BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

08

Tuesday, 02/09/1995

Swallow me.

Swallow me whole, emptiness.

Why keep waiting? For what?

I know you're there, lurking in every corner, every shadow, everywhere I go.

I know you're in my heart. Deep down, entwined with hatred.

Hatred, that burns for Pansy, burns for me. My hatred burns for us.

It somewhat connects us. It probably is the only thing that does.

I hate her and she hates me, there we have it, our common ground.

I don't understand how anything could go so wrong. How a bond designed to foster love, fashioned to link sisters together could rot like this?

What in the world happened to us? Who failed us? Did we fail ourselves?

Is it my fault after all? Is it my fault that little Pansy and I grew up to be like this, such poisoned minds?

Did I make her hate me?

All I am is uncertain. Uncertain about everything.

Who is to blame?

On whom can I place the weight of my woes?

"Y/n? Are you still up?"

Startled, I flinch at the sound of Tracey's voice. Was she awake the whole time? Didn't we say goodnight hours ago?

"Barely," I mumble, cursing my tear-heavy voice.

"Didn't mean to wake you up, sorry."

"No, it's alright, really, no worries."

Blankets rustle and through the thick night in our dorm, I watch her getting out of bed.

"What are you doing?"

What if she'll come over to me now, feel my tear-strained face and insist on knowing why I cried?

Technically, she must have heard it, how I wept. If she really was awake, which she was.

"I need some water," she explains, making her way over to the bathroom. But she hesitates before slipping through the door.

"Y/n, what were you crying about?"

Goddamit, I was right. She heard. She knows.

"I don't know."

I sigh, she sighs, we sigh.

She knows I'm lying as well as I do, knows that arguing would be pointless and that she's going to try and squeeze it out of me tomorrow.

Another sigh escapes her lungs and as she finally disappears into the bathroom I sink back into my mattress; hoping, praying, that I'll be able to fall asleep now.

. . .

Chill air licks my bare feet as water would.

Cold, cold, cold, cold - I am so cold.

Where am I and when? How late - or - how early is it?

The room's so dark, opened eyes or closed; it doesn't make a difference.

Annoyed I reach for my blanket which must've fallen to the ground after it slipped off me.

But all there is, is the stone floor, no blanket anywhere. Come on, silly, just find the blanket and go back to sleep already.

After another few fruitless moments of feeling the ground for my blanket that's seemingly disappeared I get up, irritated.

Provoked by the lack of success, I stand there, bare feet on the cool floor, arms wrapped around my shivering body tightly.