From the Private Journal of XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (Name Redacted).
Dated only by year, not month: 1979.
It's quite a cold day.
What else should I expect though?
It's the middle of winter, after all.
And here I am, bundled in a sea of blankets, writing.
Why?
Well ... I'm supposed to be writing.
I mean ... not "supposed to" in the strictest of senses ...
But ...
The two of you keep urging me to write;
Keep telling me it could be good for me;
That perhaps it may help.
"Write what?" I asked as we sat together at the kitchen counter.
Two weeks ago, by my loosest of estimations.
But don't quote me -
I'm a man who finds time irrelevant now.
Besides, time finds me just as irrelevant;
I'm forgotten; I'm stuck in eternal limbo.
"Write anything"
Her words as she smiled at me encouragingly, her hand daring to slip across the table to meet mine for a quick, supportive squeeze.
As for him ...
... He just stared down at the countertop,
Didn't say a word;
Refused to look me in the eyes.
But then again ...
That's how he always is.
And when he could stomach my company no longer, he sighed darkly and rose up, mumbling under his breath to her about needing to venture off for the day.
"To take care of things for us."
... But I don't believe it;
Not for a single second.
I see it for what it is:
An excuse.
He doesn't want to be around me;
Can't stand the sight of me,
Even if he won't actually say it.
...
...
What to write?
What to write?
... I've really nothing to say.
...
...
Shall I tell you about the afternoon, then?
Her and I, alone together at the estate.
That's become the habit.
Whenever I'm awake and about, he's gone.
But now to happier things;
Things like her afternoon arrival to me.
Her approach heralded by the sound of her soft cautious footsteps creaking down the hall.
... She thinks she's so stealthy!
It's actually completely adorable.
And me, immediately stilling in anticipation.
Sure enough, a few seconds later ...
Her head, poking through the door to the study
As our eyes meet and we smile shyly at one another.
Why shy?
Don't know;
Can't explain it -
Just one of those things, I guess.
...
"I'm going to stroll through the gardens."
"Oh?"
"Want to join me?"
It's with shaking hands I rise from my seat.
Shaking because I'm so weak -
Shaking because neither of you can seem to coax me into eating enough.
I, this shadow of a man.
A man I don't recognise when I look in the mirror.
I, the stranger.
... But not to them, it seems.
"... Want to join?"
Her second attempt, voice soft,
Honeyed.
Do I want to join?
Do I?
Thing is, I've actually grown quite afraid of the outside world ...
But I like to put on a brave front.
"It's quite cold though, isn't it?"
My voice;
This strange voice -
So hollow,
So empty.
I, the empty man.
Hands knitted in front of her body, she nods and smiles nervously, "So we bundle then. Plus, just imagine the afternoon sunshine."
I do so like the sunshine -
And with you?
Merlins, that does sound lovely.
Yet I can't seem to say yes.
"... What about a really short walk?"
She's really trying to help me here;
Senses my reluctance.
Saint of a woman for trying to get me out the house, though.
"... Will he mind?"
I don't know why I ask,
Especially since I already know the answer.
He will;
He will mind.
It'll make him resent me more for it.
He doesn't like the time I spend alone with her.
"Of course he won't mind"
... Perhaps she really believes that -
She might actually not see it for what it is -
But I know the truth:
He will;
He will mind.
YOU ARE READING
Coiled (Book 1 of 2)
Фанфик"This is our story: Reggie, Evan, and I." A Marauders Era story that follows the reader (FMC), Regulus Black & Evan Rosier through their last year at Hogwarts into the First Wizarding War. This is book 1 of 2, and contains the first two parts of th...
