Lacuna

chpt.45

TW////self harm.

      September 21, 1999

Cordelias statement about her staying strong was pure bluff. She was doing so well for a long time and then plop, down the drain. She lives at the manor with Narcissa and hasn't seen the outside walls in nearly 2 months.

She only leaves her room at dawn or dusk to have a meal and say hello to Narcissa. Letters are piling up on her nightstand from Hermione, Ginny, Daphne, Pansy, and Theo. Cordelia hasn't seen her parents but still sends in letters.

Empty liquor and wine bottles pile under her bed and by her nightstand. She takes extra long scolding hot showers to feel something physically to focus on that pain instead of the mental pain.

Cordelia will shower till her skin is red and purposely cuts her wrist that she wears her dark mark. The pain is unbearable but distracts her. Her hair is now shoulder length and she bleached it, dyed it back to brown and now it rests at a deep brown with a burgundy tint to it.

Her skin color is washed out and almost looks gray. She sleeps all day and stays up all night resulting to massive black under eye bags from her fucked up sleep schedule. All night she'll watch out the bay window with it cracked open despite the freezing breeze that blows in on chilly nights.

The cold air will make her eyes water and have goosebumps riddle her skin. She didn't mind. Cordelia left the window opened even if its raining. She'll let herself get soaked before she even thinks about shutting the window.

Cordelia will study the constellations when she stares out the window. She has nearly all of them memorized since she's had so much alone time in the manor. She'll sketch out the stairs and stick them to her one wall.

The entire wall behind her headboard is covered in drawings and sketches of the stairs and the moon phases. Cordelia constantly has a radio playing, no matter the station, song, advertisement. It doesn't shut off.

Not over he dead body.

She tunes out to listen to the buzzing and whining of the old machine instead of getting up and cleaning up her mess of a room or her mental health. Empty pill bottles sit on her nightstand that she doesn't bother to get refilled.

Cordelia either has one or Harry's flannels on or one of his jumpers on. She sleeps in them, cries in them, eats in them. Doesn't matter the circumstance, they won't come off unless it's to shower or to clean it.

Writing Harry letters has become a daily thing instead of writing in her journal. Cordelia will write a letter to him, turn the paper into a bird and let it fly out into the sunrise before she heads to bed to sleep in for the day.

Nothing will make her move on from Harry. She keeps a flower from his funeral in a cup of water that had evaporated and the flower had died weeks ago and is limp and curled up hanging out the side.

When his friends went through his stuff at Hogwarts, they found his journal and she got to keep her. She hasn't read it but just keeps it in her nightstand.

Today,  it was raining extra hard and the curtains flew about rippling in the air as Cordelia sat at her desk sketching out the moon with a dull pencil and thin piece of parchment. Her hair was in two French braids at the sides of her head.

The braids were loose and messy. Cordelia had gray joggers on, black tube top and a red flannel of Harry's over on top. Her eyes were puffy and big as her pencil scribbled on the paper.

A half empty cup of tea rested near her left hand. The tea bag still sat in it. The tea had grown cold since Cordelia had failed to finished the beverage. It's been sitting there for about an hour since Cordelia last touched it.

Her cold feet crossed at her ankles as she leaned over the desk biting her lip focusing on her project. Cordelia jumped as she heard the curtain rod fall from the window sill from the strong winds.

Her pencil drew a thick line through the center of the moon. Cordelia flared her nostrils gripping onto the pencil causing the end of it to snap and crumble. Her jaw clenched and she took her hands slid everything off her desk in pure anger.

The tea spilled everywhere and the cup shattered. Cordelia ran her fingers through the roots of her hair hunching over the desk gripping onto her scalp nearly pulling the hair out.

She let out a frustrated growl of anger before snapping her head up and slamming her fists on the table. Cordelia stared at herself in the shaking mirror that sat in front of her at her desk.

Cordelia stared back at herself looking at someone she would've saw in the mirror nearly one year ago today. A girl who was skin and bones that was rained. Someone who had no hope, an addiction, and who had completely lost themselves.

Her breathing grew heavy and fast as her eye contact with herself grew longer. Cordelias fingernails sunk into her skin as she kept them balled into fists.

A large gust of wind flew came through knocking the radio off its stand and to switch off. She turned her head and watched as the window slammed shut at the harsh speeding winds outside.

For the first time in two months, Cordelia sat in completely silence staring at ill reflection wondering how she got her. Cordelia couldn't move and was paralyzed with her one mind.

Cordelia held onto every fragment she had of Harry in her mind scared if she lets go of the grip, she could forget him forever.

-North America-

"She loved the rain."

"She always did, even as a child—I honestly don't know how anyone could find that much comfort in cold wet water falling from clouds and soaking into your skin as much as she did."

Dr. Wyatt listened closely to what he's saying.

"Especially hate the way it flattens my hair and fogs up my glasses." The client ran his fingers through his hair sitting back in the cushioned seat.

"What made you move to Seattle, Washington?" Wyatt asked crossing her legs. He fiddled his hands and scratched the back of his head. The man shrugged.

"Reminds me of her. It um- breaks the silence."

"What's wrong with the silence?" The therapist asked her client.

"Too loud...that's when I think loudly-"

"What do you think about?"

"Years back at home..in London. Years I wish I could forget or sometimes feel like reliving."

"How long has it been since she died? Do you know by any chance?" The lady asked him.

"Since May 9, for months ago." The man cleared his throat.

Dr. Wyatt checked her wrist watch and sighed before clearing her throat as well. She closed her book and sat up in her chair.

"I see our time together has ran out." The lady looked across from herself to her client. The client nodding and stood from his seat picking up his coat before shaking her hand.

"Same time next week?" She asked.

"Same time. Have a good one now Dr. Wyatt." He said slipping on his coat.

"Same for you Mr. Potter.