MATURE CONTENT: Drugs, Blood, Death
November 1997
Annika.
Itsy bitsy spider
went up the water spout.
Down came the rain,
and washed the spider out
Huh? I don't remember the lyrics after this.
Down came the rain,
and washed the spider out
My memory is hazy. How did I get here? I don't remember. How long have I here? How am I going to get out of here? However, it feels normal in some way.
Ignoring the physical tremors and the constant threat of death hanging over me—
I might die here
But the prospect of death holds no allure. There's a drive within me, a desire to seize control of the situation no matter the cost.
Though the waters may be turbulent, and you might be in the verge of drowning, always refuse to succumb. Before you're held by the tide, you need they meet their death, on your hands.
Because if not then you've failed and I have too.
Those were Maami's words, I always contradicted her words because my failure was worth if I could see her loose but now we share the same loss.
The dorm is walls still sported their glitters and a pink with dragons and butterflies. Up above, the wind chime swayed gently, its soothing melody providing a welcome distraction from the chaos swirling.
It's funny, I used to wonder why Parkinson was so attached to this place, and now, in the midst of everything, I can see the strange appeal.
Honestly, I never wanted to leave this place either. Despite all the arguments, there was something oddly genuine about the moments we shared here. It's like no matter how fake everything else seemed, when we were in this space, we were just us.
You were a stupid kid.
As I finally reached the end of my pill stash, reality crashed down around me like a tidal wave. Opening my eyes fully would mean confronting not just the pounding hangover, but also the heavy burden of sobriety. Sobriety felt like a distant memory, and facing its stark reality now was overwhelming.
Pills had always provided a comforting distance, a buffer from the harshness of the world. In their numbing embrace, everything seemed more manageable, more bearable. I had always preferred the quiet, the muted colors of a dulled existence.
With a shaky breath, I whispered the charm, "Accio," the effort sending a jolt of pain through my jaw. I was sick of pain—first it had started in my head, but after the alcohol, pills, and drugs, it seemed to scatter like wildfire throughout my body. Funny how the physical pain can cancel out the ache in my head.
And pills, one small pill that's all I needed to breathe.
Itsy bitsy spider
went up the water spout.
Down came the rain,
and washed the spider out.
My eyes snapped back into my skull and my body contorted with the sensation of being torn apart, I couldn't help but scoff inwardly. People always made such a fuss about apparition being painful, but really, they were just being dramatic.
Sure, it wasn't exactly a walk in the park, but we've all been through worse. Besides, the physical discomfort paled in comparison to the relentless torment in the head. Without the pills to numb the agony, my head spun with a vicious onslaught of symptoms, each one more draining than the last. It was like my mind was convincing my body to revolt against me, to punish me for daring to deny it the relief it craved.
Staying still in my old dorm room would've been a death sentence. I had to get out, out of my head and reality.
All I needed was to have the house elf fetch some more pills from Papa's cabinet. I couldn't bear the thought of relying on Bletchley again, not after what happened with Pucey. Trusting someone else had gotten me into this mess—and him six feet under.
the itsy bitsy spider
went up the spout again.
La, la, la, Laa,
The world around me seemed to pulse with an unnaturally bright intensity, causing my senses to reel. Was I high again? I hoped so, but the sharp pain that followed suggested otherwise. Someone had hit me, but where had I apparated to?
As I stumbled forward, my body protested, reminding me of the hours I'd spent in the floor. Yet here I was, running, my mind strangely detached from the physical strain.
Inside my head, everything felt clearer, more vibrant. It was a place I both loved and feared, a sanctuary and a battleground.
But I couldn't stay here. Not now. This limbo between high and sober was a precarious place, one I knew all too well. I had to escape before I get lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts.
My sight fell upon my old drawings and sculptures, of a time before Hogwarts, before everything went sideways. They were cracked and perfect, much like me, but still, they held a strange attraction.
They were pefect from a distance and the closer I looked they were cracked.
My head was trying to tell me something, sending messages through the fractured pieces of my mind. It was a war within myself, a battle I faced alone, with no guarantee of victory. Because whether I win or loose, I will face the consequences either ways
"Your thoughts are killing me," the voice echoed, taunting me. I pushed it away, spriniting forward, refusing to give in to my own head.
But then, another voice, softer, more pleading. "Apologies, I'm already dead." It haunted me, tugging at the edges of my consciousness.
I tried to ignore it, to focus on escaping this mental prison, but the voice persisted. "Help me. Don't leave me to die like last time."
I couldn't resist. I turned, and there he was, his skull cracked, his shirt stained with blood. Guilt washed over me as I remembered the funeral I hadn't attended, the tears I hadn't shed.
"I begged you not to do it," he whispered, his words cutting through me like a knife. I tried to defend myself, to offer excuses, but they sounded hollow, even to my own ears.
I will stop.
I won't do it anymore.
No more drugs.
No more fights.
"No, you can't," he said, and suddenly, my chest tightened with an inexplicable pain. Was I dying? Was that why I was here?
