Prompt 11, Prompt 12
Title: Leaving
Author: Devonwood
Format & Word Count: Drabble; 470
Rating: PG-13, T
Prompt: Prompt 11 (“I Never”-Rilo Kiley), Prompt 12 (Suitcases)
Warning: Language, vague sexual references
Summary: It stung like something sickeningly sweet and bitter, dark chocolate, like fire and ice, like salt licking a recent wound.
Author's Note: I’ve jumped on the Angst Train again, destination: Emo Tonks. Reads sort of like stream-of-consciousness, although it’s in third-person. Whipped up in about 45 minutes....
When she had seen his bags by the door, she assumed the worst.
He’s leaving.
Only for a short time, he said. Just on a mission for Dumbledore, and then he’d be back.
He’d always come back. For me.
But he didn’t.
Hours, days, then weeks went by without notice, and she assumed the worst.
He’s leaving.
A letter came; he was settled with the werewolves. They could make this relationship work, he said.
She could hear the doubt on the paper. Screaming at her, wailing at her.
But she ignored them.
An official letter came from Dumbledore, and she assumed the worst.
He’s leaving.
Remus is fine, it said, but all contact must be severed.
A bittersweet relief, it seemed, but a relief nonetheless.
He was okay.
He came back, just like he promised. He had a grim expression that clouded his features, and she assumed the worst.
He’s leaving.
And he told her how they couldn’t be together, how he was too dangerous for her in his current state.
She didn’t care!
How he was far too many years her senior.
She didn’t care!
How he had no way to support her, to grow old together, to raise a family.
She didn’t care!
But he turned around and walked out the door, dragging a worn suitcase behind him.
He left.
And while her heart had cried wolf several times, it seemed that she could shed no tears for the one who walked out of her life.
Her shower instead became her tears, streaming down her face, making her cheeks sallow, eyes hollow. Whenever she stepped into a shower, she could immediately scrub him off of her skin. She would take a rag and rub as hard as she could, not satisfied that his scent was off of her until she could see angry, red patches upon her flesh.
Whenever she tried to get rid of him, he always tended to pop up. His smell was everywhere, it seemed. In her kitchen, on her pillows, in her dreams….he even haunted her as she slept, she hearing the whisperings of sweet nothings into her ear that would drive her mad as she strained to make out the words.
And when she took cleansing showers, getting rid of him, her mind would betray her heart and think of the wolf who cried man. The water beating down on him as he smiled wolfishly, her body lifted up against the cool shower tiles as the warmth of his skin pressed into her front, making her body sting with the blending of opposites. Cool and warmth. It stung like something sickeningly sweet and bitter, dark chocolate, like fire and ice, like salt licking a recent wound.
When she refused to show up for Christmas dinner, everyone assumed the worst.
Her heart was leaving.
Her heart had left.