the memories of my life break apart and expose their wounds
"Let's go," I say, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Let's just grab your father's keys and run away."
She smiles. Even with her back to me, I can tell.
"Where would we go?" She teases, playing into the fantasy. "What would we do?"
She's toying with me. As punishment I sweep her hair away from her neck and let the winter air around us nip her skin. She shivers and leans in against my chest, turning on her side. Her bare hands slip under my shirt, stealing what little warmth I have for her own. I smile and pull another drag from my cigarette. This building we're sitting in won't be here in a few months. I don't know what it was when it was actually in one piece. There's an old, broken cash register on the floor and the ceiling has long since rotted away. This whole town is going to hell. The sooner we get out of here the better. To be honest, I don't even know what we're doing here. I should have had her home hours ago. Her father's already warned us about these late night endeavors, and quite frankly, I'm a bit sick of the way he looks at me as if I'm nothing more than a passing phase for his daughter to grow out of. Flicking a bit of ash onto the broken tiled floor, I look down and notice that she is staring at me. I know that look all too well, and it's only now that I realize that I never answered her questions.
"We'd go wherever we could be ourselves," I say. Somewhere where we could dress the way we want, without people staring, branding us as freaks. Somewhere where we could practice magic, our birthright. Somewhere where we could be together, and no one would question us. I know how foolish and naive I seem, but…
She's smiling now, a smile that cuts into me, drawing blood from a warm center deep inside me that only she can reach.
"I don't think there is such a place."
My beautiful sadist.
She knows full well what she's saying to me. Her eyes downcast, her warm hands still pressed against my skin. She's saying goodbye, but I won't let her.
Damn it. I let my guard down again, and she caught it. She shifts her position, drapes her arms around my neck and rests her head against my chest. I'm sure she can hear my heart quicken, the catch in my breath. A million little signs; a million little betrayals. I'm sure she's seen them all before. My need for her; my fear of losing her. The soft scent of her washes over me and makes me all too aware of how powerless I really am. And suddenly, I want to crush her to me-hold her so tight her body aches- take her far away, and leave no traces of her for the world to see. I won't let her leave me. Damn her father, damn the times, damn her, and damn everything that could keep me from her. I can feel her shifting her head up, her warm breath curling against the bare flesh of my neck. She's mine. Her fingers trail up my neck.
There's an unspoken line that we never cross. I'm not sure when we knew it was there, but one day it just was and everything just keeps falling short. It's a sick game we play with each other. Hanging on the fence, taunting the other with everything we can't have. This unspoken desire. No, not just sexual desire. There has always been more than that between us. No, this is about control-temptation-ownership-
She's tangling her fingers in my hair and her lips hover over my collarbone. The little cheat.
I'm losing this fight and she knows it.
Everything ends. Everything dies.
The world I knew as a child has withered and a new, darker one has sprung up in its place. I am no longer a child. I cannot idly sit by and watch everything I love be taken from me, even by you.
I won't close my eyes and pretend that everything is okay, and I won't let you do it either. Eventually, you will have to wake up from this dream. Eventually, you will have to realize that I am not waiting for you this time.
Even though I miss you. Even though my mind is constantly reaching back to the warmth of those days when only I knew you…
And you don't seem to understand.
Lily isn't speaking to me. We've been over this before and I know that before the day is done, she will come around. Still, I've never been a patient person and sitting in her room, watching her busy herself with some mundane activity is not my idea of a day well spent. I wonder what it would be like to just leave. Fuck you and have a nice day. And just stroll out and see how she'd take that.
But I won't.
Just how tight has this collar gotten?
Lily is listening to music with her headphones on and the rain outside shows no signs of stopping. Downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Evans are probably performing some pseudo-domestic parade. Clean the coffee table, vacuum the floors, watch the news, prepare dinner… I hate that. Seeing people go along in their little patterns makes me wish for a hurricane to strip the neighborhood, or a wild fire, everything up in flames. That would break things up nicely.
And Lily is still ignoring me.
I should just leave. I should just walk out the door, give Mr. Evans a big wave on my way out, and leave Mrs. Evans to shriek over the muddy footprints on her perfect, steam cleaned carpets. I haven't been formally invited to this house in months. Not since her father made it perfectly clear what kind of future he wanted for his little girl. Oh, I could just spin his head with stories about his little girl. I wonder how innocent she would seem if he knew… well, everything that I know. They're wax sculptures. All of them. Cut them open and see if they bleed.
