𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 [𝐣.𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫]

14: 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢

Brigitte took shot after shot until the room spun in a haze of flashing colors and faraway voices. She'd completely lost control, her mind hopelessly grieving. Because no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, no matter how deep she tried to bury her emotions, she knew of one thing.

She wanted to be Lily Evans.

It wasn't a new realization, in fact, she'd dabbled with the possibility quite a bit since Lily's Hogsmeade date. But this feeling had only grown in certainty, as true as one knew the sun would rise again tomorrow in the east, and retire in the west. She wanted to be the one James Potter kissed and cradled. She didn't want to be happy for the two, despite her obligation now that she was willing to call Lily a friend.

She didn't remember much as the evening dragged on, many male classmates came up for a dance, and she obliged, but her main focus, every sneaking gaze was trained on James Potter and Lily Evans, his girlfriend.

It was a turmoil like no other, how quickly these feelings managed to grasp her. Love was supposed to be slow and beautiful, not erratic and sudden, so jarring she cpuld feel the ground move out from beneath her feet. It was like someone had flicked a switch, the images of James and Lily together so brightly burned into her eyes it made her sick. And no (small) amount of firewhiskey could erase the raw pain that settled within every inch of her body, flowing through her bloodstream in a whirlwind of hurt.

She stared at the toilet bowl, the cold flooring bruising her knees as her eyes adjusted to the flourescent light, and the calm, steady ache tore itself open, gently and then all at once.

Then she wondered how out-of-the-blue the sensation truly was, if maybe, deep down, she'd known all along.

She'd never cried harder.

There was something so surreal about going to the loo during parties. Inside housed the heartbroken, fixing their mascara, ready to put their facade back together. Outside, it would be back to pretending as if you didn't have a care in the world, but in the restroom, under the bright lights and stomach-turning nausea, you felt everything.

Music played, distorted to her ears and she sobbed forcefully because the Brigitte she needed to protect her wasn't there. She needed the Brigitte who didn't feel, the Brigitte who could brush off the most terrible of pains with a sneer and some red lipstick.

But she was gone, replaced with the girl bitterly weeping, blonde hair out of place, perfection thousands of eons away. How could one go from feeling nothing to everything in a matter of seconds?

James Potter made her feel.

He made her feel everything all at once, strobe lights at midnight, headaches and heartbreaks. Now, she wanted it all. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, hear his voice in her ear.

He'd given her a taste and now, she was addicted. But no one ever told her how much you risked, giving your heart away. Especially when he loved someone else.

No, she couldn't dwell on this. The man had a girlfriend, for Godric's sake. She'd live, like so many others who smiled through shattered hearts, and wished more than anything that the boy who danced with his hands on her hips was James Fleamont Potter.

********

There was nothing worse than being hungover.

Even worse yet was being hungover whilst you listened to your newly appointed friend talk about a boy you discovered you might be in love with.

Regardless, Brigitte smiled and accepted Lily's self-made hangover cure. It worked as well as to be expected, clearing her head, removing the throbbing of her temple, loosening the pit in her stomach, but it did nothing for her urge to cry, for the pull she felt towards the firewhiskey bottle, the one that doubled as a portal for her escape.