"I need to sleep like now," Bonnie muttered as she practically shoved her head into her arms that were folded, so she could use them as a pillow. "Sleep, sleep, sleep, is all I can think of right now."
"I don't think you talk about anything but sleeping Bonnie," Blaise muttered from across the breakfast table as she looked up at him, narrowing her eyes at him as he made a face at her. "You're irritated with everything anyone does, Blaise."
"I'll agree on that," I whispered as I stifled a laugh by putting a strawberry in my mouth. Blaise tilted his head as he looked at me, pointing a fork at the both of us. "At least I don't make sleeping my personality."
"At least I have a personality," Bonnie spoke, as he glared at her, she put her head back down—ignoring everything that he said after to her.
"At least I don't cheat on card games," he pointed his eyes at me as I gasped. "I told you I didn't cheat, I don't lie, at least I don't make pointing fingers at people my personality Blaise," I arched my brow as I gave him a look.
"For a reminder that you all so desperately need, I have an amazing personality, you wouldn't be having your daily laughs without me, and I bake," he bragged as Amelia hid her laugh, hiding her face in the Daily Prophet she was holding. "Unlike Evelyn, at least I can make good tea."
"Hey don't put this on me, Bonnie started this with you—I just happened to be the audience coincidentally, also I don't care for such things as making tea," I argued as he rolled his eyes, looking down at his pancakes, he picked up the small jar of honey as he poured it onto his breakfast. "I find it weirdly fascinating that Malfoy can make tea, but you cannot."
My eyes looked around as I saw him having a conversation with Theodore—deeply invested in what they were talking about as he brought up his thumb, wiping the corner of his mouth, turning his gaze to me as my throat tightened. Theodore's gaze flickered back and forth from stroking the back of Bonnie's neck as he looked back at Malfoy, showing his emotions by his hands.
I pulled myself together as I looked back at Blaise who was poking his berries at putting it in his mouth—concentrating on his notes as he read them. I looked back down at my plate as I had only eaten a blueberry scone with hot cocoa on the side.
"Everything alright?" Amelia asked as I looked up to meet her gaze. 'Everything alright?' Is always a question I never have a proper answer to, because honestly, I don't know what to say, I'm truly not alright but if I say that to another, they'd ask me why, and I wouldn't feel the need to explain why when I can't even understand it myself.
"Yeah everything's fine," I replied as I brought the cup to my lips, taking a sip—as the liquid slightly burned on my tongue, but I liked the pain—the burn. "It doesn't look like it," Amelia talked back as she folded the Daily Prophet and placed it next to her, crossing her arms as she faced me.
"I'm just tired." There were a bunch of thoughts circling my mind and all I could do was overthink them till I found an answer that satisfied me, satisfied my thoughts, my needs, my peace of mind. Sometimes I just sit there and zone out completely, nothing feels real. I don't feel real, everything begins to feel like a fever dream, completely unrealistic, how billions of us live on this earth so unaware of things that are happening currently. So unaware of other perceptions, ideas, perspectives, lives, memories, so unaware of what it feels like for them.
"That's what any person is when they aren't fine." She dipped her head slightly down to meet my gaze as I rested my chin on the fist of my hand. "I feel like Bonnie right now, sleepy."
"So both of you have personalities that mostly represent sleeping?" She joked as I hid my smile, looking in the other direction as my eyes wandered at Harry and Ron, sitting at the Gryffindor table, smiling for once. "I don't have a sleeping personality, I'm just—I just have a lot on my mind and I can't seem to sort it out and file it into different categories, they all seem to be clashing into this big file, and it's taking up too much space and I feel like my mind is going to explode—I'm going to explode."
"Breathe." That is all she said as I did.
"I'm just worried for the dance next week, and all we're left with is the last two practices and McLaggen is being a dickhead currently so dealing with that is highly annoying and just in general," I tried to let it out without saying too much—I'm terrified that if I actually say my true feelings, the other person might run away.
"Well no worries about that, we literally have practice after breakfast, so it'll be all okay, you need to take a minute and just meditate, just take a deep breath in," as she did, and I did what she did, "and exhale," she breathed out as I did too. "Better?"