But at least I got to see him. We don't mention his name anymore; we just move on as if nothing happened, and that's what destroys me because no one besides Maami seems affected by it.
Maybe I look fine to others, but it's like those sculptures—the closer you peek, the more tainted it becomes. And nobody wants to get too close to me because, well, let's just say I've cultivated a reputation.
You can't make people love you, but you can make them fear you.
Those were the words I grew up with, and I followed them. I made Maami fear me, and everyone else. I didn't bully them, I didn't need to. Their fear came naturally to me. But honestly, I don't need their fear; I just need them to leave me alone.
And I need the beast inside my head to do the same.
-
"Stop fidgeting, Anni," Heaven's voice breaks through my thoughts. Her voice is an exception because I could listen to it for hours. Her voice is like a balm to my soul. She has that effect on people. She's the kind of person who loves fiercely, and you can feel it in her gaze.
She's the kind of butterfly that could still fly even if her wings got clipped.
Heaven is soft and feminine; the only word that can describe her is pink But there's so much more to her than that – she's every shade of pink, from the soft pastels to the bold fuchsias. She redefines everything you know about the word beauty.
I wanted to keep her, because she saw me. Because she doesn't hate me. And because always asked for me, every party, every dinner, every stupid birthday party. She never held any of that against me.
I open my eyes, and relief floods Heaven's face. She's always been there for me, mostly when killing myslef. And lately, that's been a lot. But she never gives up on me or anyone.
She always looks like a Barbie doll—that's what she always aims for. Pink is her color, whether it be shoes, dresses, or accessories.
"Hi," I smile at her, and she hurls a cushion my way. That wasn't very nice. How did I end up here? Did she see what happened? Well, obviously, genius. I try to sit up, but my head throbs, and it feels the same. The pain is reduced, but it still hurts when I move.
The drugs and pills only remove the pain in the head not in the body.
"I know you don't like going to Madam Pomfrey, but you've been sick for over two weeks. Maybe we should—" Oh, not this again.For most of the day, I'm usually slumped in Heaven's dorm, but I can't ever remember how I get here or what happened before.
Was I high again? How long has it been since my last dose? The last thing I remember is barging in at Riddle and Malfoy's romantic dinner and embarrassing myself later that night.
God, I need to get more pills. And I need to stop—wait, what is she doing?
"What's that?" I point to the green-purple vial of potion she's pouring into a cup I made. Every piece of ceramic in this room is a proof to my god like skills.
It smells filthy.
"Mandrake, just take a small sip," she says, pushing the cup towards me. I shake my head, but she insists, forcefully pressing the cup to my lips.
How come she's an angel to everyone but me? I would fight her if my head would stop throbbing and my body would stop thrashing with every movement I make.
"I'll make chai if you take a sip." Well, when she puts it that way, how can I refuse? I take a small sip, grimacing at the taste. She's been making me try different potions every time I end up here, but they never seem to help.
She makes me take a new potion every time I magically slump here; she begs me to go to Pomfrey, I refuse, she huffs and puffs, shoving a new potion down my throat. Then, I'm back on my feet, high, and I forget what happens.
The cycle repeats.
-
Age 15
I could feel the sticky warmth of blood trickling down my temple, the metallic tang filling my nostrils. My hands trembled uncontrollably, fingers fidgeting nervously as I surveyed the scene before me. I shouldn't be here, not like this. But the pull of trying weed had been too strong to resist and somehow I was left with a hole in my memory.
Merlin, there's blood everywhere.
It splattered along the walls in deformed patterns, pooling on the floor in thick, dark puddles. It stained my desk, my bed, every corner of my room. What had happened? My heart raced, panic clawing at the edges of my mind as I struggled to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before me.
I'm not scared far beyond it. I'm excited. My heart is full. My panic is usually of adrenaline rush.
What have you done?
Something I should have done months ago
With trembling limbs, I pushed myself back onto my feet, the adrenaline coursing through my veins masking the overwhelming drain I felt. Every creak of the floorboards beneath me echoed like a sinister whisper. Even the wind chimes sounded rough and violent.
Bloody heavens, You're loving this, Annika.
Summoning my wand with trembling fingers, I retrieved the dagger tucked under my pillow. This whole scene probably resembled a twisted nightmare straight out of Potter's childhood.
My heart raced as I spotted a man's foot peeking through the bathroom door, panic seizing my chest. It wasn't just fear of the unknown figure out there; it was the gnawing dread of what I might have done to him.
Adrian Pucey.
The Slytherin prefect, the shady dealer of Hogwarts. It all started innocently enough with cigarettes and the occasional joint, but then he demanded I dabble in heavier substances, and when I refused, he told Parkinson and used her as leverage against me.
And maybe because I wanted sex and he wanted more. Sex, the only relation I have with anyone.
He was here because I wanted him to stay in his lane and leave me the hell alone. But somehow, I got roped into toking up with him and his cronies, and now, I couldn't remember anything beyond that haze.
Did you really hurt him? No, it couldn't be true.
He is still moving, albeit barely.
Merlin, he looks like he'd been through hell and back.
