The only word I can muster up that comes even close to justifying the way that I feel right now.
I stare at you from across the room. I stare at you with such intensity, beseeching you to stare back at me. You don't notice me. You're looking straight past me… as if I'm not even there.
You're looking at him.
Silence pierces the room; another dagger to my wound. My eyes break contact with you and turn down to focus on the jagged fragments of glass glistening at my feet. Tokens of my shattered heart. I stare at the cheerless, dejected boy in those shimmering shells with dark, coal-black pebbles for eyes.
I loved you.
'Three words, eight letters, one meaning'. That's what you'd say whenever I told you how I felt. Any fool would have realised then that you were incapable of loving me back. Was I just a substitute for him? Was every look and every kiss that you ever gave me a lie?
But you're looking at him now. Looking at him with an expression on your face that is alien to me. I can feel the bile rising in the back of my throat. Every breath that escapes me is torn and ragged from the pain that you have inflicted upon me.
I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you like you've hurt me. I feel my hand make a fist; my nails dig deep into the flesh of my palms, drawing scarlet beads of blood to the surface. I wonder, could I hurt you with a fist? Or is your exterior perhaps as frozen and impenetrable as your glacial heart?
We were happy once, not so long ago, before the rowing had begun. I cherish memories of those evenings when you and I would slip away into those secluded places; inhabited by nothing other than our kisses and embraces. My lips would brush the nape of your neck, and you would moan in soft ecstasy. I wonder if during those times he ever entered your mind. Did you ever steal looks at him, across the fire-lit Common Room whenever my attention was otherwise occupied? Did you bask in the notion that he would one day have you, and I would be elsewhere, forgotten?
I was foolish to think you would ever feel anything for me, foolish to think that your absence in my company over these past few weeks could ever be anything other than a rift in our relationship that would soon be forgotten. Now you've chosen him over me. Now I know that I'll never have you again.
Without a spoken word, he takes your hand, and leads you out of the room. Now you're gone, from this room. Gone from my life forever.
In your absence, the room awakens and fills with whispering and excitement. Ginny Weasley, the Gryffindor star chaser; who would have thought that she would be the girl to steal the Chosen One's heart?
Two Hearts. I think to myself glumly, very aware of my own now breaking.
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