Dead.
Every other second, you remember. You remember that he’s gone. Dead and gone… As the fact sinks in, those thoughts become more harsh, more blunt, and the most final word of all comes to mind: dead.
Wishing it were you does nothing. At the end of the day, nothing will change. Still, though, you yearn for it to be you who’s dead, who can’t feel the pain. Not him.
Because not a single part of you doesn’t ache.
You sigh. All you want is to open your eyes and see him. Every time you close your eyes you do, like his image is scalded on your retinas. That makes it all the more harder -- impossible -- to forget. Sometimes, you have illusions, where you believe he’s holding or talking to you. You’re with him again; that’s all you want. But then it all comes crashing back to the reality, as you realise you’re alone. And you don’t want to let go of those memories, but you don’t want this pain either.
On the first evening back home in the summer, you seek out the beach. You pick your way through the wild tangles of green grass, boycotting the natural path that a million others have trod before. Where the green blends with soft yellow, you kick your sandals off and leave them there to wait.
Then slowly you walk across the beach, tracing patterns in the sand. You feel every soft particle of warm sand seeping between your toes. A familiar rush of memories from your childhood shivers through you at the odd sensation. Above, high in the sky, the sun sets dappled gold. The waves roll up the beach silently. It’s quiet, peaceful -- home. A gentle breeze flows around you, adding to the calm.
Suddenly, a hand touches your shoulder.
Heart jumping in to your throat, you whirl around to see… nobody. Just the long stretch of untouched sand.
Your heartbeat is still speeding; you take several calming breaths.
It’s nothing.
Yet there’s a strange presence… it seems to be suspended, suspended in the atmosphere around you. Like something’s lingering, but out of reach.
‘Who’s there?’ you call, taking out your wand. Your voice, edgy and frightened, cuts through the air, a vicious swipe with a knife. Your pulse continues to accelerate, beating a tune as it thunders through your ears.
And that feeling that you’re not alone just dissipates.
Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.
You shake your head quickly, your dark hair swinging in to your cheek, slapping you back to what is real. It’s nothing. You’re alone.
Refusing to dwell on that for any longer, you set off down the beach again, the cool sea licking against your naked toes. As you walk, two familiar names float to the surface of your thoughts: Romeo and Juliet. Two names that William Shakespeare forever twined together in Muggle literature. Think of one, and you think of the other.
When he died -- your Romeo -- you considered being a true Juliet. Suicide. But you’re not Juliet, you realised so quickly. You’re stronger than her… Or maybe, you just don’t love him enough. Doubt shadows every thought you harbour on the subject.
Again, you sigh.
Looking out over the endless waters, you wonder -- you wonder what would happen if those gentle, rolling waves just swept you away in to the storm. Would you fight death? Or would you succumb to it, enticed by the prospect of seeing Romeo again?
Oh, and you ache. Your heart aches.
Sinking on to the sand, you tilt your head to the sky as tears fall soundlessly. ‘Cedric…’ you moan, your knees sinking in to the tiny wet stones, your whole body quivering as you take a violent, wreaking sob. ‘Ced-cedric.’
And you drown yourself in sorrows, until a time where the tide is almost completely in, and you’re sinking in to the icy water. Then you go. Because you are strong enough to walk the earth as your Romeo would want.
You walk away. You breathe. You live. And you cry, cry, cry, cry… and you cry. You cry for every mistake you’ve ever made, every friendship ever ruined, every person you’ve ever lost. Mostly, you cry for yourself and for him.
You collapse next to your sandals, pulling them on, your eyes blurred by tears, your nose running. The sky is almost completely indigo; the only sound the soft crashing of the waves and your snotty sobs. But as the night draws in, your cries are reduced to silent tears.
Never -- not once -- while you cry, do you feel alone. The presence is back, embracing you. This time, it isn’t scary though. It’s reassuring as you realise what it is.
You can see those warm grey eyes, the same colour as the sea in this light. You can almost see the waves of familiar hair, his long body. This time, you’re not so sure that it’s your imagination.
The presence: it’s your Romeo, squeezing you, hugging you, telling you in a whisper on the breeze that he needs to see you moving on. In a whisper, you make a promise, lying back on the blanket of grass and looking to the glinting sea of stars above. You remember the time the two of you went outside and watched the stars together, on the night of the Yule Ball.
‘I won’t forget you, Cedric -- I’ll live for you.’
As the last tear rolls down your cheek, a realisation sneaks through your mind, and you know -- you just know -- that it’s true.
I will never be alone. Not truly. I’m not Juliet, and he’s not Romeo. It’ll be hard, but I’ll prove that we’re not Romeo and Juliet.
Sitting up, you scan the dark beach, as the waves begin to crash against the rocks with more ferocity. You remember the time you talked of bringing him here, and how it’ll never happen now. You hope that, maybe -- just maybe -- he can see this place, this place of your childhood, how you see it. You hope he’s really been to this place in spirit, just so he can have seen this beach. This beach that you never saw him on in flesh, but imagined him on so many times.
You remember the first time you realised what was happening. You were falling in love.
My love is gone.
Illusions by inspirations
Story Notes:
Romeo and Juliet belong to William Shakespeare. The other characters belong to JKR. This little fic was written for Roxy Black's 'Watching the Mirror' class.
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Chapter Endnotes: Review? Please? xx