It isn't so hard to pierce the days with glinting stones and gaudy diamonds. It's much harder to live with it.
Lily stared at the ceiling and her head pulsed. There was nowhere she would rather be than here, seated in the corner of the den with her elbow on her knee and her head cocked sideways into her elbow. She compared the light from the large window behind her to the shadows that danced up the walls and mingled where the light hit ceiling, and let her thoughts pass her by.
She thought of Petunia, her sister; the way her speech turned into screeches when it reached a certain pitch, and the way her fingers were beautifully narrow, and how she had never seen hair the same shade of blonde as Petunia's hair. She thought of her mother telling her she loved her and beaming so big that her cheeks took a faint blush to them. And she thought about how she couldn't remember Remus Lupin without a book nearby; how she should read more often and study a little harder at transfiguration. Her thoughts all muddled together, and later she wouldn't remember what she thought about in the little corner of the den as her mind ran wild.
It was a rainy day, a week into January. The windows had taken a light frost to them, and Lily thought the rain might soon turn to snow, though she didn't mind either way. Instead, she imagined it a muggy afternoon, halfway through the summer holidays, and how she had planted a ring of sunflowers in the garden which she wished she could lie down under but was too lazy to actually do so. She smiled as she thought of it, and decided that the following summer she would learn to plant sunflowers, because they were so strangely beautiful and they would make such a pretty place to hide.
She wondered if Father Alex had thought of her since they had spoken the Sunday before, but couldn't bring herself to care whether or not he had. She couldn't find a reason to the day, a center to the nothingness that surrounded her, and she couldn't make herself search for any beauty in the rain and fog or the angle at which her head was pressed into the crook of her arm.
She realized vaguely that a single spell would separate her mind into four parts, one for each of the things she was: divinity; beauty; wonder; tranquility. It was an old spell, and she wasn't supposed to know of it, but it was the most interesting thing she had ever heard of, the division of a human being into such strange parts. She wasn't sure she could fit into any of the four, but the more she thought of it, the more she considered casting it, going so far as to reach into her pocket, and slowly, slowly, slowly, lazily even, draw out her wand.
Willow with a center of unicorn hair, very good for charms. Mr. Ollivander had told her so five year prior, and it had always been true. She could cast the spell easily, she was sure.
"You know, you're not supposed to be waving that thing around the house, Lily." Petunia's voice resonated with a high pitch of superiority to it and a lack of reverence for magic.
Lily shrugged, hardly concerned with her sister. "Probably," she said. "But you shouldn't say those things when I am."
"Why not?"
Her voice challenged her sister's slow, undemanding, almost morose nature, and Lily raised her head from her arm to look at her sister, to blink, and to shrug again. Lily looked away to stare back up through her eyelashes at the ceiling. She thought it should be obvious that she could turn her into a frog, or a pin, or an ant.
Petunia was quiet for a moment, glaring, with her hand on her hips, her feet on the stairs that led up from the den to the second floor. Her eyes had a flare to them, though she wasn't sure how to turn that into words, and she stomped her foot, though Lily didn't hear it. "Can't you tell mum I'm going out now?"
Lily straightened up. "Can't," she said, frowning, thinking, leaning forward so she could stand up. "Write her a note; she's not home."
"Yes, but you'll tell her when she does get home."
"Can't," Lily repeated, stepping lightly a few steps through the room. "Can't, can't, can't, can't,"
Petunia rolled her eyes and stomped her foot again, and Lily saw it this time. "Well, why not?" she asked, her voice growing higher as if she was about to cry. She glared harder and waited for a reply, though Lily didn't give an answer, thinking it better, or ruder, or easier (it was hard to tell which) to step onto the stairs and walk past her sister than to speak to her. "Why, Lily?"
"Because I don't want to give her a bloody message from you. I'm going out."
