MELANCHOLY.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

( CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TO BE HEARD )

          ENDLESS NIGHTS THAT WENT into her research in the hopes to help someone that had always been there for her had started to fade away when she had watched Remus stand up from his appointed seat in front of her and accompany Professor McGonagall into the hallway. Candles that she had lit for her own benefit failed to stay alight when she had watched the tension that still laid thick between Mia and James after deciding to stay outside. Despite his persistency with wanting to speak with her, she had given no excuse to utter a syllable or two towards the boy that was supposed to be her closest friend - despite their troubled pasts.

          Mariella had kept to herself as she usually did, sitting on the bench that had still remained dry despite the wet debris falling onto her with no will to avoid her. At the sound of the weather, students flooded back into their dorm rooms to entertain themselves all while she sat outside, embracing the cold and rain that she had said to never bother her at any time. Dripping down her face and to her neck, she remains still and waits before her mind runs back and forth between conscience and subconscious, delivering her the messages that she had to reflect on before returning to her dorm in silence.

          His voice still echoes and lingers in her mind when she wants to concentrate, regardless of whether it was to discuss something that held no connection between the intimacy that was between them. But this time it was important. It was important that she was to listen to when he had told her that "James' father had passed in an attack at the Ministry" which as the boy had said was odd considering that the man had never recalled wanting to visit the Ministry in the near future at all. And it was sad to bear mention to this because the boy wouldn't be able to question his father about the ordeal as he had passed so suddenly.

           "He's handling it well, to be frankly honest." Sirius tells her as he fetches his run-down pack of cigarettes and rubs the edge of the material to find the lighter. Mariella doesn't flinch nevertheless that she had mentioned her dislike towards nicotine. "I've known James long enough to know that he was extremely close with his father. I think even Miaomoryi would know this seeing as I've seen her at his house on countless occasions. It's odd seeing him smile or joke around even if the news about his father has been put all over the media. But it still worries me." Sincerity hung onto his words so dearly, that she could almost feel the strong, heartfelt emotions that he has for James and his well-being. And she was prone to becoming monotone all in order to suppress the emotions that you want to let out to satisfy yourself. If she had learned something from all those nights that she had to listen to her parents fight and argue for her cause, it was that it wasn't healthy to hold the pain in. Even if it's the easiest option.

          The golden glaze that hovers over the tip of the cigarette burns with life and lets out its first puff of grey smoke, something that somehow always confused her. Why something so small and intricate could be so deadly and dangerously intoxicating. How it could be so mesmerising to watch them dissolve into the dense atmosphere from heights that no one could see her from. But it had seemed that her withering stance had been held for longer than she had intended. Because the moment that his eyes —— full of loss, grief and other looming thoughts that were indescribable for her tongue to form the words it could —— she had immediately turned away, casting her glance to something that she tried to deceive herself with the belief that it happened to be more interesting than the prickling sensation that arose from her stomach and overtook her throat. And somehow, he had managed to sense that denial from the way that her fingers curled and tightened on her robes.

"I understand what James is going through ... in a way," she tells him. His frown deepens but she scoffs as a response. It was worrying. "But I promise you that it isn't the reason why I am the way I am. I just believe that there are many different experiences that, as different as they may be and how contrasting they are from one another, I can understand what he's going through. But I don't want it to be the reason why it suddenly makes it okay for me to speak with him. And maybe it's because of the way that my parents seem to treat me in comparison to James' that it pains him more than me. Because I understand what it's like to put up a face front to impress everyone around you and let it crumble before you when you reach your bed because all you want to do is curl up and cry. But I promise you that it isn't the reason why I am the way I am. Because there are many things that may cause you to question why I am the way I am but this is supposed to be about James. Not me."