Mayhem - G.Weasley

61. Sleepless

George sat in the common room, eyes wide open all night. There wasn't a moment he could even begin to imagine dozing off. His mind was going a mile a minute.

In front of the fire, his hands rested rigidly on the arms of his chair. He told himself he was just contemplating in front of the warmth of the flame.

And he was.

But another part of him was waiting for Atanas to come down those damned stairs.

But he never did.

Not even as the sun begun to rise and peek through the windows of the common room.

His nails dug into the fabric of the chair. They wouldn't. . . Right?

George hated to admit that Atanas was attractive. Hell, he even made George self conscious about every flaw he had. And he could, without a doubt, believe that Atanas would not pass up the opportunity to be with Ivy.

Who in their right mind wouldn't?

His thoughts kept flashing between their night of passion, and the exposed sorrow of a nearly drowned Ivy last night.

Supposed drowning.

He still couldn't begin to believe that Twyla might have actually done that. He still didn't know who to believe.

Why was he losing sleep over this? Ivy had chosen her path, so should he.

He closed his eyes and threw his head back against the chair. He felt a thud in his lap, nearly taking the breath out of him. Based on the weight, George could guess exactly what it was.

He peeled open one eye, hoping his gut wasn't right.

George rolled his eyes. Of course.

It seemed even when he tried to get his mind off of her, despite the constant reminder in his brain, nothing would ever let him think of anything else.

He played with the pages subconsciously.

How had he forgotten? He should give this to her.

He stood abruptly from the chair, the book nearly tumbling from his lap. With shaky, excited fingers, he grabbed hold of the old leather and took long strides towards the dorm staircase.

George was already halfway up the staircase when he heard voices and paused mid-step.

What was he thinking?

Atanas was still there. And he was still angry at Ivy. How could he barge in with a book and forget all of those things?

He grunted and stomped back down the stairs, throwing the old book onto the couch with a growl. He dropped to his knees in front of the couch, his face coming to rest into the material. His hands wove through his hair and pulled.

He just wanted the ache in his heart to stop.

He thought maybe never seeing her again would make it go away, he was almost glad she had left. But her absence made the ache grow. He told himself it was just because he had been worried about her well-being. That having her back would lessen the ache.

But having her so close. . . Only made the ache unbearable. He heart was torn. He wanted to run to her, crawl to her, show her how much she meant to him. But, he was angry. So so angry that she had caused him pain. Had used him and tossed him aside.

He wanted to scream. He just wanted to forget about her. It was pure, undiluted torture to have her constantly on his mind. He wished he could go back to the time before they met. When he was only focused on school and causing trouble.