Aftermath • Drarry

011

All your screaming whispers, slip right through my fingers

But these memories linger on - 5 Seconds Of Summer; Castaway

***

'How do you feel about the fact that you have not seen your mother in a week?'

I shrugged, not really knowing how I truly felt about that. 'Okay, I guess,' was the answer that I had given her after a short silence. 'When I still went to Hogwarts I would sometimes not see her for a couple of months, I guess that I am sort of used to it.'

'Did you have no contact at all with her when you went to school?' she asked further, not willing to let go of the subject just yet. 'Yeah,' I admitted, 'I used to write her every single week. I told her almost everything and she would tell me almost everything about her life. So yeah, I do miss her a little bit.'

'Today I wanted to talk to you about your past, since your mother is a big part of that,' she started, choosing her words carefully. My heart automatically started to beat a little faster by hearing her words and realising what they mend. I had to talk about all those awful years that formed my childhood. 'Do you feel like you are up for that?'

'No,' I said without even reconsidering me being ready for that conversation. 'But I know that I have to, you know, in order to really get better.'

Dr. Dolan smiled proudly at me after taking her notes in front of her. 'If you ever need a break or some air just tell me. We have all the time in the world. It is important to discuss your childhood trauma's before they start to hunt you.'

Well, then I should have came her years ago.

'Right,' I mumbled while my fingers started to nervously fiddle with one of my bracelets. 'Shall we start with the first, lets say five or six, years of your life? Can you remember anything specific about those years?'

A smile found its way on my face. 'Yes, I do, very vividly. My mother always sang songs for me, she used to read story's to me, she used to tell me how happy she was with me. I also remember my dad taking me out to teach me how to play Quidditch, how we used to spent hours on the field playing that stupid game. I remember us sitting at the diner table, my father and mother both trying to make sure I would eat enough vegetables, but I never would. They would get angry at me, but eventually they always gave me the biggest peace of cake or a bigger scoop ice cream.'

The smile I had on my face remembering all the good things about my childhood soon faded as I remembered all the bad things that had happened. The bad always found a way to defeat the good, the sadness always seemed to find a way to destroy the happiness.

'When did all of that change?'

'I think I was six or seven when it changed,' I said. The anxious feeling in my body made me sweat so much that I could feel my T-shirt getting wet. 'Something changed in my dads behaviour, I do not know what. He did not have time to play Quidditch with me anymore, he never ate diner with us. He was always around, but it certainly did not feel that way. It felt like he was a stranger.'

'How did that make you feel?'

'Abandoned,' I spoke honestly, wanting to speak nothing but the truth. 'It made me feel like I was a waste of space, like I was the reason my parents grew apart.'

'What made you think that they were growing apart?'

'The arguments they had. My mother must still think that I do not know about their fights, but I do. I always heard it. I always saw him hitting her. I always heard her silent cries for help. Help that I could not offer her.'

'You were just a kid,' my therapist spoke with a soft voice. 'There was nothing you could have done.'

'But what if there was something I could have done? What if I was to much of a coward to do anything. I made her suffer, I let him hit her. I allowed him to hurt the person I loved the most. What does that say about me? There were times that I would cry myself to sleep because she had not responded to one of my letters. I was so afraid every time I sent her a letter that she would not reply because of my father. I was afraid of coming home, afraid that he would have beaten her to death. The fear of not knowing if she was okay, if she was alive made me so incredibly sad and desperate. I wanted to help her so badly, I used to wish she was safe every single night.'

Silent tears escaped my tears as self-hate boiled up inside of me. I could not believe how honestly I spoke to her about this, I never had.

'He hurt her, dr. Dolan, he hurt the women he loved the most. That was the only love I knew back then. I cannot let anyone in because of that, because of the sick way father treated my mother. He always told me that he loved her very much, but that is not love, right?'

'No it is not,' she spoke. 'It is a very unnatural way to express love, or even hate for someone. A person should never be allowed to do such a awful thing,' she then said, considering what to say next. 'Why did you think he did it?'

Something inside of me snapped at that point. Maybe the nerves, maybe it were the silent tears that I had been crying for so many years now. I do not know what it was, but something drove me crazy. 'He did not love her,' I said, first with a soft voice. 'He did not love her,' I said once more, a little louder. 'He did not love her!'

I probably screamed the same sentence a few times before the tears were unstoppable.

'He did not love me!' I then screamed. My heart hurt, my heart was tired and my soul felt like it weighted at least a million kilogramme. The tears that my father did not deserve fell on the ground, on my shirt and after a few minutes on the neat jacket that belonged to dr. Dolan.

My father had hurt me, more then he would ever know.