Heliophilia; d.m

XXXVI

TW: description of stab wounds.

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VIOLET

I was on the verge of losing my mind, sitting there for hours.

I remembered sitting on the cold floor next to my mother's body almost three years ago. I sat there for hours until my father came. And I sat by my father for hours until Mariel came.

She turned on the light, but I didn't even blink — I had already lost all my emotions during the time I spent there. I cried, I screamed, I put my head on his chest, I checked his pulse, then I cried again, I hated myself, I beat my hands on the floor and my knees, and I cried again, choking on my screams and the pain coming out of me along with the trickles of salty liquid.

"What happened?" Mariel's trembling, hoarse voice brought me out of my deep reverie, startling me.

She ran over to us, knelt down, and started doing something — maybe checking his pulse, which I'd already checked a hundred times, maybe shaking his shoulders to wake him up, which I'd already done a hundred times — it was all useless. His heart didn't beat, he didn't wake up, his body was petrified and cold, his complexion was a pale blue. He was dead.

I could see the tears running down her cheeks, the way she started screaming out his name, the way she asked me for the millionth time what was wrong, and for the millionth time she didn't get an answer.
I couldn't bring myself to say or do anything.

At the sight of her shattered state, her sobs echoing inside me, my tears welled up with renewed force from my swollen eyes.

Because of me, she lost a piece of herself, her brother, her twin.

And I thought that I would never forgive myself for this in my life. Even though it was done against my will, it was my own fault. I deserved not to see happiness for the rest of my life, and to cry only from pain and suffering.

"I'm sorry," I whispered through my tears, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." My voice broke, I couldn't take it anymore, I couldn't see or hear anymore, I was in pain, my chest felt like it was going to burst, I was in so much pain, but all I thought was that I deserved it.

Mariel looked at me for the first time, as if she had just noticed my presence, and her gaze startled me for no reason. She looked at me with sadness, but I was afraid that she would yell at me, that she would hate me, that she would hurt me — I was afraid, and it made me move back, not getting up from the floor.

I didn't know if she knew I did it, I was just afraid.

Probably seeing the state I was in, she decided to save her grief for later, because after taking one last look at her brother, she wiped her wet cheeks with her sleeve, and stood up, walking slowly towards me.

Her faint smile endeared me to her, dispelling my fear, and within minutes I was in her house, lying on the big, soft sofa in her living room, my eyes slowly closing with fatigue and pain.

DRACO

"Draco?" Her voice was weak when she noticed me kneeling next to the couch where she was lying.

Her face was pale and haggard, her features sharper, her fingers thinner — her ring dangled loosely on the middle one, and her eyes more dull. I was hurt for her.

I had received that letter from Mariel the day before, and there was no doubt in my mind when I went straight to her — to Violet, who looked like a ghost both inside and out.

"You came." She exhaled, wrapping her arms around my neck, and it felt like she was clinging to a lifeline, like it was only at that moment that she was able to breathe.
She was so fragile in my arms that I was afraid to make an extra move, even though I wanted so badly to hold her closer.