James hobbled across the room, to a door leading to one of the many bathrooms in his not-so-humble abode. He turned the knob tentatively, wincing as something in his hand cracked painfully.
He managed to turn the knob all the way around, and open the door just enough for him to push it open with his body.
He stumbled inside, hugging himself as he tried not to fall over.
Once inside he closed and locked the door, not caring how much it hurt, just making sure nobody could get in.
He then turned around and slid to the floor resignedly, leaning his head back against the bathroom bench for support.
He brought a hand up to his face, feeling around his throbbing nose.
Blood still engulfed it, a red gooey mess on his face, and it felt extremely bruised. But his nose felt like it was back in place, and everything on his face was in tact again, even if it did hurt like a bitch.
After finally realising that most of his face was indeed not broken, just severely bruised, he tentatively reached an arm up behind him to get a box of tissues, or a cloth. Just something to attempt to mop up the bloody mess that was his face.
He found the box of tissues that his mother had placed there earlier in the day, and brought it down to the ground slowly, every muscle in his battered body protesting silently.
He gingerly took out a few of the scented tissues and starting to wipe up his face, using bloody tissue after bloody tissue.
After a few minutes, all James had achieved was what looked like a mountain of red tissues in a sodden mess on the floor. His face felt no different than it had minutes earlier, and when he put his hand up to check, it too became covered in blood.
Just looking at the pile made James queasy and sick to his stomach. He slid backwards a little on the floor and turned around, placing his hands up on the bench, positioning himself to get up.
He gripped the sides and heaved himself up, involuntary muscles kicking in as he stood. Shakily he straightened, becoming as upright as he could without aggravating his wounds.
Once he had regained his balance, he hesitantly looked up into the huge gold plated mirror, dreading what he would see.
What he saw made him step back in revulsion, nearly making him fall over in horror. His face was a complete mess, and he was nearly completely unrecognisable.
His face was covered and caked in blood from his broken nose and bleeding mouth, and there were already large purple bruises forming on his forehead and cheeks, where his father had punched him relentlessly.
James turned, holding his stomach and retched violently into the flawless porcelain toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach. Just seeing his face made him feel sick and disgusting.
Once he had stopped retching, he reached over shakily and flushed the toilet, removing all evidence.
There was no way this wretched bloody mess could be cleaned up with just tissues, or even with a cloth.
James finally let go of the bench, holding himself up ungracefully, and shuffled slowly over to the huge glass shower in the corner.
He opened the door of it and half stepped in, turning the sterling silver knobs ever so cautiously, waiting until the water was just the right temperature.
He then stepped out, closing the door and watching the glass start to steam up, before deciding it was time to take off his clothes.
The battered boy started to remove his clothing bit by bit, wincing and clenching his teeth as he bumped various bruises. Once he had removed the last piece of tattered clothing, he looked down at himself, and felt the need to throw up all over again.
His body was a battlefield. Bruises and scars scattered everywhere, blood caked over every part of his once chiselled, defined, perfect body. James Potter had finally been broken.
His body started to shudder with sobs as he re-opened the glass door and stepped in, closing it behind him.
His face in his hands, he slid to the floor, convulsing with huge, heart- wrenching sobs.
He had to get out of there. He couldn't stay, and have his mother see him like this, have his father do it all again…
But where could he go? Not Remus', his parents barely knew him, and he didn't really feel that comfortable to be like he was with Remus. Ditto with Peter, and he lived too far away anyway.
He could go to Sirius'. James felt like he trusted Sirius, and felt comfortable around his mischievous best friend. Although there was always the issue of Sirius' somewhat horrible parents, James knew deep down that Sirius would never turn him down, and would always be able to find him a way in.
So, it was settled. He would have to resort to leaving, and go stay at Sirius' until school started in a week or so. He would leave the next morning on his broom. He contemplated leaving that very night, but then realised foolishly that he would be too weak, and had to wait to get his strength up a little more. Plus, in the morning, hopefully both his parents would be gone.
Once James had thought everything over in his head, he lay back in the shower, no longer crying, just trying to gather his thoughts.
But, instead of calming him down, James suddenly seemed to get angrier and angrier.
Angry at himself for being so weak and helpless, like a little child. He should be able to stand up for himself by now, not be beaten by an old man. What a weakling.
Angry at his father, for being the fucked up bastard that he was, and torturing James in the different ways that he did, and for finally being able to break him.
And, of course, angry at his mother, for not being there, not protecting him from the monster that his father had become. How dare she pretend she didn't know? She must know. She must.
What the fuck was wrong with his family anyway? Why were they so completely fucked up? What was with all their stupid rules, and expectations? Why the hell did they expect so much of him! Maybe he deserved it. Maybe not.
Fuck his father.
Fuck his mother.
Fuck Hogwarts.
Fuck that god damned Lily Evans! Who did she think she was, anyway! Prancing around, thinking she was so much better than James, and then just suddenly leaving.
Angry tears started streaming down James' face again as he thought, and he clenched is fists wildly, teeth clamped together, eyes wild as he glared into the pounding water.
He needed to hurt something, someone. Anything.
The anger suddenly took over James' body and soon he was somebody else, kicking and punching the walls form the ground, forming more bruises on his body. He then started scratching himself, wild and dangerous, scratching up and down his arm with his fingernails.
Pulling them up and down, up and down his arm. Pulling so hard that his arm started to bleed. He watched, fascinated, as the blood formed on the cut and then started to disappear. When it had nearly disappeared, he would claw at it again, sobbing loudly, in a broken craze. He had to feel the pain, or rather, numb the pain.
He clawed at his arm continuously, drawing blood every time, causing permanent scars up his right arm.
Suddenly, a knock on the door caused him to snap out of his reverie.
"James!" called a cheery voice, "What are you doing in there darling? Your father said you have been in there for a very long time!"
James stared down at his arms incredulously, not believing what he had just done.
"Merlin," he breathed, staring at his cut up arm, putting it under the water to try and clear up the blood.
"James? Are you in there?" she called again, her voice sounding more anxious now.
James looked up at the door, thanking Merlin he had locked it.
"Yes Mother," he said, his voice cracking a bit. He cleared it, trying not to cry. "I'm fine, I'm just coming."