"Much better," I lied. What does breathing have to do with the fact that I still can't solve the calculations in my head, if breathing solved problems, half the world would be at peace right now?
"You want some waffles?" Blaise asked as he handed me the plate full of them—I looked at them, and it reminded me of everything I did not want to think of. "No, thank you," I spoke.
"No? Waffles are literally your most prized possession in the world," he loudly gestured as a particular head turned to look my way. Waffles reminded me of him, and I hated him, so now I hate waffles, simple enough for my head right now.
"Just not in the mood anymore, I've grown to dislike it, I guess," I mumbled, wiping my mouth with a napkin—indicating I'm done eating.
|
I never understood when my mother used the phrase or anyone, in general, said 'It made you tough' because all it did was keep from reaching and captivating new opportunities for my life, to take a step further and grow properly. Sometimes trauma takes you and pushes you to the ground and not only that, it takes you and pins you there against the hard ground till you decide to get up.
But how can one evolve and flourish when all the surroundings do is pin you back down?
It isn't as easy to one day get out of bed, change into a new set of clothes, wash your face with cold water and pretend that everything is okay and the trauma you've endured hasn't completely crumbled you from the inside until the broken pieces of glass and the sharp edges keep poking you over and over and over again, and then you're bleeding.
But you can't do anything about the bleeding, can you? Do substance abuse? Alcohol? Drugs? Numbing the pain away with a bottle of pills? Doing random hookups every single night because that's the only thing that allows you to divert yourself from reality.
Every single day is different from the previous but not so different at the same time. Most days I couldn't even comprehend what day it was of the week unless I checked because I was so pulled into the networks of my mind that reality had completely left me. The way my brain would just rethink that trauma over and over again, sometimes to feel pain, because sometimes feeling pain was better than feeling nothing at all.
Reality is not as good as everyone makes it, at least not this one.
I usually took books as a coping mechanism, just reading in general. It was like an escape from the worst part of your lives, you're living all these different perspectives of a whole other world, so many opinions from each character, and slowly you start to become part of that world, connecting with characters, the words of the author, the emotions, and you don't even realize you've lived a thousand different lives.
And then the book ends, and all the emotions come running in like a broken dam.
"McLaggen I—just go take a twenty-minute break or something because you almost dropped me like ten times and I would really—"
"I didn't—"
"—really, really like my skull intact for the competition," I spoke, pleading, as he sighed, picking up his bottle of water, throwing his jumper on his shoulder as he walked out of the door. "Just blow the steam off."
Just as he walked out the door my eyes shifted to another being walking into the room, sleeves folded up to his elbows as he wore black pants. There was something so weird about his presence that would immediately tighten your throat and your eyes fixed on everything about him—the way his eyes would blink, how his nose would scrunch up, as he would trace his jaw back and forth with his thumb when he was thinking.
My eyes immediately shifted from the back of McLaggen's head that were small dirty blonde curls to his grey piercing eyes, the way he walked so effortlessly and swiftly—knowing his pride. I unintentionally chewed on the corner on my bottom lip as I turned away, straightening out my canary-colored skirt that complimented my skin tone.
My hand ran down my thigh, up and down as I walked afar from him, feeling his presence too close to mine. I hated it—hated his presence—hated him.
I looked up at the mirror that surrounded the two walls of the four-walled room of the dance practice room that was given to us from the previous weeks. I registered the steps in my mind as I decided to walk myself through it with just me to make sure it wasn't me that was messing anything up.
I began practicing as my feet moved back and forth, left and right as my hands played in as well, accompanying the dance moves as a pair of eyes watched every single thing I did. I rubbed my forehead with the base of my hand as I ran the hand through my hand—waiting for McLaggen to return because a partner was necessary for contributing the steps.
Letting out a frustrated sigh as I pulled my raven-colored hair back, behind my ear as I looked back up at the mirror, following the steps again as his eyes watched and watched and watched every single move I did, how elegantly my hands moved steps. There were others in the room, but they were too occupied on other sides of the second room that connected with this room as their muffled voices came through.
"I can't pick between the fact if it's quite frustrating to watch you struggle without your curly head man floozy," he spoke, his voice slightly echoing in the room as I didn't turn my head to look towards him. "What's the other fact?"
