I think you know what I'm getting at
I find it so upsetting that
The memories that you select, you keep the bad but the good you just forget

I have long, black hair. I wash it every day. I put about ten different products in it, to keep it shiny, and without tangles. I carry a brush with me in my bag. In my Hogwarts days, I used to brush it at the beginning and end of every class. Now, it's a nervous habit.

I know.

Surprising someone like me even gets nervous.

I heard through the grapevine that cold hearted bitches have nerves of steel.

What a lie.

I brush it when my husband forgets his promises. I brush it up until the very moment before I have to put it down, before he pins me against a wall and it slips from my fingers, only to break into pieces on the hard, stone floor.

We can't have that, can we?

And even though I'm angry I can still say
I know my heart will break the day
When you peel out and drive away
I can't believe this happened

I have a slim, taut figure. Curves are pity presents given to girls who'd rather have a chocolate bar than face their own reflections. I have small, perky breasts that my best friends' husband can't keep his hands off of. My legs are long and thin, but you wouldn't know that. I wear my robes to my ankles to hide the bruises.

You wouldn't know that either.

I don't eat if I can avoid it.

It just gives ammunition to my digestive system later, when I crouch with my head over the loo, my hands clenched into fists and the fresh blood pooling at my knees.

Sometimes I can make it stop.

Other times, I have to call him in.

The hands that broke me clean me right up.

And the knowledge rips me to pieces inside.

Make your decision and don't you dare think twice
Go with your instincts along with some bad advice
This didn't turn out the way I thought it would at all
You blame me but some of this is still your fault

I have a rich, pure husband. He's earned not a Knut of it, but it's his, through and through. His bloodline is nearly as pure as mine. Worthy names, I believe was the term my parents used, in reference to him. My husband is nearly twice my age, but that's not at all strange. Most of my friends have husbands even older. My mother praised me on my glorious good luck.

I nodded and smiled.

And looked at the fire in my fiancées eyes.

And wondered how long it would be before he snapped, and I would be nothing.

It was even shorter than I thought.

Supposedly, wedding nights are supposed to joyful.

I haven't had the pleasure.

I tried to move you, but you just wouldn't budge
I tried to hold your hand but you'd rather hold your grudge
I think you know what I'm getting at
You said goodbye and I just don't want you regretting that

I have never been in love, but I've been close. I have seen it with my own eyes, and felt how it touched me, saw how it looked at me. It was so long ago, but I remember with all the clarity of yesterday. He was self-indulgent, ignorant, and stupid, but he loved me. I would be in a tornado of my own, vicious and unyielding to bystanders and he would love me. I would abuse him, use him for my own pleasures and insecurities, and he would love me. I would be impossible to love and yet, he would be there.

Until finally, he gave it up.

He grew, and I stayed.

Frightened. Alone.


He managed to save himself.

He couldn't save me.

But still, I can't stop the hope that maybe, one day.

I could wake to those calmed grey skies.

And wisdom always chooses
These black eyes and these bruises
Over the heartache that they say
Never completely goes away

Hello, I'm Pansy Parkinson. I'm twenty one years old, and I have as many lines on my face and bruises on my body as I do glamour spells, concealing every dirty little secret. I come from a line of prestigious purebloods that feed their young, child-bearing daughters to lecherous middle aged men to gain social status. Before I learned to talk, I learned to deceive. My morals depend on the understanding that charm and beauty are more important than honesty and happiness.

I am beautiful, and I hide my scars.

I am charismatic, because it puts my unworthy, weary body into the spotlight.

I am noble, even though I know I can't fall any lower.

Together, it's expected to equal perfect.

So lucky I've always been good at fudging the numbers.

No, I don't hate you
Don't want to fight you
Know I'll always love you
But right now I just don't like you
No, I don't hate you
Don't want to fight you
Know I'll always love you
But right now I just don't like you
Cause you took this too far

So, which to bury, us or the hatchet?

I don't think there was ever really any question.


AN: I love curves. Really. :)

Lyrics by Relient K, Which to Bury, Us or the Hatchet.