Shouldn't you hurt him more? A tiny bit more?
I want to.
With a leg missing and fingers mangled, his muffled cries echoed through the room, his eyes has not yet landing on me. A strange mix of relief and horroe washes over me, a twisted satisfaction that cut deeper than any high I'd ever chased.
This was karma, pure and simple.
No it was all you.
Annika god Knightley.
Whatever he did to others, whatever twisted games he played with me by including into Parkinson, he had it coming.
His gaze finally met mine, a cocktail of fear and pain, not any semblance of remorse. I waved my wand, and he whimpered, tears streaking down his battered face.
That's right.
"You're going to die, you little—" he started. "You're going to die"
I silenced him with a flick of my wand, slamming the bathroom door shut behind me. I couldn't bear the thought of Pucey witnessing me spiral.
Not sure if that's the right word, Annika.
He was right; I couldn't kill him. The high me couldn't, and the sober me couldn't even stand to look at him.
Because I don't want my first kill to be this little pest. But Merlin, he's tempting me.
"It's okay, it's okay," I whispered to myself, attempting to drown out the rising heat. I'd deal with Pucey later. Right now, I needed to clean up this mess.
But the blood on my clothes and the floor refused to budge, mocking my feeble attempts to scrub them away. Panic clawed at my throat.
Would I end up in Azkaban? No, that couldn't happen. I was a Knightley, the Maharaja's only granddaughter and the Earl's daughter. Pucey is nothing compared to me.
Now I was spiraling.
But the thought of going to prison over this was terrifying. Wearing those digusting clothes and ugly chains—
Just focus, I pressed on, but my trembling hands struggled to grasp the soap and scrubbing brush. I needed water to rinse away the blood, but I couldn't bring myself to step foot in the bathroom. That's when my eyes landed on my clear Prada tote bag.
Eureka.
With a flick of my wand, I summoned the bag and filled it with water. But even as I scrubbed furiously at the stains, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to focus. I would deal with Pucey later. Right now, I needed to clean this mess. One problem at a time. I couldn't let fear and uncertainty cloud my judgment. I tackled the stains, on a tiny portion of the floor, one scrub at a time.
The relentless banging on the bathroom door echoed through the room, each thud sending a shiver down my spine. But I forced myself to block out the noise, focusing solely on scrubbing away the mess.
Itsy bitsy spider
I whisper to myself, a feeble attempt to steady my trembling hands.
Panic surged within me, urging me to do something, anything. Should I ask for help? No, this was my mess, and I needed to clean it up. But perhaps—
Orion
Yes, he always seemed to know what to do in situations like this.
Situations like this. We've been here before.
With a deep breath, I grabbed my coat from the hanger, shutting the door behind me and securing it with a key and a charm. The hallway was eerily quiet, save for the soft melody of wind chimes drifting from my dorm. Steadily, I made my way to the boys' dormitory, my heart pounding in my chest.
Orion's dorm. I stand hesitantly outside the door, my heart pounding in my chest. Then it hits me—he's moved out of Mafloy's and Riddle dorm.
'Gray' I need to find the door with his name. Move, move. Pushing open the door, I found his room empty, save for a bed and piles of books strewn across the floor. The absence of his presence only added to the sense of unease gnawing at my insides.
I'm going to die.
Not before Pucey though.
Don't laugh, Annika.
"No," I murmur, a silent plea to the universe.
Think.
Think.
Think.
My heart raced as I stood before the familiar door, my mind buzzing with urgency. Without a second thought, I burst in, bounding up the stairs inside the dorm. I knocked softly at first, then harder when there was no response.
"Mattheo," I called out, feeling the unfamiliarity of his name on my tongue. The door swung open, revealing him with his hair tousled and a subtle shift in his usual demeanor, perhaps caused by my presence.
My hands trembled as I slowly peeled open my coat, revealing the blood-stained clothes beneath. Riddle didn't say a word, but he wiped the blood from my temple with a silent gesture. I had forgotten about it amidst the joy.
He summoned his wand and motioned for me to follow. We stopped at my door, and I handed him the key, feeling a sense of relief at his presence. Pucey's constant banging on the door only added to the fuel to my annoyance. Riddle glanced around, assessing the damage, before speaking firmly yet calmly.
"Change your clothes, pack what you need, go to my dorm, lock the doors, shower, and sleep," he instructed, his gaze steady. All I could manage was a nod in response.
I should at least witness the blood drain his body, slowly and painfully—
"Sleep it off, Annika," he added, before disappearing into the bathroom.
What he meant was—Next time be more quiet and clean.
The click of the locks echoed in the eerie silence that followed. I knew Pucey wouldn't survive the night. He didn't deserve to.
With trembling hands, I changed into fresh clothes, the tremors gradually subsiding. Grabbing my suitcase, I hastily stuffed it with essentials and fled to Riddle's dormitory, my thoughts racing with regret.
Regret, because I should've killed him. Regret, because I wanted to I was too pathetic being a child.
Never again though. Next time I'll make the biggest mess because this is exactly what I need. What the beast in my head needs.