Wolves Without Teeth ── theodore nott ¹ ( UNDER EDITING )

chapter thirty seven

 

  Some days she wishes she could fall through the cracks in the floor, let her body fall in a broken heap of weary bones and swallowed fears. Trapped in a forever falling state where nothing can touch her until the ultimate end of her days, until she landed with a sharp inhale and the crack of her head.

It gets harder before it ever gets better — if it ever gets better.

She awakes, trapped in her own mind and listening to the whispers of the monster inside of her head.

Stupid girl.

Accept me, and we will be whole.

I'm always here.

Here. Here. Here.

Alone. Alone. Alone.

Winnie would wrap the blankets around her body, curl her body upwards until her body heat would radiate through her so furiously it felt like she could be burning inside and out. She would stare until her eyes sting and itch, begging for the relief of blinking. She would allow herself to blink five times, all furious and heated before she would return to starting again.

Nothing was ever truly looked at, while she would gaze upon the emptiness of her walls, ( walls she truly never got around to decorate ) she would lose herself. Lose herself to time, to space, to the intervals in between each blink. Some days, she would awake when the sun coursed through her room through the white blinds, casting shadows on her space. And then as quickly as she would twist to turn over in her bed, it would be nightfall.

She would spend a whole day in her bed staring at nothing without even noticing. There would be dishes on her nightstand, she thinks she must've eaten but she can't remember doing so.

She wouldn't remember anything.

She hated days that like, hating feeling as if she lost control of the very thing she could control. It's why she took up baking in the first place.

Baking took concentration, nothing could be messed up, nothing could be forgotten. Much like potions in that way, tracing fingers along pages with ingredients and steps to follow, hair pulled to a fluffy mess on the top of her skull with her mind lost in the thrill of being in control of something, anything.

Sometimes, when things became so hollow and lost to her, she would find a way to dig herself out of her mind. Pinching her skin, talking so loudly she reminded herself that she was alive and breathing, even hitting her head with the balled up fist of her fingers would help. She would pull herself up off her bed, no matter if it was 3am or 3pm, her feet would carry her all the way downstairs and into the kitchen.

Pulling out ingredients after ingredients, until the kitchen smelled and resembled something of a bakery. She would try recipe after recipe, and wouldn't stop to allow herself to rest until she got everything perfectly correct.

It's how Harry Potter found her one day in August, she hadn't even realised he was in the room, ( or the house for that matter ) not until he spoke so loudly she swore. She had thought his voice was coming inside of her head at first, it was a shock so terrifying she nearly burned her hand on a pan she was in the process of taking out of the oven.

"Harry?" The girl questioned, blinking as she stared at the wide eyed boy. He stood, inches away from her, ebony hair sticking up every which way. Bronze skin flashing with a chiselled jaw, emerald green eyes like the sea watching her from beyond circled glasses. The peak of his scar on his forehead peaked out from behind strands of his hair, risin in lines of silver. "Sorry, I didn't hear you. When ... When did you get here?" She questioned, placing a smile on her face as she reached over to grab the blue oven mitts, leaning down to take the almond macaroons she had spent nearly all day perfecting.