Hailstorm Day

Hailstorm Day

I did not sleep last night. Or the night before. Or the night before that. Actually I don't remember the last time I slept. Not being able to sleep does not mean that I am awake all the time. I am never awake any more. I really don't know how to describe this feeling. It's more like a condition, though I do not feel sick. I feel nothing. As if I was made of clay.

I haven't eaten for days. Last weekend my Mother forced me to have dinner with her. Swallowing felt like someone was scratching my throat with razorblades. I ran to the bathroom to throw up afterwards. It was awful.

For the first time in my life my Mother looked like she was actually worried about me. It was unreal.

"What is it, Draco?"

How could I ever tell her what was wrong with me? Her slate grey eyes, much like mine, were filled with unbecoming concern and care. I was unable to decide whether I wanted to throw a glass of wine at her or slump into her lap and weep against the fabric of her dress, my tears staining crimson crêpe, making it look black just like when I was a little boy.

"Is it some girl, darling?"

I don't know why I nodded. I really don't. Maybe it was the easy way out. An acceptable explanation.

She smiled. It was one of the most beautiful smiles I had ever seen, and yes, I have seen you smile.

"Can you tell me who it is?"

I shook my head, hair falling onto my forehead and getting moist with the sweat above my brow. I felt like I was five years old.

"Tell me about her."

Oh Gods.

I looked at the table, not saying a word. I just sat there and visual memories kept rushing past my eyes. Then, finally, I spoke.

"S-she... She has black hair."

Are you happy now? Look what you made me do. Lie to my own Mother.

I can still taste her words in my mouth.

"She used to be the Ravenclaw Seeker, didn't she?"

I could almost hear thinking.

She smiled again, but it the smile was no longer genuine. I wondered if it had ever been.

"I always thought she was very pretty."

Liar.

We finished our glasses of wines, or rather, she did. I could not swallow a drop more of that bitter liquid tasting of what I imagined poisoned blood would taste like.

She gave me a ride to my apartment and as the carriage rolled away I could have finally let myself scream or cry or jump up and down, but I didn't really feel like doing anything. I just stood there for a long while, so long my feet started hurting and I stumbled inside. That day the sky was even bleaker than usually and the weather was dreadful. Just like it always is these days. Maybe it always has been. I don't know. Maybe I just hadn't noticed it before.

So. Now my mother thinks I'm in love with your girlfriend. Sometimes I wonder just how fucked up things can get in my life.

My head aches and my eyes hurt. I fucking hate the way you make me feel.

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