Broken Heart and Lost Trust: A Teenage Girl's Desperate Cry for Help
42
Not long afterwards I arrived home, tear-stained and exhausted. I'd had to stop a couple of blocks away to compose myself enough to stop Mum or Dad asking any awkward questions, and cast a passable Cheering Charm on myself, but I was still less than my usual sparkling self when I pulled into the driveway. And seeing the Potters' owl waiting for me on the front steps, a note in Sirius' handwriting attached to its leg, didn't help.
"Is that you, Laura?" Mum called out as I let myself inside.
"Yeah, it's me," I said, hoping to be able to disappear upstairs before she saw me.
"You're home early," she said, poking her head around the corner and seeing my face. "Oh, Laura, what's wrong?"
If you've ever had someone ask you that question when you're trying to hold everything in, you'll know that it causes you to break down completely. In this case I just dropped my bag and burst into tears, and she rushed over to give me a hug.
"Careful," came Dad's voice. "We should make sure it's actually her."
"It's her," Mum said reproachfully over my shoulder as I cried into her. "You think I don't know my own daughter? And she'd never be able to answer any questions when she's in this state, anyway."
Dad conceded defeat, and once I'd calmed down a little Mum managed to coax a little bit of information out of me.
"I was made a fool of," I explained, hiccoughing uncomfortably. "I trusted someone I shouldn't have and it backfired."
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
Definitely not, I thought. Instead I just shook my head.
"That's fine," she said, "whenever you're ready. There's a letter here for you, too," she went on. "Is that anything to do with it?"
I shook my head again – it was easier to lie when I wasn't talking. "I'd better go upstairs and answer it."
Or, I thought, I'll go upstairs, burst into tears again, and then send the letter back unopened. I knew that I didn't want to know what he had to say, it was too soon and too painful. To think you believed him, a voice inside my head chastised me. You should have known it was too good to be true.
I gestured to the owl to follow me upstairs. Once in my room with the door shut, I pulled off my new bracelet and daffodil clasp, wrapped them in a bit of parchment and tied them to the owl's other leg. "Take this and the letter back again," I told it. "And don't bother coming back, I don't want an answer." Whether it understood me I had no idea, but once I opened my window it flew off anyway, probably back to James' house.
The next week was torture. I'd written to Mary to explain what had happened, and while she was sympathetic she had her own new relationship that was occupying her attention, and I didn't want to depress her with my problems. Charlotte would probably have understood, but while we were much closer than we had been, we still weren't really close enough for me to pour my heart out in a letter to her. And Sirius, well ...
He hadn't even tried to follow me.
This fact tore at me more than anything else. I'd kept an eye on my rear vision mirror as I drove away from James' house, hoping against hope that he would try to coax me back, that the black motorbike would appear from nowhere and try to make me stop. But all I'd seen was a dog, probably a stray, which seemed to like the challenge of chasing the one car on the roads that early on New Year's Day. Eventually, as I neared the motorway, even that had given up, its large black shape slowly disappearing behind me as I drove north.
Shows how much you really meant to him, that annoying voice in the back of my mind kept pointing out. If he'd really cared, he would have tried to stop you from leaving. He would have tried to get you to come back. And I knew that was true, because that was what I would have done if the tables were turned. I would have tried anything I could think of to get him to change his mind. But all he did was write a short note – I knew it was short due to the size of the parchment attached to the Potters' owl's leg – and leave it at that.
Right, so perhaps that wasn't fair. There had probably been a dozen letters in the week between the party and school going back, but I hadn't read any of them; they'd all been sent back, unopened. Cerridwyn was probably sick of the journeys to Somerset and London by now, but whatever he had to say could wait. I probably couldn't have read his letters, anyway – my tears would have bled the ink across the page before I could have gotten through it. The trouble was that it had all felt so real – more real than anything else in my life – and I was having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that it wasn't.
My parents, of course, realised something was wrong, but they weren't very successful in getting any answers out of me, even with Mum at her police-officer best.
"Laura, is this about a boy?" she asked gently one night when she came into my room. "Is that why you're not talking about it?"
"I'm not allowed to have boyfriends this year," I said automatically, not looking at her. "I know the rules."
"Something happened at that party," Mum said, ignoring my answer. "You were unusually happy before it, and you're unusually upset now, and all you've said is that you trusted someone you shouldn't have. It looks to me like a broken heart."
Well, that was uncomfortably accurate. When did she get so perceptive? "I'm fine," I said stiffly. "I'll be fine. I'd just rather be alone."
"Hmm," she said doubtfully. "I'll bring a cup of tea up then, shall I?"
"Fine," I agreed. "Now I need to get this homework done." I looked pointedly at her and she left the room, closing the door gently behind her.
****
"Laura, can I have a word please?"
I looked up with dread as the train compartment door opened, but it wasn't Sirius. It was, however, Remus, and I wasn't sure how prepared I was for this conversation.