"Haven't decided that yet," he muttered, my head turning as I saw him leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he looked at me, his eyes glistening as I felt the need to drink water. "Where's your companion?"
"Obviously not here," he joked as I rolled my eyes, fixing my hair into a ponytail, laying down any flyaways as my eyes flickered to him. "Hilarious."
"I could help you," he muttered, my eyes narrowed at him for some period of time as his words processed into my mind, a need to laugh, but I didn't. "And why would you do that?"
"What's in it for you?" I asked as I took a step forward, my body facing him completely, a few strands of my hair fell forward onto my face, my skin slightly twitching at the contact as I waited for him to answer.
He looked at me a little too long as I constrained my eyes from wandering his perfect posture, his cheekbones, the way his lips moved, anything at all. "Does there have to be something?"
"Yes," I spoke, quickly, "there always is." He chuckled, looking down as a few strands of his hair smoothly rested on his forehead. "If there's anything I'm benefiting you, helping you learn better, won't help me anyway, Young."
"I'm perfectly capable of practicing myself," I stepped closer, as my index finger poked into his chest, "besides, there's always a motive with you, the world may end the day you do something selfless." I moved away as my eyes teared away from him, as I felt his hand clasp around my wrist, pulling my back as my heart skipped a beat.
"Afraid you'll fail at it?" He questioned as his eyes peered over my face, slowly going down, learning something new, then down to my lips as my breath hitched, his eyes meeting mine again as I leaned in closer. "No," I whispered, "just want my head intact." A small smirk grew on his face as the contact of his hand against my skin started a coil in my stomach—making it hard to think.
"But, I'll let you show me what you got, I got nothing to lose but a skull." I could've sworn a grin appeared on his face as I moved away to lead me. I faced the mirror as my eyes met his again, as he walked over, watching me through the mirror, making his way to stand behind me.
His head appeared next to my left shoulder as his hands touched both of my arms, slowly sliding them down—tracing them almost as if he was drawing a sketch. I couldn't even decide on the fact if I was breathing properly as he breathed next to my neck, his eyes staring at mine through the mirror—his hands running down my arms as the fabric of his pants brushed against the back of bare thighs.
"You're constricting yourself," he said, slowly, "you need to let yourself loose a little." His right hand wrapped around my right wrist as he raised my arm, straightening it to the side as his other hand rested on my hip suddenly, a shiver running down my spine as I did not react. His body moved with mine as he showed me the step. "Good," he whispered, "just like that."
His whispers, low tone, made me almost bite down on my tongue as he took a hold of my wrist, twirling me around as I face him—so suddenly that I almost gasped as my eyes met his, so closely that I can count of the number of blue specks in his eyes and how in contrast it was with the grey. His left-hand interlocking with mine as the grip on my hip tightening—securing almost. "The best way to start is doing the waltz, it's the easiest, slowest," his head leaned in next to my ear and his cologne engulfed me. If he wasn't holding me up straight, I would've fallen, "and the smoothest."
He leaned back as his eyes pierced into mine, everything about him was ablaze and scorching, as if he was made from the ashes of hell, molded together into this ungodly figure—an attraction of wanting to commit sinful things—to ravage in the pleasure of it, and relish.
"The best thing you can know about dancing is to properly position your feet so—"
"So the foot of my partner can move between mine easily," I continued for him as the corner of his lips tugged up as I swallowed wanting to look away but couldn't. His thumb slowly dragged up and down my hip as we continued to waltz around the room—I almost enjoyed myself as he continued to teach me some tricks to use while working with McLaggen.
My hand on his shoulder blade as I held him firmly, maintaining my balance as I was learning to move with his body as we quickly picked up each other's moves and began getting comfortable as he twirled me around swiftly, bringing me back as each time felt closer than the one before it and I couldn't help but let my eyes wander to every single thing about him, his lips as they quivered up into a smile every time something benefited in a way I just couldn't figure out.
Why help me out like this? This wasn't going to benefit him in any way, but he's still doing it. I often studied one's eyes since they spoke so much more than the words that came from that same person's mouth. How one's eyes can betray so much about them—the way they study you, look at every single feature about you, learn you properly, a memory that will forever be embedded in your head—something that you can never get rid of, the memory of them and their touch.
