I don’t own Harry Potter.
Hi, this was written for ‘The Kind of Desperate Challenge’ by SilverRoses. I hope you like it! Comments and opinions are always welcomed.
Thanks to the wonderful TenthWeasleyWriter for beta'ing this for me!
merry go round
He was like a tornado that crashed down on me, so suddenly, leaving me lying in the dust that I clung to so desperately because it was all I had left.
He walked out.
He walked back in.
It was a constant merry-go-round.
I had gotten used to it; it felt as normal as breathing, watching him slam the door behind him as he damned me to hell. I didn’t worry too much, though - I knew one day, he’d turn up at my door with that whimsical smile on his face that I could never say no to, and we’d repeat the same thing all over again. Still, though, I was a monster of insecurity. Seeing his name slapped on a front of another tabloid with a bimbo on his arms turned me into a jealous wreck, but I truthfully knew they were nothing to him. Those people were just something to pass the time. It still stung, though. I believed he needed me more than I needed him. That's my lullaby that I hum to myself.
Absence doesn’t make the heart go fonder; it drives it insane.
I was always his favourite plaything.
I was special. I had been told this since I was a little girl, and I believed it.
He was my addiction.
I was his little dirty obsession.
He poisoned every single one of my thoughts; they were always consumed with thoughts of him. My thoughts are twisted, each one more vile than the next.
I’m starting to wonder how much one heart can take.
I loved him first. I loved him so much that I didn’t care what happened to me or how many times my heart took a beating.
I can be used as the perfect bad example. I’m not completely useless, despite what people say.
I met him at Hogwarts. For years, I didn't take notice of him, until that night where he was drunk and I was beautiful.
People say there is something good about hitting rock bottom because there is nowhere else to go but up, but I wasn’t sure as I lay chained at the bottom, tormented in my desperation. I was so out of touch with reality that I wasn’t sure what was real and what was an illusion.
I’ll play the part; pretend I’m fine.
I believe in him, he believes in me. It’s the small things that matter at the end of another horrid day.
Nothing lasts forever; it’s such a shame. I have yet to deal with this simple fact.
I will him come back. I’m alone. I’m always left alone. I was hoping. I knew hope was dangerous; all it had ever done was left me with disappointments, but I was known for being hopeful. I am the youngest and the most naive. People protected me from everything but myself.
I think I really messed us up this time.
I’ve made some wrong decisions that at the time felt so right.
It turns out sick is the new sane.
It’s such a fine line to cross, and I stumbled too much - dipping my toe in the hatred and throwing myself into the love.
The door knocked, and I peeled myself from the kitchen floor, where I had been lying for hours.
I crash into too many things in my flurry of excitement, but none of it matters. Nothing does, except him.
He’s stood there with the rain pelting down hard on his beautiful face. He must have been sculpted by the gods. He would never tell me how he truly felt, because that wasn’t our thing. Games were our thing. I wrapped my arms around him so tightly, scared that he wasn’t real, that he was just another ghost in my mind.
The ghosts had tricked me before.
My hands trembled.
He lips trapped my own in a devastating kiss. It felt like home. It was everything I needed. It would tear me apart eventually, and I knew this, but I couldn’t resist him. He lets go, and I break a tiny bit more inside, but I don’t show it. I know better than that now.
“I’ve missed you.” He whispered his classic line before coming in and shutting the door. I knew he hadn’t forgotten me; I knew I was still his favourite. I could feel myself coming alive again. My brothers had told me that he was no good, and they were right.
So, I step on the merry-go-round again, hoping that this time, it’ll be different.
But I, Lily Luna Potter, know that my life is no fairytale.