"Yeah, all right," I heard myself saying. Might as well get it over with. Getting out of my seat and following him, I found myself in the roomy bit at THE END
Not long afterwards I arrived home, tear-stained and exhausted. I'd had to stop a couple of blocks away to compose myself enough to stop Mum or Dad asking any awkward questions, and cast a passable Cheering Charm on myself, but I was still less than my usual sparkling self when I pulled into the driveway. And seeing the Potters' owl waiting for me on the front steps, a note in Sirius' handwriting attached to its leg, didn't help.
"Is that you, Laura?" Mum called out as I let myself inside.
"Yeah, it's me," I said, hoping to be able to disappear upstairs before she saw me.
"You're home early," she said, poking her head around the corner and seeing my face. "Oh, Laura, what's wrong?"
If you've ever had someone ask you that question when you're trying to hold everything in, you'll know that it causes you to break down completely. In this case I just dropped my bag and burst into tears, and she rushed over to give me a hug.
"Careful," came Dad's voice. "We should make sure it's actually her."
"It's her," Mum said reproachfully over my shoulder as I cried into her. "You think I don't know my own daughter? And she'd never be able to answer any questions when she's in this state, anyway."
Dad conceded defeat, and once I'd calmed down a little Mum managed to coax a little bit of information out of me.
"I was made a fool of," I explained, hiccoughing uncomfortably. "I trusted someone I shouldn't have and it backfired."
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
Definitely not, I thought. Instead I just shook my head.
"That's fine," she said, "whenever you're ready. There's a letter here for you, too," she went on. "Is that anything to do with it?"
I shook my head again – it was easier to lie when I wasn't talking. "I'd better go upstairs and answer it."
Or, I thought, I'll go upstairs, burst into tears again, and then send the letter back unopened. I knew that I didn't want to know what he had to say, it was too soon and too painful. To think you believed him, a voice inside my head chastised me. You should have known it was too good to be true.
I gestured to the owl to follow me upstairs. Once in my room with the door shut, I pulled off my new bracelet and daffodil clasp, wrapped them in a bit of parchment and tied them to the owl's other leg. "Take this and the letter back again," I told it. "And don't bother coming back, I don't want an answer." Whether it understood me I had no idea, but once I opened my window it flew off anyway, probably back to James' house.
The next week was torture. I'd written to Mary to explain what had happened, and while she was sympathetic she had her own new relationship that was occupying her attention, and I didn't want to depress her with my problems. Charlotte would probably have understood, but while we were much closer than we had been, we still weren't really close enough for me to pour my heart out in a letter to her. And Sirius, well ...
He hadn't even tried to follow me.
This fact tore at me more than anything else. I'd kept an eye on my rear vision mirror as I drove away from James' house, hoping against hope that he would try to coax me back, that the black motorbike would appear from nowhere and try to make me stop. But all I'd seen was a dog, probably a stray, which seemed to like the challenge of chasing the one car on the roads that early on New Year's Day. Eventually, as I neared the motorway, even that had given up, its large black shape slowly disappearing behind me as I drove north.
Shows how much you really meant to him, that annoying voice in the back of my mind kept pointing out. If he'd really cared, he would have tried to stop you from leaving. He would have tried to get you to come back. And I knew that was true, because that was what I would have done if the tables were turned. I would have tried anything I could think of to get him to change his mind. But all he did was write a short note – I knew it was short due to the size of the parchment attached to the Potters' owl's leg – and leave it at that.
Right, so perhaps that wasn't fair. There had probably been a dozen letters in the week between the party and school going back, but I hadn't read any of them; they'd all been sent back, unopened. Cerridwyn was probably sick of the journeys to Somerset and London by now, but whatever he had to say could wait. I probably couldn't have read his letters, anyway – my tears would have bled the ink across the page before I could have gotten through it. The trouble was that it had all felt so real – more real than anything else in my life – and I was having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that it wasn't.
My parents, of course, realised something was wrong, but they weren't very successful in getting any answers out of me, even with Mum at her police-officer best.
"Laura, is this about a boy?" she asked gently one night when she came into my room. "Is that why you're not talking about it?"
"I'm not allowed to have boyfriends this year," I said automatically, not looking at her. "I know the rules."
"Something happened at that party," Mum said, ignoring my answer. "You were unusually happy before it, and you're unusually upset now, and all you've said is that you trusted someone you shouldn't have. It looks to me like a broken heart."
Well, that was uncomfortably accurate. When did she get so perceptive? "I'm fine," I said stiffly. "I'll be fine. I'd just rather be alone."
"Hmm," she said doubtfully. "I'll bring a cup of tea up then, shall I?"
"Fine," I agreed. "Now I need to get this homework done." I looked pointedly at her and she left the room, closing the door gently behind her.
****
"Laura, can I have a word please?"
I looked up with dread as the train compartment door opened, but it wasn't Sirius. It was, however, Remus, and I wasn't sure how prepared I was for this conversation.
"Yeah, all right," I heard myself saying. Might as well get it over with. Getting out of my seat and following him, I found myself in the roomy bit at THE END