He pulled away as my mind wandered back into the reality of us dancing—waltzing together, he moved his hand from my hip, unhesitatingly moving me to his right as our bodies were standing horizontally—in a fan position— as I quickly moved, his hand coming around my hip as my knee bent—resting on his right thigh as my right hand rested on top of his. Our faces close—eyes staring at each other with no remorse, the sound of his breathing was a different type of sinful thought in my head. "Try not to drop me."
"Can't promise anything just yet," he spoke, bringing me back down as my right leg lifted to his shoulder—upward as I can, resting on his shoulder as the thought of breathing properly—the concept of it had left my mind as he held onto my back for support, his other hand rested on my ankle, keeping me steady as I thanked myself for stretching earlier.
He slowly took a hold of my left thigh, swaddling it around his torso as my hands shifted to taking a hold of his shoulders to keep myself from balancing as his hands came back on my lower back and hips. He allowed my body to fall back as he slowly—at a pace whirled us around as my head was thrown back—the intimacy of this position never came to my mind until now as he slowly brought me back up.
My ragged breathing as both of my legs are wrapped around him, my head level above him as I was looking down at him—arms wrapped around his neck as his platinum blonde hair grazed my skin. He looked at me with so much intensity, searching for so many answers, so much curiosity and hidden secrets as my body slowly lowered, meeting the same eye level as his chest rose slowly up and down.
I touched the ground as he pulled away to twirl my body again to push my body in as our feet drummed against the floor, his hand twirling me around towards him as my body fell back—dipping me backward as his hand rested on my lower back and the other one holding it around his leg. My head fully threw back as his—sinful—sinful eyes didn't hold back from admiring my body—the way my skirt hitched up as he had access to touching my bare skin but did nothing more than until he knew I was comfortable with it.
I raised my head slowly back up as his hand shifted upwards, balancing me as our faces were in proximity, breathing heavily as the room was silent—completely, just him and I as our eyes wandered everywhere—his lips—his eyes—his hands were on my body.
This was wrong, so wrong—in so many ways—he wasn't—we shouldn't collide.
"Holy fuck," a loud voice came from behind us as we almost quickly pulled away, "I feel like I just got front row seats to full-blown erotica scene instead of reading it in a book," Amelia blurted, happily.
"Amelia," I muttered as I ran my hand through my hair as she clapped loudly. Malfoy met my eye's one last time as there was a gleam—Susan Bones walking through the door as he found a way to quickly get away from Amelia fangirling. "How long have you been standing there?"
"What part exactly? Or what position?" She asked, a devil-like smirk on her face as I let out a huff, walking the opposite way as a shout came from behind. "I'm sorry—I'm late, I know, I got held up," McLaggen came in, breathing heavily as pressed my lips into a thin line.
"You're thirty minutes late McLaggen," I spoke as he gave me an apologetic look, making me regret joining this tournament in the first place—I could still feel my body shook from what had happened less than a minute ago, my breathing rather heavy as my mind is still trying to take in every single second of the memory of today, the feeling of his touch against my skin—all of it. "It's fine, just meet me in an hour I—" my eyes flickered as his gaze was on mine, Bones talking to him as I looked away, "just meet me back in an hour, I need to take a cold shower."
"No—no—no, keep staring at each other, don't leave," she pleaded.
"Out the door already."
Amelia followed me to the door as she giggled. "Oh please, be lucky it was only me because Blaise, Bonnie, and Theo—"
"I heard my name," Blaise spoke as I looked up at him, giving him a warm smile. "I know you guys are obsessed with me, just accept it already."
"Amelia might be," I pushed her over to him as they laughed.
"The only thing Amelia is obsessed with right now is the book Hogwarts: A History," Theo joked as I chuckled—hiding my smile from Amelia who would pull me right back into the room. "And what about you Theo? Hmm? Is this—" she poked at Bonnie, "not your obsession."
"Better than a book."
"Watch Theo not picking up a book, be his new personality," Bonnie chimed in as Theo placed his hand on his heart, acting offended. "That's my line," Blaise rolled his eyes.
—