Stars Leave Black Holes Behind [HS]

17

Valerie remembered the day they first met. How Harry bought them both coffee and cake, and how they sat in the grass as she nervously fiddled with the daisies to avoid his eyes that made her words melt in her mouth before they could dribble down her chin.

She remembered the way his slow words rolled off his tongue like honey, how he had a habit of pulling his lips into his mouth whenever he wasn't talking, how the golden flecks in his eyes sparkled under the sunlight.

Valerie was probably already in love with him then.

And she watched him now, as his green eyes curved downwards as he stared at her. The little flecks of gold were sparkling as they always did, and Val felt her heart jolt.

This was not fair. To have him so close to her, to have her heart betray her everytime it beat in her chest- every heavy thud screaming to just touch him, hold him, tell him the words she so wanted to. But she couldn't. Couldn't tell him anything. The words got trapped somewhere inside her chest.

She sighed, tucked her knees under her chin, looked away from his gaze, but could still feel it burning into her, searing her skin.

"Harry, um. I-I don't really know what he was on about," she stutterered. Her body protested.

She was lying.

Lying that she wasn't a mess because of him; lying that she was actually okay; lying that she wasn't so absurdly attracted to Harry that it felt like they were magnetized. "Honestly, I'm fine."

Her pale eyes looked up and watched carefully as he stared at her. He knew she was lying, it was in the soft quirk of his top lip, the subtle twitch of his eyebrow. He knew.

And she sort of prayed that he would say something. It was pathetic. But he fucking knew and she wanted him to just question her, to reach forward and touch her cheek and tell her it was all right, that he wasn't okay either, that it would get better.

But, of course, he didn't. His green eyes slid away from her and darted around the room.

Say something Harry.

He opened his mouth after his gaze fixed on the window, on the little tray of old cigarette butts, on the ashes left behind.

"Val you're- you... you smoke now?"

Her heart dropped, caught on the edges of bones and thudded to the bottom of her chest. Disappointment. Harry didn't care anymore. Didn't care about her anymore.

"Oh," she struggled to swallow, struggled to choke back the lump in her throat. He knew and he didn't care. "Yeah. A bit."

"Don't. It'll kill you."

She wanted to laugh at the irony. Wanted to cackle and cry out.

Because Valerie was already dead. On the inside, at least.

What her life was now- that wasn't living, was merely existing. Val was living in a shell of herself, barely breathing, paining herself to blink. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even smiled - properly smiled - and not had to force her cheeks upwards like clay.

It was probably the morning of the day he left. When she had woken up in bed with him holding her waist and breathing warm and low in her ear. His skin on her skin, his heart beating in perfect synchrony with her own.

"Valerie, I'm being fucking serious. Don't smoke. Please don't."

He sounded angry. Really goddamn angry. And she didn't understand.

"Val, do you hear me? Don't smoke. It will kill you."

Valerie kept her mouth shut, the same wrong words pushing at her closed lips.

Instead, she thought back to that first day, sitting content and happy amongst the daisies.

To be honest, Val felt a bit like one now. One that had been torn through the middle by an all too eager nail and threaded haphazardly into a chain as the threads of herself thinned out at the sides and tried not to snap. One that had looked pretty for a while, had looked seasonal and summery as it perched under the sun. Happy to be ripped apart to make something so lovely. Willing to be destroyed for such temporary beauty.

It was tragic but true.

And after it had looked nice for a few hours, the petals had begun to curl and brown, the stem had started to wilt and fold. No longer was the flower that had been pretty and lovely and gleaming. No. She was taken apart, unthreaded, unravelled, and left to die in the grass alone with only a silent hole gaping through her middle to show she had ever been anything at all.

__

Song: Weak by Wet

"You make me weak."