Lily knocked on the hard oak door, reflecting on her sister's request and wondering if she should have slapped her, but as the door opened a crack and the saw the brown eyes of Father Alexander, she thought it was better she had left when she had and wondered if she should ask God for forgiveness for swearing at her sister. She looked down the street at the little gray church, about a block away, and looked at his eyes, not sure of what was found there. He opened the door wider, seeing it was her, and smiled a little. "Miss Evans," he said. "I wouldn't have suspected you."She wondered if it would be rude to tell him she wouldn't have suspected him to be wearing blue jeans. He was wearing them, too, paired with a T-shirt advertising some sort of French motorcycle race and holding a glass of wine. A little unnerved, quickly understanding the fine line between man and priest, she smiled and pointed to the glass, a little awkward but calm despite herself. "Blood of Christ?" she asked him.
"Yes, of course," he said. He seemed to relax at this, though, because, with a deep breath, he laughed a little and she thought that every other time she had heard him laugh sounded much more forced. He opened the door wider so she could enter, as she did. "How are you?" he said, his voice sounding like he wasn't sure what else to say. "How have you been since, what, Sunday?"
"Good. Always good, you know?" She tilted her head one side to the other and then smiled. Sighing, she let the smile drop. "Don't mind it that I forget you'd know when I'm lying, Father."
He frowned. "Alex," he said.
"What?"
"Call me, Alex. It's strange that you call me Father. I have sisters younger than you." He crossed the room into the kitchen of the apartment, turning to look at Lily. He raised a wine glass. "Blood of Christ?" he offered, a note of irony wavering in his voice, and she nodded, unsure why she had. She wasn't sure she should see him like this, as a man rather than a god. She hadn't been sure there was a difference until now. She looked at him, realizing quickly he was looking back. She blushed slightly, looked down, and looked back up again when he offered her the glass.
"You can sit if you like-"
"You know, you can call me 'Lily' if you want." she said, not seeming to notice she had interrupted him with her own burst of thought until she had. She blushed again, and wondered if she should apologize, but never did. She sat quickly on the small black couch at the center of the living room. She cleared her throat, laughing awkwardly a moment later. "You've got a nice place." She told him. "Alex," she added as an afterthought.
"Lily," he said. He sat next to her and took a sip of wine. Somewhere in the apartment, a record was softly playing a blues tunes. "Lily," he repeated, more forcefully this time. "What are you doing here?"
She shrugged, drinking a little from her glass, noticing the way the wine felt dryly conserved. She looked up at the man before her. "I needed to lose myself in something, you know. Have you ever felt like that?"
He nodded, looking down at the coffee table in front of them, at the wine bottle at the center also, but mostly at the mahogany wood. "Every day of my life, I think," he laughed again, like he was covering over the things he had said. "But I know what it's like."
"You just want to feel alive. You don't care what it takes." She paused, blowing her hair out of her face. "I'm not normally like this, Alex."
He raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing.
"I'm quieter. I talk less. I study and I'm good. Jesus, Alex, how are you so godly?"
"Godly?" he asked. "I'm not." He put a hand on her leg and laughed deeply, eyes twinkling madly with amusement. "You're such a strange girl. I don't even believe you're here."
"Well, I am," she said. "And you are godly. Even if you don't know it. I've never met anyone like that before. Priests aren't supposed to be like that, are they?" She laughed too, finishing off her glass of wine and setting it on the table. He poured another glass for each of them, and pushed his black hair from his eyes. She watched the action, how graceful it was, and rested deeper into the pillows on the side of the couch. "I'm glad I'm here." She told him.
He rested his hand on her hip, taking another sip of wine, and smiled. "So am I."
Lily scratched her head a little. "Alex, what time is it?" She felt as if she'd been there for days. She'd never spoken so deeply with a person, learned so much about anyone so quickly. It was enticing, intoxication, breath-taking. He was breath-taking, she decided. She'd never met anyone so lively or so real. He had so much faith in everything, in everyone, and she understood that was why he was a priest.
"Late, I think," he told her, blinking and seeming to realize he had had too much wine. "Too late for you to be here. I- It's," he checked a clock a little ways away. "Far later than it should be."
"Should I go, Alex?" she asked. "I don't know what my mother will say if I get home in the middle of the night."
He laughed. "My mum never took it very well." He stroked her cheek, his eyes wandering her face. "I don't think I want you to leave."
