Chapter 8

"Some day you will ache

Like I ache."

- Courtney Love, Hole.

Doll parts.

"You can't say cunt in Canada

'cause cunt's considered pretty fuckin' rude."

- Kevin Bloody Wilson

I feel all this pain. The aching in my bones are not a problem I could deal with that if I didn't have to deal with the pounding pain in my chest every time I move or even breathe. I swear that even the beat of my heart hurts like a pain that shouldn't exist.

I've been coughing up crimson. I don't want to think of what it truly is because that would mean I would have to admit that I really am sick.

Amber's disappeared and Mouse Boy is gone as well.

Everyone here dies, leaves or just forgets to stay.

They found Spinney strangled by the scum side of London Bridge. At least it's the side you can call scum though in this air pollution…

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I feel really hot despite the cold that is all around me. I've taken off the big coat that I was given. Though despite it all I feel hotter. My cough has gotten worse and its bothering me more because of the heat my body seems to keep inside itself.

My hand is out for change from Muggles but the problem is that most of them can tell I'm sick and don't want to come near me. Some of them aren't very subtle about the way they find me disgusting.

But I don't care. I need money for medicine or whatever I can get.

I could shop lift in the store. I know the ingredients I need but I only know how to use them and where to get them in the Wizarding world. Otherwise I'm guessing Muggles keep such chemicals in their backrooms.

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It is now nighttime and I feel worse. My vision is shot and I feel blurry and dizzy like I'm on a canvas and someone has thrown water over my colour.

"…Hey!" It's one of those guys who say he looks after kids. The richness of his clothes, no matter how dreadful they are, tell his status in this underground world. His too dark skin making the gold necklace stands out even more.

I look at him waiting for him to say something.

"You need help. Right, I can help you there kid, if you help me." I don't like the sound of his voice it reminds me of Lockhart's in my Second Year.

I shake my head.

"Come on. It'll make you feel better." I look down at his immaculately clean hand. Blue pills.

NO.

I turn my eyes up at him. Trying to focus despite the fact that the dizzy spell is becoming worse. I shake my head.

His white teeth hurt my eyes.

"Here I'll give you these for free. Then if you want more you can always come for them." He takes my hand and puts the blue pills in the palm of the dirt ridden hand.

I watch him walk away from the bench in which I set myself up at.

I look down at my hand and tip it so that the blue fade into the shadows of the night.

I will not do that.

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I've become desperate. I need to get better because I promised myself that I would survive.

I may lie I may cheat I may do many things… but to break a promise to myself is something no one as conceited as I could ever do.

So I will break one of the principles that I set myself up on being naive to think that it could be kept.

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"So how much will you be again?" The man has a goatee that looks repulsive on the acne scarred face. The eyes are dark but not dark enough to be attractive. He's scrawny and sallow skinned.

I feel ashamed.

"30 £."

"Bit much don't you think?" The sneer is barely disguised.

"No." My voice is final.

"Fine. Get in."

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I cannot believe that I've sunk this low.

The house is pathetic and has patches of dirt on the deadened lawn. The paint is pealing off the dark blue house. The windows have years of dirt on them. Its disgusting and reminds me of them man right beside me. The door creaks loudly on the hinges that are rusty…

When he leads me past rooms that smell horrible to one that smells like cigarette smoke and urine and rotted food.

The moment those grubby hands touch me I can feel the panic go through me. As he takes off my shirt…

I freak.

I push him back and just take off running even though my chest feels as though its going to break.

Out the door and down the street and without a pause I run as I hear the man rumble after me. Down the street whose road has pot holes. The ache is hurting horribly.

But I don't want this.

I won't have this.

No, I will not lower myself to being a whore.

So I run from #9 Grimmauld Place and run despite the fact that beyond a doubt I can feel my chest being ripped apart.

But I don't care.

"FUCKING FAG!" It doesn't matter if that's what the man is screaming behind me. Because I'm gone.

He'll never touch me.