𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 | ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Chapter 18

AFTER HERMIONE LEAVES, things are...hazy. Isn't that how they always describe it? Victims of some catastrophic train wreck? That, in the moments after, it's all unclear. Unreal.

I tell Astoria I'm sick. Her smile is sad and pitying. Before I get in the elevator, I look back at Hermione's office, hoping to see her again. Just to torment myself.

But her door is closed.

It's raining outside. A winter downpour. The kind that soaks your clothes and chills you from the inside out. It doesn't bother me.

I walk back to my apartment, numb and dazed. Like a zombie from some low-budget horror film who doesn't react, even when he cuts his own foot off with a chainsaw.

But when I make it through the door—that's when my senses kick back in. When I start to feel again. And I feel Hermione.

Everywhere.

I can still see her eyes, heavy lidded with heat. I hear her whisper in my ear as I fall on the bed. Her scent covers my pillow. And I just can't get past the fact that she was right here a few hours ago. And I could touch her and look at her and kiss her.

And now I...can't.

It's like when someone dies. And you can't believe they're really gone because you just ran into them yesterday. They were right there with you, alive and real. And that's the memory you hold on to—the moment you mourn the most.

Because it was the last.

When did it happen?

That's what I can't figure out. When did Hermione become so important to me that I can't function without her? Was it when I saw her crying in her office? Or the first time I kissed her in mine? Maybe it happened when Riddle insulted her, and I wanted to kick his ass for it. Was it that first night at the bar? The first time I looked into those endless brown eyes and knew I had to have her?

Or was it here? In my apartment? In any one of the hundred times I touched her...

God, why didn't I see it sooner.

All those weeks—all those months—wasted. All those women I fucked, whose faces I can't even remember. All the times I pissed her off, when I could have been making her smile. All those days I could have been loving her. And getting her to love me.

Gone.

Women fall in love quicker than men. Easier and more often. But when guys fall? We go down harder. And when things go bad? When it's not us who ends it? We don't get to walk away.

We crawl.

I shouldn't have said those things. In my office. Hermione didn't deserve that. It's not her fault she doesn't want what I want. That she doesn't feel what I feel.

Christ, this is awful. Just fucking kill me.

Where's a stray bullet from a random drive-by shooting when you need one?

Have you ever felt like this? Have you ever held something that meant...everything to you? Maybe you caught a home run ball as it flew over the fence? Or looked at a picture of yourself from some sweet, unforgettable time? Maybe your mother gave you a ring that belonged to your grandma's grandmother? Whatever it is—you look at it and swear you'll keep it forever. Because it's that special. Precious.

Irreplaceable.

And then one day—you don't know how or when it happened—you realize it's gone.

Lost.

And you ache for it. You'd give anything to find it again. To have it back with you, where it was always supposed to be.

I curl myself around the pillow. I don't know how long I stay there like that, but the next time I open my eyes and look out the window, it's dark. What do you think they're doing right now? Celebrating probably. Going out. Or maybe staying in.

I stare at the ceiling. Yes, those are tears. Liquid regret.

Go ahead—call me a pussy. Call me a bitch. I deserve it. And I don't care.

Not anymore.

Do you think he has any idea how lucky he is? How blessed?

Of course he doesn't. He was the idiot who let her go. And I was the idiot who couldn't keep her.

Maybe they won't last. Maybe they'll break up again. When Hermione realizes she deserves better. But I guess that won't make a difference for me, huh? Not after what I said. Not after I put that look on her face.

Jesus.

I roll off the bed and fall toward the trashcan. I barely make it before I wretch and heave. And anything that was in my stomach isn't.

And that's the moment—there on my knees. That's when I tell myself I have the flu. Because this...this broken wreck can't really be me.

Not forever.

If I'm just sick, then I can take some aspirin, get some sleep, and I'll feel better. I'll be me again. Eventually. But if I admit I'm crushed, if I acknowledge that my heart has been shattered into a thousand fucking shards...then I don't know when I'll ever be all right again. Maybe never.

So I get back into bed. To wait it out.

Till I'm over the flu. 

oOoOoOo

Now, now my darlings. Calm down. 

*tomato hits face* 

I swear it gets better, but let Draco have the flu for now.

It'll get better. I swear.

Love you most, Valentine 💗