Lily's bobbing her head in rhythm with music that I cannot hear, and all I can think about is how ridiculous this whole thing is. I've been her best friend for years and more than that for I don't know how long. Yet, she treats me as more of an extension of herself than an actual person. I'm her rebellious nature, the inner darkness that she's too politically correct to let show. I'm the ugly part of her she thinks she's hidden away, the brittle truth of her own hypocritical existence. It's how she's able to ignore me so well. She forgets about me as easily as she would her fingernail or an eyelash. Of course, she would never concede to this. She's way too self preserving for that and arms herself with a horde of little platitudes.
Even if she looks my way, she'll look right past me. I'm just the black little ink stain on her eggshell colored sheets. Oh, what I wouldn't give to just strip her bare, throw her down on these sheets and give Mr. and Mrs. Evans something real to listen to. It's been way too long since I last felt her nails scratch down my back. Tongue tasting flesh, her arching back, her quivering moans. La petite mort, as the French say.
God, I'm bored.
And Lily is still ignoring me.
There is only one thing I wish for.
I cannot remember what life was really like before I met you. Everything is a snap shot of something too small for me to grasp. Here's me at four. Here's me on my first day of school. Here's me at my birthday party. See me blow out the candles?
Everything drifts away from me. I feel as though I'm trapped in an oasis, sending bottled messages out into waves of sand.
Birthday candles, wishes made on flames dissolve into darkness. And in that one moment of pure emptiness, I believe, and I reach for you once more.
Soft fingers muting any protest. Gentle smiles and bell-shaped tears. I love it when Lily gets like this.
Lying on my bed with my gray sheets wrapped around her body, her red hair washing over my pillow like a distant promise, she's more beautiful than I've ever seen her. I'm fully clothed, of course; we're never nude together.
Right now she's reading poetry to me, and she won't tell me the author's name. She says the author doesn't matter, only the words matter. But I don't care about words right now. All I can see is her milky skin peaking out from under my threadbare sheets like a newborn phoenix shivering in the ash. I want to see all of her.
Cold air flows into the room through the poorly insulated windows and rain water drips from the ceiling and collects in a bucket on the floor. The space heater that sits in the corner glows uselessly with a warmth that never reaches us, but Lily doesn't notice. Her mind is too consumed with mirrors that steal youth and broken cobble stones that lead to nowhere. In her book, a man cuts out his heart and feds it to a fish who grants him immortality. I can see the fish in my mind, bloated with hearts and fresh blood. It stares at me with its pale, blind eyes. What a terrible creature.
Lily is in the middle of another poem when we hear the footsteps pounding up the stairs. There is no time for her to hide and I pray for an earthquake-a hurricane. I pray for the sun to explode-for the world to end. I pray to wake up-anything but this. But nothing happens and my paradise comes crashing down around me as Lily pulls the sheet tighter around her bare chest and finds herself face to face, looking the into the red, accusing eyes of my father.
I am no stranger to the fact that Lily is paralyzing beautiful, and nothing sickens me more than seeing my father's eyes wonder over her. He looks at her as though she was a tender fruit, just waiting to be bitten into. I watch his fingers twitch and his tongue flick over his lips. It wouldn't take a mind reader to know exactly what he was thinking. Lily is almost a woman now, and I'm not the only one who's noticed. My hand tightens around hers.
Then he sees me.
He sees that she's with me and that makes her worthless in his eyes.
He tells her to get out.
Worthless never felt so rewarding.
Lily tenses at his words and her usually sharp tongue remains numb in her mouth. Father doesn't make any movement to leave. Does he really expect her to dress herself in front of him?
Turning to him and seeing his dark hair hanging in greasy sheets around his face, his large, crooked nose bulging out, and two dark eyes that died a long time ago.
I'll never be like him.
By some divine grace, he finally leaves the room and as soon as the door closes behind him, Lily bolts up and begins to wordlessly dress herself.
She pulls her shirt over her head and yanks her pants up over her hips.
