Seventeen

𝖝𝖎𝖎. romance feels foreign

Isabella had found them: a nightmare crumpling itself and forcing its way down their throats and reliving itself on every dream day smudged in their fairy tales. The tower was prettiest at night, even prettier with the girl she loved. In each other's arms, like one would write a love song, it was a beautiful scene: the silver moon hitting their faces to a hue that made beauty shudder in their shadows, the windswept winter moon light and laughter didn't feel so foreign to Solaris anymore. Not with her, not in here.

"You ever think about it, Sol?"

"About what?"

"Trying to die again."

"Yes. Every day."

She frowned— she couldn't deny that she hasn't ever thought about her demise and it cowering to every corner of her body. She thought about it a lot. She would count the days, the days she stayed alive and would wait for death to pass through her skin like the subtle touch of a ghost would, like light passing through clouds. She had felt her chest caving in during her sobs, like the ceilings of her diaphragm trapped her lost soul in its cage and she couldn't breathe anymore.

"Why?"

"It's like. . . I either feel nothing or everything. All at once. I'm always scared of people leaving me, I promise you, I know of being left. It's all I've ever known. There are so many things I'm afraid of, but I pretend that I'm not. Everyone leaves, through death, parting or rejection— everyone seems to go. I don't want to be here when the next person decides I'm not good enough for staying with."

"I'm so sorry—"

"Don't apologise unless you decide to leave, too."

"I won't," Hermione shook her head. "I promise."

"Pinky swear?"

They locked their pinkies, stitching each other's promises skin-to-skin.

"Pinky swear."

"How about you? Do you ever think of death?"

"No." Lie.

"That's a lie."

"How could you tell?"

"I didn't, you basically confessed."

"I am a pretty bad liar."

"So," Solaris said, planting herself on her elbows. "What do you think about when you think of death?"

"Drowning. It'd be peaceful. I wouldn't hear anyone screaming, not even myself. The water could feel like a hug— I don't know. Just, drowning is easier, I think."

"I tried to drown once."

"What?" Hermione sat up.

"Yeah, but it's cool, I was like thirteen. It wasn't, it's like— you know, it should have another word to describe the feeling of drowning. It felt like all your air was running out and all the water was coming in exchange for it."

"That's awful," Hermione frowned. "I don't think I wanna die anymore."

"Well, don't go crazy on me! Of course you want to die, don't we all?"

"I think we're just ill."

"It makes us better, don't sweat it."

"What do you want the most?"

"Uhm," Solaris paused. "I guess I've been thinking too much of wanting to die that all of my other wants have stopped being wants. What do you want?"

"I guess, a family. Of my own, you know? Kids, a partner, a library. To go to Paris, travel through Europe— there is so much I want to do and be."

"You'll have it all."

"How do you know that?"

"I've known you before you ever got me. Smartest of our year, best friend of
Potter— you're the name on everyone's mouths. I know you'll do everything great, there's not one doubt in my mind that you couldn't do it."

"Thanks." She smiled.

"Solaris?"

Her stomach dropped.

"Isabella—"

"Where have you been?" Isabella yelled. "Do you know how worried Flora's been?"

"Just her?"

"Papa had said you had ran away!"

"He trapped me in one of my stupid paintings and sold me." Solaris snorted.

"What?"

"Oh, don't go ballistic, Isabella— it's not like you care about where I had been, anyway."

                When Solaris was younger, her mother hadn't gone home for three days. Catherine had been drowning herself in bottles and filling her voids with the bitter aftertaste of regret. She had worried and worried and worried, but her mother hadn't ever done the same for her. Catherine had a tender complexion, the afterglow of summer and was morbidly mean. There had never been a time when she had loved Solaris. Not even for a second. She had loved Isabella amongst all. Flora came in next, but Solaris was never an option. She was never up for loving. The hollow of her hand was always open to her mother, but only her grandmother had been there to hold it. No one has ever loved her. She knew it— she was unlovable to everyone but her grandma.

Vibrance caved in the hollowness of her cheeks, an emit of a gold radiance in every step she took and Solaris had prayed for many nights that she would be like her Grandma. To be bright, happy, but she had failed in yet again another thing. She had loved her grandmother endlessly, like the eternal sun and how it would embrace the earth in every hour of everyday.

"Shut up—"

"Make me—"

"Isabella, Solaris— stop."

"What's up with you and Granger? Are you two in a relationship?"

"Yes."

Solaris hadn't known if they were, but she had hoped it would help her case.

"With a girl?"

"Unless you think Hermione is a man, then yes."

"I—"

"I'm going to tell Mama!" Solaris mocked. "Go ahead."

"Do you even care?"

"No."

"You don't care that your family will see you as the shameful thing that you are?"

"I chose my own family. Family doesn't have to imply blood relations."

"Why, of course it does; you say you choose your family because you can't accept that your family never chose you."

"If you all had been fair on me, maybe I wouldn't have despised all of you as much as I do. I don't care about you, not our family. I'd rather be alone than be in a room full of heartless people."

"We're only heartless to you."

"I know."