I Feel

I know what people say about me. They think I’m perfect. They think I’m that fairy tale girl who used to be poor and quiet. And then one day she rose up and spoke up. And she got the hero of the story. And that’s true. I did. But I’m not perfect. And I have feelings of my own. They’re wrong. I’m not perfect. I feel. I don’t care what anybody says. I feel. He makes me feel that. He makes me feel. In more ways than one.

We’d been together for years. Years. When you stay together with someone for years, it means something. If you’re just dating a girl because she’s your best friend’s sister, you don’t stay with her for years. When you’re dating a girl because she’s the prettiest girl at school, you don’t stay with her for years. And when you’re dating a girl to have her distract you from your other best friend, you don’t stay with her for years. But of course, that’s what he did.

Not the first two. The last one. Yes, you read that right. That’s what he did. He dated me to distract himself. And I knew it, too. Pathetic, isn’t it? I wish I could blame myself. That I was too naïve and young to think he wanted me. But I can’t. Because it’s his fault. I didn’t force him to kiss me that day. I didn’t force him to ask me out. I didn’t force him to stay with me for the last five years. Yeah, you read that right, too. Five years. Five years, he stayed with me. Isn’t that just peachy? He stayed with me for five years, just as a distraction. Because he really wanted…her.

I saw them that night, you know. Their first night. We were all out at a restaurant. My brother, the blonde one, him and her. There was tension at the table so after a while, she left. I mean, she really left. She took her napkin and slammed it on the table, got up without excusing herself and ran out the door. He screamed her name and ran after her. He ran after her. He never runs after me. So that was the first sign. I got up ran after him, ignoring my brother’s protests. I opened the door to the restaurant, looking around. It was raining, hard. Of course. How ironic and suiting. I flung my red hair back and continued to look around for them.

I found them in an alley. Along with my broken heart. They were there, scrunched up against the wall. Half dressed and snogging like hell. He had taken off his shirt and was just wearing his tie. She had taken off her skirt. I looked at the shirt and skirt on the floor. The silly fact that they rhymed lost me. Because I bought that shirt and skirt for them. I saved up money and that shirt was the first Christmas present I bought him. The skirt was her birthday present the blonde one and me got her. Both articles of clothing were bought with love. And now, there they were, on the floor.

I couldn’t look anymore. Because his hands were starting to wander all over her body. Her bra and his trousers had mysteriously founds themselves on the floor. And even the thunder couldn’t drown out their sounds.

I felt like throwing up.

I felt like throwing up.

I felt like throwing up.

I ran back to the restaurant. I went in, accepted my brother’s coat to keep me warm and sat down. I told them I didn’t find them. I couldn’t find them. Which was true. I didn’t find my loving boyfriend and best friend. They died that night.

He never spoke a word about it. Neither did she. Life went on like nothing happened. Was I stupid to never say anything to them? Maybe I wasn’t. Because I just wanted them happy. Even if that meant my heart was broken. Was he happier with her? That thought killed me inside. But I wanted to know. I wanted to know if he was happier with her. Because I was tired of waiting around for him to choose.

They did it again on her birthday. She spilt some cake on her blouse, accidentally. She was upset because her parents had just sent it to her that day and she didn’t want it ruined. He offered to clean it up for her. She accepted and they went upstairs. Later that night, I would wonder why no one offered to clean it with magic. But for that present time, I only wondered why I didn’t say anything. Or walk in on them and stop them. They came back down, fifteen minutes later, and they had the biggest smiles on their faces. No one seemed to notice. I did.

We broke up that night. I told him I knew. He told me he was so sorry. I asked him if he was sorry for doing it or sorry he got caught. He told me he was sorry for doing it. I swore at him. I threw things at him. I threw everything he bought me in the past five years at him. They all broke. And then I asked him questions. Why her. Was she prettier than me? Smarter than me? Richer than me? More talkative than me? Nicer than me? Funnier than me? Shag better than me? He cried at all these questions, answering with a soft yes to some of them.

I don’t know who cried more that night. When we called her over and had one big huge fight with all of us, we all said things we didn’t mean. We all said things we did mean. He and I decided I would get everything. The house, everything in the house, and the muggle car. And him? He would start his life over with her. He certainly had enough money to. And in the end, they left the house, together. I was left alone. I cried myself to sleep that night, wondering what they were doing.

They’re wrong. I’m not perfect. I feel. He makes me feel that. He makes me feel. In more ways than one.

A/N: If you liked, please read Dedicated. It needs love. Constructive criticism on this one, please.

Dedication: To those reading Dedicated, surely by now you all know who this fic is dedicated to. To those who aren’t, it’s dedicated to *someone special*. You can choose whoever you want, as long as you’re happy. I just don’t want you to go to waste.