Skulls and Angels

I just do. I don't even know what to call this. There are times when I'm absolutely disgusted with myself and my state of being. I guess you could call it self-hatred, but I really don't think it's vehement enough to call hatred. Just the feeling that, if I were someone else, I would not choose to associate with myself.  I irritate myself. That seems like a pathetic thing to say, but it's the truth.  I'm so dependent on my family that I feel like a child. A child that pays bills and other adult-ish type things, but a child nonetheless. Sometimes I just want to scream. I want to cry. I want to give up.

But, I figure I'm here for a reason. Maybe someone out there will need me for something one day. So, I will hang on, even though it sometimes feels like I'm being shoved off a cliff with no net to catch me. Is there ever an age when you feel like a complete grown-up? I mean, legally, here in the US, 18 is voting age, 21 is drinking age, but when do you REALLY grow up? I don't feel like I've reached it yet.

I'm creeping up on 29, which, frankly, scares the shit out of me more than any other age I've been fortunate enough to obtain. My mother died at 28. I thought by this point in my life, I'd have at least accomplished something that felt meaningful to me, but I haven't yet. I find that frustrating.  Mainly because I have no concrete idea of how to go about being the person I wish I was.

I don't even know if that makes any sense to anyone. Most people my age have husbands, wives, or kids. I'm alone and under my family too much to know what the hell I want. I guess just to know I could survive on my own if i needed to.  I want some room to breathe, for fuck's sake. I never get it here. No one seems to get me here. And lord, didn't that sound like teenage angst?

*sigh*

I'm going to watch Buffy kick some vampire butt, before I come completely unraveled.

A/N: Please forgive this. I just got some bad news today, and this decided to spawn itself. It's not a happy story, so don't say I didn't warn you. Might trigger, so be safe, please. No one is dead in RL, but this was apparently lurking in my brain, and some of it is based on my life. Make of that what you will, and please feel free to share what you think. Feedback and support would be very appreciated right now.

Play me a sweet song. It's one that I heard a long time ago. I can only half remember the melody, and it haunts my dreams like a long-forgotten ghost whose presence lingers on the earth long after his body has ceased to be even ash. His pain is the only impression now, so sad. Did some loving daughter call him father? Did he whisper his 'I-love yous' as she dreamed, while the scent of whiskey hung heavy on his breath? He wanted to avoid the pain in her eyes.

She had once idolized him. Now, that was no more, and it pained him. He had tried again to apologize, but failed. It fell against her skin like broken glass, wounding her. The 'sorry' was too overused, like the greasy rags in his shop. He planted wet, alcohol scented kisses on her head, and she wanted to flinch away. She stayed, though. That was the only time he ever kissed her at all, and she was grateful for that, even when the smell of bourbon made her light-headed. The kisses were sloppy, half-landed things that she wanted to bask in. She wanted to be simply another little girl whose daddy would kiss her goodnight. He pulled away to take another drink. She cried.

He would destroy himself, and it would happen before her eyes. He didn't want to hurt her, he was simply caught up in a storm of his own creation. He wanted to be so much dust in the cyclone, just blown about by the wind. Instead he was the storm, burning himself out to end the pain she was too young and ignorant to share, and so he blew himself out like a candle while she stood on the horizon, clutching her arms toward herself in a pseudo-hug, wishing he was there to hold her, still. He used to make he feel safe.  Now, she stands alone, feeling broken, and follows his memory into the darkness of his pain.

It is over quickly. She barely noticed the blade, feeling instead the relief that came with not being. She had only tried to be good. But, she was never enough. Never right. Now there are two ghosts, mere shades, gliding through the night with sad eyes.

Title: Right There With You
Author: bleedingangel84
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: Harry has a nightmare. Draco is there to comfort him. Disclaimer: Characters belong to J. K. Rowling and related copyright holders. I am merely borrowing them. Don't sue.
Warnings: This is short, somewhat angsty fluff that deals with religious themes. There is also crude language in certain areas. I mean no offense to anyone.
Notes: This was my first completed attempt at Harry/Draco slash. I haven't worked up to explicit erotic material, but I hope to one day. Feedback/criticism is totally welcome. Enjoy!  This is also at Adult Fan Fiction under my penname, vampirekisses. That's me, so this isn't stolen.


( Flangsty fic under the cut... )