Title: Without Love, Yours Always
Author: Amarylis Cemetery
Rated: PG13
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling and Scholastic/Bloomsbury etc.; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Feedback: Feedback is lovely, but isn't required.
Word count: 817
Summary: AU, P/G, femmeslash one-shot I'll always be here, if you need me. Your boyfriend isn't as pure as you think.
Notes: ... I love the fs. Yes. Deal with it, biatch. (Note: There needs to be more fs in the world.) Oh, and when I say ONE-SHOT, I mean it. As in, no long continued. So stop asking.

December 18th
Journal:

I don't like love.

As a matter of fact, I hate it. It's a painful kind of bliss, the kind that makes you cry but you still keep clinging on the last string because it fills you so completely. It's like plunging your hand in ice on a hot day - the cold feels so good at first, but it starts stinging after awhile, but you just can't take your hand out because it's a good kind of hurt.

And because of that, I know this - this pain in my chest is self-inflicted.

I think we're all masochists on the inside. We want to be happy, but we're so often in pain trying to find a happiness that will last. We all want what we can't have, and few of us are ever truly happy.

I'm one of the majority.

Oh, being with her made me so happy for awhile. It really did. But it hurt being away from her, being near her, so much that it made me ache inside. Not that I'd ever admit it aloud. First of all, I shouldn't have been with her in the first place. Second of all, I'm already engaged - shouldn't have done it, went against my family honor, but I cared too much. That was my first mistake.

I loved the way I could kiss her and she'd melt. Melt like jello in an oven. It made me feel closer to her, when she'd sag happily in my arms, smiling up so innoucently I was almost hurt even more. I wanted to be closer to her - I felt soso far away from everyone, and she was the closest I've ever come. I ached to be with her, closer than ever, closer than skin-on-skin, and it hurt so much, and I couldn't get enough of her. That was my second mistake.

God, it still hurts, just thinking about her. I think if I tried hard enough, I could feel her near me still.

This sappiness really is destroying me. I'm not a romantic, I'm not a sappy person. I think it might've been better if I was never with her in the first place.

But she's still here, she's still near me; it pains me to see her smile at someone other than me, and it hurts to see her kiss him, like I was nothing more than a mere fling, a fantasy she grew out of. I want to kill her. I mean, look at her! She's smiling at him, putting her hand on his arm, leaning close to him, kissing him on the lips like she used to kiss me. Bitch. How dare she just throw me out like a used newspaper! I wonder if she can see how much it's killing me, how much it's twisting the knife that's in my back. She doesn't even look at me anymore. My third mistake, being so jealous.

I wonder if she knows that he's cheating on her. Oh, I know he is - I can hear his screams of pleasure from down the hall; I know who he's with. They should really think of a way to keep themselves quiet. I wonder how she'd feel if she knew he was cheating on her with another guy. Ha, that'd make her cry, I bet - the irony would just twist her little head off.

I still love her, I think. Maybe. But I'm so hurt - I want her to hurt, too. I want her to bleed the blood I wish I could. I want her to cry the tears I wish I could. I want her to feel everything - pain, pleasure, sadness, happiness - and I want her to implode, guilty and remorseful. But I know she won't - she'd never feel guilty, ever. It's not in her nature. And somehow, I love her more for it.

I think I'm going crazy.

Would you still love me, if I was crazy? I don't think so. Maybe it's just okay to imagine; god knows I have enough experience to sponge off of.

I hate love. It brings nothing but despair in the end, even if it does work out. In the end, one of you will die before the other, and you'll feel so much pain and anguish at them being gone from you, and you'll wait to die, too. Just waiting for it to be over, too scared to do it yourself.

I wouldn't ever kill myself, not over her. Not over anyone. I still have my duty.

I wonder, does she know he's cheating on her with my finaceé?

Oh, poor little Ginny Weasley - if you could only see your hero now, writhing underneath his enemy's body, screaming so shrilly, like he'd never do with you.

You know I'm still here, if you need me.

Without love,
Your Pansy Parkinson