began. My maybe-not-so-mild obsession with a boy I hardly knew. My infatuation with James Potter. At the time it was nothing but a murky dream shrouded with doubt. With one taste of love or lust or whatever it was, I was hooked. I was intoxicated and invigorated. It drowned out my thoughts and the feelings and insecurities. It concealed the worst things in life with a placid familiarity. It was there when no one else was. It was my drug and my addiction. It would seep into my skin, filling me in turn with the need to be loved. I adored it. I hated it. But most of all I needed it. With every fiber of my quivering, broken being I need to believe that love was real. It was the one constant in my life; the one intangible happiness that would let me continue dreaming and living. In the back of my mind I knew that it was all a delusion, though it didn't really matter. For then, I was intoxicated by the most godly of Fifth year boys. Letting James potter consume me.
A/N: It's the first chapter, and I hope you all like it, leave a review because every author loves feed back!