Chapter Text
now, when i tend to describe my feelings during this period, i tend to become irritated by myself — as some may describe it, it felt as though my heart had then sunk, seeing my aunt with remnants of her tears and seeing the other the way was.
i wasn’t good at responding to such situations, i truly wasn’t, and marjorie was still refusing to talk to me, anyway. i stayed with her for a few minutes longer, then i walked out again and went into my own childhood home, that shared a wall with hers.
walking into the place, no matter how long had passed, always gave me the same apprehensive feeling. it’d been that way since i was eleven. my heart beat seemed to quicken and i felt nauseous. it wasn’t because of anything that went on inside, it was simply the place, if i may put it like that. in there, there was always something out to get me — stronger than a man or a woman, it was a kind of force.
the same sadness that i mentioned earlier, that for my father, struck me again. i thought about the fact that we had ended off on a sour note the last time we had seen each other, and it upset me on his behalf, though it satisfied me on mine.
the house didn’t look derelict. it had no reason to, it had been lived in, until now, when it had nobody to live in it. it was with that thought that the one of moving back into it spawned, though i thought it masochistic and laughed.
it was, in a sense. if i had touched the walls, then, i was sure my hand would go numb or at least shiver. imagine living like that, i thought, as i scanned my surroundings.
nothing had changed, truly, though i kept on picking at the little details. my father had left the cover of the bedframe messier than i’d ever allowed it to be when i still lived there. there was an unopened beer bottle on the counter along with a packed meal. something from christmas, perhaps. there was still the exact same number of plates.
the last was a detail i’d note each year. another summer habit. the plates in our house were mostly mismatched — mostly stolen. even when i’d began earning enough money to buy a set, it seemed more convenient, and was the routine i had already set, anyway; theft was a vice i’d permitted myself, at least in that world.
i think i know why i become irritated, or i know i know. it’s because i felt like a child; when you have those kinds of emotions that you can’t quite reason, they just come to you because you are a child. except i knew what the reason was, too, that being that my father was dead.
i cannot explain it to you in any way that is sensical, because i know my expectations for my emotional control are oftentimes irrational, especially seeing as during that period, it was uncharacteristically bad.
i walked over to the plates, scanned through them, looking at their patterns and putting one back over the other with care. then, i looked at the beer.
i picked it up and cracked it open, though i didn’t drink it. i’d never been a drinker, but it wasn’t because of so — i could force myself to drink, if i deemed the situation fit. so, why? it was another ‘i don’t know.’ i just did, i held it in my hands for a moment before i put it back down.
my forearms leaned against the rim of the sink, and i leaned into them before clicking my tongue and breathing out. i tapped my finger, thinking about what to do for the rest of the day.
i could apparate back to london, i thought. i could remind myself of cokeworth some more, though i already knew each and every corner, and i knew that the only feeling they instilled in me was a repetitive chant of get out, get out, get out.
the icon of the virgin stared down at me, cradling her infant son from the opposite wall. i turned to look at her instead. a thought came about the pain of his death, and a thought about if he had been granted peace after — a wish, if i may. thrice, i repeated the words in a whisper, and i’d be lying if i said it was not with much thought at all:
hail mary, full of grace. the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, now and at the hour of our death. amen.