All Over Her

Chapter 50: rid me of you

I walked into our dorm. Luckily I was wrong. Ziggy was backed and ready. Harry was on the bed next to her, taking a nap with a magazine on his face. Ziggy was reading this new book she had borrowed from Neville. She said it was some folk story about this herbologist. I wasn't exactly sure but she was very into it.
I closed the door shut and Ziggy whipped her head at me. Her smile soon faded to worry the second she saw me. She started shaking Harry.
"Harry... Harry... Wake up."
He groaned, "Just five more minutes."
"Wake up you git Jamie's crying."
He shot up, "Huh?"
I sat down in front of them.
"What happened Jamie? I assumed you had left with Mattheo last night."
I was still in my fancy dress, thankfully my walk of shame was less embarrassing since no one was here.
"I did." I wiped my tears.
"And?" Harry prodded.
"I told him I wanted to be with him. We had sex... twice. Then when I tried to talk to him openly about his personal stuff he shut down and basically kicked me out. Told me to check back in after holiday."
"Are you fucking serious?" Ziggy hugged me tightly. I buried my head into her shoulder.
"Oh I'm gonna kill him." Harry said quickly.
"Oh shut it Harry, that'll do nothing." Zig motioned for him to sit down.
"That'll do nothing? It'll show that he shouldn't be messing with girls like that."
"Harry please. I get why he did it. It just doesn't hurt any less." I wiped my tears away again.
"Let me get changed." I said getting up. I put my hand to my chest, feeling the necklace. I played with it in between my fingers.
"Harry you're gonna see Draco before we leave?"
He nodded.
I took off my necklace. "Leave this on Mattheo's door."
I handed Harry the necklace and closed it into his hand tightly.
"Jamie, you love that necklace. You said he knows you so well." Ziggy rubbed my back.
"He can check back in with me after break then."
Harry nodded, leaving to seemingly do me this favor.
"I'm sorry hun... here." Ziggy had left out some sweats for me. She was in plaid pants and one of George's shirts for the train ride home. I had almost forgotten George was coming with us.
I grabbed the grey sweatpants. It was paired with just a white tank top, nothing fancy for the ride home. I walked into our washroom, feeling more relaxed now that I'm in a room completely by myself. I managed to slip out of the dress that felt like a new layer of skin now. I put on the sweatpants and tank, looking in the mirror to assess the damage. My eyes were red and puffy, my nose running a little. I grabbed a few tissues so I could clean myself up.
I stared at my reflection. And I was upset. I let myself do exactly what I didn't want to. I let myself get consumed by a guy. Consumed by my feelings. I let myself feel utter passion and intensity for a guy. A guy that I hated. That I do hate. That I loathed. That I do loathe. I feel. So. Strongly. About him. I feel so... so strongly about him. I hate that I do. I hate that I let him get to me. I always let him get to me. Yet I don't understand why he was so fucking different. What was it about him?
I sat with my thoughts for a moment. The hate that I've always felt is such an extreme side to the spectrum. The other side being something I had never considered. I didn't think I would feel it. I always thought I was too young. I just thought I liked him a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I didn't think it'd be him. I didn't want it to be. Now, looking back on this past term. Everything has been so different. That hate was so different. We felt different. It was just easy to call it hate, because what other reasonable option was there.
He made every signal in my body that proved I was alive race. I always had to be better than him. I always looked at him. He was always in the back of my mind. I always thought of what he was doing. How he was doing it. I hated that we had so much in common. I hated that we had the same marks. I hated that we played the same sports. I hated the way he smiled. I hated the way he laughed. I hated the way he'd talk to me.
When he started pursuing me... I didn't hate it. I felt a certain way about how much we had in common. I felt a certain way about our marks. I felt a certain way about our sport. I felt a certain way about his smile. I felt a certain way about his laugh. I felt a certain way about how he'd talk to me.
I replayed the way I admired him just this morning. Such deep admiration. And I realized. I didn't hate him.
I love Mattheo Riddle.