Breathless...

𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘁

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Baz's POV

"I can hear your heart beat, Bunce," I sneer. But the dull, droning ache in my chest makes it fall flat. If I wasn't so exhausted maybe I'd do better.

              "How can you distinguish between all the other sounds?" She asks curiously, with narrowed eyes. Typical.

              "Because you don't hear that kind of sound anywhere except a beating heart," I say finally turning to face the persistent magician, looking down at her. For once in her life, she actually looks confused.

              "A heart. . . ," I continue, "it doesn't ever sound like a beat." I pause thoughtfully, wondering how to explain it—wondering why I'm explaining it. "Every time your heart contracts, it's blood gushing in dense waves. The chambers squeeze in. You can hear the squeeze: the sound of one chamber rubbing against another slippery chamber. It never sounds like a beat. Sounds surreal—very distinct,"

               She shoves her odd, pointy glasses further up her nose, like she can't believe I haven't spelled myself away, like she doesn't quite understand what I'm saying either. As if she's afraid she's seeing or hearing things.

               Well, I'm not rude enough to walk away now—I am a Pitch: menacing politeness is bred into me. Boredom and tire lace my every move, as I rest under an old willow tree, legs gracefully stretched, locked at my ankles; staring up at her expectantly with a raised brow.

              "Oh. . . right, I forgot," she says quietly, settling down next to me. Only a few inches away. I wonder what in Crowley's name goes on in her head, that allows her to sit so close to a vampire. "Are you okay?" She whispers, staring ahead, swallowing. Peculiar. I'd be disconcerted and suspicious, if I felt anything other than hollowness since Simon cheated on me.

               "What do you care, Bunce?" I sigh, letting my head fall back against the rough bark of the sad willow. You and me both, Willow, you and me both. . . I'm fucking tired. Tired of missing Snow, tired of loving Snow, tired of hating Snow—and myself.

               "Well," Bunce's slightly deep, and cautious voice abruptly tugs me out of Simon-Snow-Land.  "I don't know how to make you believe I do, Baz. But I understand where your doubts come from," Penelope flashes a sympathetic smile, "To be fair though, you're an arsehole too," She says grinning warily. Ah, she's attempting to comfort me—so she can squeeze out information. How very Penelope of her. . .

                At this point I don't even care, "Are you implying you're an arsehole too? Because you are; see, I remember when you spelled into my crystal ball in Magickal Artefacts class," I smirk lazily, at the memory of Bunce hissing a spell, invading my privacy. Except, her previous 'accident' was ingenious in comparison to her current plan.

               "I swear to Merlin, it was an accident! I didn't mean to see all that. . . though it was funny to find out that all this time you were only plotting to kiss Simon, not kill him,"

               "Very amusing indeed, Penelope," I roll my eyes, as she snickers, "It's alright though, Snow would've told you I'm a vampire anyway. . . And that I love him—you just happened to find out first," She scoots even closer, leaning against me a little; cracking a sly smile when she remembers my Simon-Snow-on-his-knees fantasies, while I suck on my fangs in embarrassment. 

                We both conveniently ignored every jagged and twisted memory that played in the crystals though.

               My blood-curdling howls and ear-piercing shrieks as the vampire's four-inch-long fangs sunk into my throat. Piercing my skin. With a sharp, hissing sound. How my entire, little body spasmed and jerked, under the vampires iron-grip. The endless stream of salty tears flooding down my cheeks.

               The terror in my five-year old eyes she had witnessed, as my mother dissolved in flames before me flanked by vampires—to save me. Burning, like flash paper. Engulfed in bright orange flames.

               And when Aunt Fiona and Father rushed in the nursery at Watford. To find me wide-eyed, bruised, and scarred. How they attacked me with every healing spell they knew, later in our Manor in Hampshire. How there was one scar on my neck that would never leave. . .

               I blink away the tears as the memories rise. Swallow my whimpers. And silence my cries.  

               I'm not sure what Bunce was thinking but she held my hand for a few minutes. Giving it a reassuring squeeze. Reminding me of the present. I will never understand the dynamics of our odd relationship. We don't talk for months, we compete, and suddenly she's trying to comfort me?

               "Thank you, for keeping it to yourself," I mutter, meaning it.

              "It was your secret. . . But I have to know—why are you and Simon so miserable? Did he. . . do something?"

                I inhale sharply, the dread from that day creeping up on me, the shadows and dust clinging to my undead porcelain flesh staining me. Contemplating whether I should simply tell her the truth—but if Simon hasn't told her I don't want to interfere. . . but. . . Aleister fucking Crowley, who cares?    

                Maybe if I share the pain, I'll divide the burden? Or whatever bullshit they all say? Or maybe I'm just not thinking straight. (I'm thinking of Simon Snow. When do I ever think straight?) Clearly I've become reckless.

               "He kissed me," Bunce looks up at me, raising her dark brows, blue ponytail billowing in the warm breeze, "I—we started dating, I mean, we were—well, we were sleeping together," at this Bunce scrunches her nose, I couldn't  care less, so I continue.

              "Then, I prepared a date for him. I was going to ask him to be my boyfriend—make it official," I whisper, wishing for the wind to swallow my words, to swallow the pain—a sad smile playing on my lips.

              "Ooh, what'd you do for the date?" Her eyes light up a little, and she's smiling too. Like she knows that date meant the world to me—would've meant the world.

              "I'd play for Simon on my violin, something I wrote for him. I prepared an actual fucking feast too, and then planned to ask him if he would be my boyfriend. It would've been perfect. . . ," A smirk of pure pride washes over my face, I would've been a good boyfriend. I would've taken care of Simon. . .

              "Would've?" It dawns upon her that this isn't a happy ending, much to both our dismay. We lock eyes for a minute. Biting on her lip, she nods, encouraging me to continue. I don't know why, but I find myself confessing.

              "Well, I went to get him. And then I found him kissing Agatha. . . his arms wrapped around her shoulders," I spit through clenched teeth. The pain of reliving the memory is now only a numb, tingling sensation. And yet, it feels like a fog: hazy and ever present. And I'm surrounded by the misty grey. Alone. Trapped.

              "What?!" She almost yells, clearly shocked, "but they broke up!" She looks up at my bitter smile with wide, disbelieving brown eyes.

              "Oh, Baz. . . ," Penelope places an arm around my shoulder. It's a startling gesture, because even though she might have seen all my memories, we're not friends—at least we weren't.

               And only because I'm so vulnerable and heart broken, allowing my head to rest on Snow's loyal best friend's shoulder doesn't seem like such a bad idea. I swallow my tears away—but her shirt's shoulder is definitely damp. I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't too bloody tired.

               She doesn't seem to mind though. And she just stays there, rubbing my back, holding me. While I'm on the edge of falling apart. Skipping all her classes too. For me.

              "You do know, that if you keep ditching class, you're never going to get ahead of me, right?" I smile playfully. For the first time, amidst my numbing ocean of sadness, a little joy swims. It lives. It carries on.

               Penelope—who may just be my friend—only chuckles. And we stay like that, watching the sun's bright yellow rays dance around the grass. Until the sky turns to brilliant orange, pink clouds and a violet hue.