"i'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye."
Self-proclaimed laughing stock to the universe, Adelaide Rowans went into sixth year hoping it would treat her kindly. But when a particular game of Seven-Minutes-in-Heaven gets Adelaide stuck with James...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
STAYING IS ENOUGH CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
There were countless times James Potter fucked up in his life; one, two hundred times he had made a mistake he regretted doing and moped around over. It wasn't a new thing for him, it used to be a monthly occurrence for him to do something that would later on bite him in the arse.
There was a time he mistook salt for sugar when he helped his mother bake cookies once, and that led to an hour of scolding by her and two weeks of teasing from Sirius. And there was another instance where he was caught by their Arithmancy professor sketching a questionable drawing of Professor Slughorn in muggle clothing that didn't need a second look to be considered 'scandalous'.
He had a fair share of things he fucked up, yet somehow, out of the hundred mistakes he had made, he considered this to be the worst.
James knew he had fucked up.
Undoubtedly, irreversibly, shamefully fucked up.
He didn't know why he left. Even thinking about it now, almost half an hour after he said 'goodnight' and cowardly left her alone, he didn't know why.
He knew that he should've stayed; that he should've told her that he felt the same, that he should've apologized for being childish, that he should've just swallowed his pride and told her that he wanted her.
And even now, as he sat on the couch, eyes set on her sleeping figure, afraid that this would be the last time he would ever see her so in peace, he knew that he should've stayed.
It had to be past 2 A.M. He had heard the sound of a car stop at the front of the lodge, and the drunken, slurred shouts of voices he knew to be Sirius', Marlene's, and Athena's, and he was well aware of the struggling footsteps up the stairs and the shocked gasps and pained groans whenever someone lost their balance — yet all James could do was sit still on the couch, hands clasped and sweaty, lips chapped and red from the incessant habitual biting and licking, and watch Adelaide's face, a faint frown slowly creasing but not quite there yet, as he tortured himself over and over and over again in his own head.
He didn't know why he left, the only pathetic explanation he was left with was the fact that he felt an extreme, weighing guilt on his shoulders after her confession, he had been so unnecessarily mean to her that night, letting his own jealousy rid him of any chance of deliberate, logical thought to be processed.
Which was absolutely ridiculous, of course, who the hell in their right mind would walk away from being confessed to by someone you liked?
At the moment, it seemed like it was the best thing to do — to leave and to stay out of her sight until he'd come up with another way to apologize, to create a heartwarming, well thought out apology that would showcase how truly sorry he was. But there were no napkins and red lipstick to write with, there were no trees beside the lake to have a spontaneous picnic on, there was nothing; he only had himself, the silence and uncomfortability of being by yourself, and his stupid, goddamned, frustrating ego to fix.