"I don't want to," she laughed. "But I can't very well stay the night. I-"
His lips met hers before she even realized they ever might. Warm, real, pulsing with divinity and strength, his kiss searched the very depths of her for something similar. His hands wandered her stomach, and her fingers grazed his back. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted to be kissed. He was so much more beautiful like this than she could possibly have imagined. Slowly, it dawned on her, that he could be everything she had ever wanted.
His kisses deepened, fiery in their fervent nature, but precise in making her feel like she was like that too, like she was truly alive. And even as she wasn't sure how to give him the same idea and feelings, he drew her shirt over her head, and she wanted him to see her like that, wanted him to enjoy everything about her. She wanted him to think she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was undoing his belt when she realized she was much less graceful, that he must have done this before, but that hardly mattered to her, and she continued to unzip his pants with fumbling hands.
If there was any way to stop herself, she wouldn't have.
It must have been around four the next morning that Lily woke up in the gray-dressed, mahogany bed, a little cold with only the gray sheet draped across her, and very much alone. Pulling her self upwards, she felt as if her center had been torn and her body throbbed at the apex of her legs. She couldn't remember ever having felt this before. It began to dawn on her she sat fully that she had spent the night in bed with a priest. She chewed on her lip absently as she wondered why she had done it, wondered if she was now divine, wondered if this was what it felt like to have kiss-bruised lips. She liked the feeling, liked the way she felt fresh, new, separate from everything she had been up until then. She drew her fingers over her lips, and wrapped the sheet tighter around her.
The air smelt strongly of slightly burned coffee, a tarry smell, and something sexual, raw, and very human. Feeling as if she was being watched, she turned to see Alex sitting in a chair nearby, eyes wide, and looking worn.
"I made you coffee, Lily," he said. "I didn't have sugar so I put honey in it. I've never had mine like that."
"Neither have I," she admitted, not very intent on her speech. She watched him carefully, not sure what to tell him, and wondered what she was supposed to say. He had a wild-eyed look about him, and she didn't know how to change that. "Are you okay?"
He smiled. "No, not really." He told her, "I don't do this. Not anymore."
"I don't," she paused, and tried to laugh as if she was saying something trivial and unimportant. "I don't either, you know. What am I supposed to say to you?"
He looked up at her to smile kindly, and she hoped she would never see anyone look so sad again. His eyes were drawn darker than normal and squinted so they didn't seem so brilliant, and his cheeks were paler than the norm. He looked as if he hadn't slept for days, and she wondered for a moment if he had.
"You were a virgin?" It wasn't so much a question as a statement, but she felt inclined to answer, to say something to make him stop looking at her. She nodded, thinking it would be more proper to blush, though she didn't see how it would matter either way. "Sorry," he whispered.
"Don't be. I don't mind. I should be sorry. I shouldn't have come."
"No," he said, shaking his head, and laughing in a whisper's pitch. "No," he looked up at her moving over so he could sit on the bed. He kissed her forehead, smiled down at her, and kissed her lower lip. "You're so beautiful, I could never have resisted. But I can't do this. I can't have you here."
"Alex, I'm so sorry." She kissed him despite her words, and he wrapped his arms around her, and by the time she knew he was crying, she was too.
Lily had never hurt so deeply in all her life as she scraped her key out of the lock and opened the front door of the house she had grown up in. There weren't any lights on, and Lily was very aware of how lonely the house felt, how no one believed in it any more and it was no longer a home. She and Petunia had grown up, their father had left, their mother had changed. It looked the same as it always had, and it still smelt a little of burnt food, and, if you listened close enough, you could still hear the sound of children laughing and girls screaming and sisters turning into women, but it breathed differently. She couldn't describe it any better.
She stepped from her sneakers, leaving them by the door to warm up again for whatever tomorrow would bring, and padded in her socks across the aqua rug and collapsed on her own dear couch.
There were no lights on, and she wasn't sure what she would do with the rest of her life.
A/N: This is the end of what I have rewritten. It may be a while before I get more done, but the nex time I do, I should have a new chapter as well.