I grab her arm, but she jerks away and laces up her shoes, her fingers fumbling the laces into angry knots.
She's crying silently, clear tears slipping down from sterile eyes and all I can do is sit there. Impotent. Helpless. Worthless. All I can think about is how I don't want her to leave. I want to pull her to me, lay my head against her chest, and hear her heart beat out the proof of her existence. I don't want her to leave me here alone. For once, I actually pray that she can feel my desperation. I want to stain her mind with my heart-to leave her in ruins and let me sleep there forever.
But she leaves anyway.
She raises the window and climbs down, out into the storm.
She leaves me with nothing. No hug, no promises, no goodbye…
Nothing frightens me more than knowing your feelings are sincere.
There's a longing in your eyes that I can never touch.
Please, denounce me.
Please, push me away...
Don't let me love you.
Don't call my name.
Don't kiss me so tenderly.
Please stop loving me.
Run away if you want.
I'll still chase after you.
Endlessly and without regret, I'll continue to be with you always.
I smile back and in that blissful moment, the glass curtain descends around us.
"Trust me," I say, and the instant the words leave my mouth, I know he shouldn't. I'm standing behind him now, my hands stroking his arms, my lips brushing against his shoulder.
I'm not a sadist, not really. But then, Severus has always had a particular way of bringing out this side of me. His eyes cut into me and I know what I'm doing is wrong.
I know I shouldn't be doing this. But I won't stop.
I'm too addicted to this.
With a glance, I silence his protests and move his hands away from his crotch. Limp, pale, and nestled in ebony curls. He doesn't want me to see him like this. Of course, he'd rather be pulsing and erect, but I've seen that before. Men are all alike. They all think they're so special.
Severus is the only one I've ever seen like this. He's the only one I want. No, I don't mean sexually. There are plenty of boys with pleasing flesh and come-what-may smiles for me to play with.
But I don't.
I feel their eyes drag over my body, violating me. Filthy perverts. But I certainly don't appreciate it. Blind sheep. They'd screw a cow if they could mount it properly. I'm not interested in such base activities. But this… This is something else entirely.
"Shh… Don't move." I whisper, avoiding his eyes. One look and I know I'll drown. Better to stay away for now. With a teasing stroke, I stand back, admiring my prize. I've traced every scar on his body and memorized every contour. I could sculpt him from clay if I wished, but I've never seen him like this. He's so exposed… completely at my mercy. God, there's a high to this that no drug could ever beat. I reach out, brushing my fingertips against his cool skin.
For as long as I can remember, Severus and I have been dancing over this minefield. There's an unspoken language between the two of us that no one else could possibly understand. I've tried to explain it to my friends, but they don't just don't see things the way I do. They all think I'm crazy or that I'm just biding my time. The little simpletons. They could never understand what this is like-to have someone completely surrender to you. To feel so powerful…
"Lily," he whispers. Oh, yes, there's nothing quite like hearing my name like that, but not now. I can't afford to lose control yet. Not ever. One false move and everything will be broken.
"Shh…" I say, leaning closer, sealing his mouth with mine. His body reacts immediately, pushing against me, pulling me closer, dragging me down. But no, I can't let this continue. His tongue is plunging into my mouth, tangling with mine. I'm getting dizzy. This has to stop-I can't let myself get lost-not now. A familiar warmth is pooling between my thighs, my mind is losing focus. His hands know me too well; his mouth feels too good against mine. I'm losing this game and he knows it. There's a mad rhythm to this chaos, and suddenly, I'm surrendering to him. Let him take me. Teeth scraping flesh, hands pulling me closer, stroking me, frantic, manic, and completely breathtaking.
All too soon, I'm shuddering against him. My body has always been his ally, but that's not what he's after. That why I love him. He's biting into my neck, and I can feel the full length of him pressing against my thigh. Pain mingling with pleasure, unwinding my reason, fraying my nerves. He knows just how to play me.
"This isn't real," he says, breathing hotly against my neck. The tears will come soon. They always do. And I'll stroke his hair, cover him with kisses, and tell him to trust me while I break his heart.
I know I should stop.
But I can't. I won't. Not yet…
I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money from this writing.
I actually wrote this a long time ago, but I figured it was about time that I published it on this site.
Please let me know your thoughts.