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The Fighter by PorridgeWomanEndings14
Chapter 3 : Almost There
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 2


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"I hated how you and Scor left me all alone in the compartment. I had to go find that bitch Molly Malone and those folks. And while we're on the topic of prefectdom, you need to hurry up and organize a Hogsmeade trip, cuz we need to go shopping for Christmas clothes. Ok? Lici, your hair is on fire. There's a snargaluff pod right next to you! ABIGAIL MCLAUGHLIN IS BEHIND YOU!" This is what snapped me out of my haze. I whipped my head around to see if Abigail (the only person I could probably lose control and knock out) was really behind me. She wasn't.


Dom plopped down on the bed next to me and sighed. "Lici," she said, "I don't know what has gotten into you. You weren't smirking like you usually do." Frankly, I didn't know either. I figured it was the boy with the green eyes.


I had played the Slytherin-Bitch card like I always do, but I thought maybe I had gone overboard. I teased him mercilessly, and I took his wand. I don't let anyone insult my mother's memory, but maybe, just maybe, I had overdone it. The look on his face, when he began to hyperventilate, was possibly the thing making me guilty.  And when he asked where the wand was, he looked all adorable and sweet and innocent…And then I had to ruin it by being all bitchy.


I shook my head to clear it of my thoughts. I walked across the dorm to where my record player sat, and I picked up my favorite record by the Buena Vista Social Club. I lay down on the floor beside it, and let my mind wander to the memories I held with each song, to when times where good and nothing could stop it. CiCi smiled, Mami clapped, and Papi and I would dance and giggle. It didn't make me cry to hear to see them in my minds' eye, it just made me feel numb. I can hardly remember the last time we were a happy home. As I think that, a flood of unhappy memories come rushing in. I push them back; tonight is not tonight. I'll think of the bad times on my birthday, which isn't for another two weeks. For now, my sister will smile and laugh real smiles and laughs. My mother and my father will slow dance when we were supposed to be sleeping.


I wish we could still be like that.


But sometimes you don't get what you wish for.

 


**************

 

"Scorpius, if you don't shut up, I'm going to beat the shit out of you." Dom waves her fork at him for emphasis. "But Dom, it's a legitimate argument." I sighed from my place on Scor's lap. "No, Scor, actually it's a shitty excuse for an argument. You loved her for years and now you will ask her out. End of story. Let me eat my bacon in peace, thank you very much." We've been back in school for about a week and a half, and Rose and Scor had talked every single day. Scor liked her, that much was obvious, and she clearly liked him back. Somehow he doubted she liked him, and was actually under the impression she hated him. Ha. As if.


"Well-" he starts, but I cut him off. "No, no , no, fucking NO. Grow a pair and ask her out. And don't talk to me until you do!" I slammed down my bacon (collective gasp!) and stormed out of the Great Hall where we had been eating breakfast. I had a free period before Double Transfiguration, and I needed to train.


I haven't been in the best mood, and it's been getting progressively worse. My birthday was in two days, and it just happened to fall on a Thursday. That was the day I had to do night patrols with Albus Potter. I have a vague memory of him being one of Dom's many cousins. She doesn't really get along with them, what with her being Slytherin and being best friends with Scor. They  hated him, which I could never understand because he isn't like the majority of Slytherins that torture people for fun. He really is a big teddy bear.


Going back to my bitchy rant, I don't know why the fuck I have to go patrol. I talked to my Head of House, but he hates me and he told me to grow a pair and 'work on my fear of facing the truth.' First of all, I'm a girl so I will never "grow a pair." Second, the truth is I'm a fucking orphan whose sister abandoned her. Happy? That's the truth and I face it every fucking day. And excuse me for wanting to get off of patrol, I usually spend my time crying.


Yes, it's freaky to think about me crying, but I only cry once a year on my birthday. It's a fucking schedule.


Anyway, I would prefer to curl up on the floor behind a tapestry and cry than walk corridors with some dork named Albus. Who the fuck names their kid Albus? That is quite the fucked up name. And yes, I used the word 'fuck' in more than half of my words just now. What can I say, I'm a creative person.


I change in the Room of Requirement and begin to stretch. I kick and punch all of my aggression. Somehow it is never enough. As soon as some goes, another piece takes its place.


**************

 

Thursday morning doesn't begin well. Abigail McLaughlin is in the bed next over with her "friends" talking about hot sex with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend just happens to be James Potter. James Potter is an ass.


When I peek my head through the bed hangings to scowl at her. she simpers and tells that she wants me to clean up her side of the room. I hate her and her stupid shit about Mexican cleaning ladies. I'm not fucking Mexican. Yes, i'm bilingual, but you would have to be Abigail McLaughlin to think that makes me Mexican.


Breakfast: huge hugs from Dom and Scor. "Happy 17th, love," Scor whispers as he rubs my back. I emit a strangled noise, as I'm struggling to not cry. They are so good to me, I don't think I could ever repay it. I sometimes think I shouldn't even try to be as amazing as them, just because I don't think I could do it.


****************


Albus then decided that Alicia wasn't the girl for him and instead found love in a person who completely changed his outlook on life, Daria Crawford. Not only is she incredibly sexy but, her actions and her personality is all around. She fills him up with such compassion and lust that it is only by God's willing that Albus is able to function. If only he could work up the courage to speak the girl of his fantasies.


****************

 

The morning and afternoon pass as in a blur. In every class I do nothing but think of what was, what is, what will be, and what could have been. We were happy, now I'm alone. I'll probably always be alone. We could still be together, Mami would still be around to kiss away tears, kiss every finger and say "I love you till forever comes." But what could have been is not what is, or what will be, is it? I tell myself over and over, but I still drift back. Sometimes you just can't let go, no matter how hard you try to act it.


For whatever reason, it peeves me that no one asks what's wrong. It's my own damn fault for not talking to anyone outside of Scor and Dom, but I want a bunch of people to come and comfort me. Not hugs, per se, because I don't accept those from anyone other than Scor and Dom and only then on my birthday, but at least I wouldn't feel so alone.


Night comes, and I dress myself in a pair of old Soffe shorts and an old grey sports bra. Dom doesn't say anything about it; this is the part about my birthday that is never mentioned. She knows, I know, but it goes unspoken.


I decided to skip patrols in favor of my favorite little nook, where it's safe and hidden, and it's the same color as my mother's arms.


I take my old orange blanket (his name is Pedro and he still smells like my first home), and a photo album. For a long time I to rein in tears, but I think to myself, Lici, you don't have to hide here, and then the waterworks come in huge body-wracking sobs. It's so ironic, because I am hiding in an alcove right now, and even when I walk around I hide indoor a cool shell. I never talked as a kid, I was too busy stuffing it down. My father always told me to strong, for him, linda. But look how that turned out? The truth is, it didn't.


I bury my face into Pedro and breathe in as deeply as I can. It smells like my original home. My mother was always cooking something new and spicy. When I was little, and Pedro went with me everywhere, I would eat and spill all over him, and like all little kids I refused to have my mother wash it. I'm so glad she never picked that fight because nowadays it's one of the last tangible things I have to remember it all by.


I just wrap Pedro around me as tightly as I can, and I sob for the longest time. I don't know how long I lay there, sobbing and pondering life's mysteries, when heavy footsteps were suddenly right at the nook. And then, those big green eyes, all heartbreakingly confused, were right there.


**************
A/N: I planned to submit this one waaay earlier than this, but then Chapter 4 was part of this chapter, so then I had to copy and paste the second half of it into a new document. Also, I got lazy in Italy so I wasn't typing like a ninja on the coach like I usually do. But now I'm in France so I can be a ninja again! Yay!


Speaking of such, it is so fricking nice over here. The high yesterday was 71 degrees Fahrenheit. If you think that isn't amazing, compare it to Greece: one morning, I woke up in Athens and it was already 89 degrees. It was seven in the morning. If I am not mistaken, I do believe my first words that day as I looked at my phone were, "Why the fuck is it so hot?"


In my defense, I was in a pissy mood for most of Greece.


Now, for the story: I know I said the not-talking would take place, and if you pay attention, it did. I also know that you probably think this chapter sucks. Well, you haven't seen the next one! I said Dom would be a serious badass (my exact words were 'of the legit shit') but that didn't happen here or in the next chapter. Or maybe the chapter after. I gotta go now; eating my tasty French breakfast (THE SANDWICHES ARE FUCKING AMAZING) in ten minutes.

 


Review as harshly as you can, please! I'm a masochist :)

Simone

 

January 15 edits

Dear Jesus. This CERTAINLY wasn't my best chapter. Remember children, never post while exhausted. I should really start following my own advice.

In other news, today was the deadline for private school applications and I'm already flipping out. I checked my mailbox twice today, despite the fact that I know that I won't get any replies for another month or two. I think I'm slowly-but-surely losing my mind.

Simone


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