RP: The end of everything that matters Date: June 9, 2006 Characters: Cass Location: His flat Private/Public: Private Rating: All ages Warnings: Regret, stupidity, staging of infidelity Summary: Cass comes home after having done what he thought was necessary – and starts to wonder if it really was the right thing to do.
The door to the flat squealed in protest to be opened as he stepped into the flat, the air stuffy and a fine layer of dust covering the floor, though it was smaller than it should be. Due to Susan, no doubt. It was hot outside, yet walking inside it was like walking into a wall. A wall of despair and horror. A prison. His own personal version of hell. A hell he could not escape – a hell which consisted of the nearly crippling pain in his chest. Of the vision of Percy's eyes, filled with anger and hatred, with distrust and betrayal.
He wondered if he'd ever get the image out of his mind. If he'd ever be able to forgive himself for the pain he'd caused.
Had it been a mistake?
No! He couldn't believe that. He would perish if he thought that. He'd needed to protect Percy, even if it caused him pain. Hopefully, one day Percy would understand, if not forgive. No he didn't think Percy would ever forgive. Nor would he trust again. But perhaps that was a good thing? It would keep him out of danger.
And still, he wanted nothing more than for Percy to be happy. Safe, yes, but too late he realised it wasn't enough. He wanted him happy. He wanted him to trust, to smile, to… No, he just wanted him.
That was over now though, and he would have to live with that. The consequences of his mistakes. They seemed to be piling up on him.
The noise of the door clicking shut behind him seemed impossibly loud, as if someone had slammed a door in his face – again. He hardly noticed dropping the bag where he stood, or going up the creaky, carpet clad stairs, or opening the door to his bedroom or collapsing on his bed. In his mind there were only the images he'd put there himself. The images of his future dying.
He didn't even know who the woman was. Just someone he'd picked up, he didn't remember nor cared about her name and if she ran into him again she would not know him.
Obliviation. A crime. And yet one he'd done without regret. She would never remember meeting him today, or coming with him home, or being used to stage the one scene that would make Percy throw him out, the one scene Percy would not be able to forget or forgive.
Percy never had shared well.
Most importantly she would never remember Percy. Would never remember recognising the head of the Auror departmeant. That at least was a small consolation. Percy – his job – his career – was still safe. That thought alone kept him from breaking apart completely. And yet, what was that thought to the sight of the look in Percy's eyes? The pain, the horror, the disappointment and betrayal.
He'd hit the one nerve Percy had, the one insecurity he couldn't let go of. That one day he'd not be enough. As if he could ever not be enough. Yet right now Percy was most likely in his private version of hell too, not knowing what had changed, why he'd gone from coming home to a man who loved him to the sight of the man he loved in the arms of a strange woman.
Would he ever be all right again? If he knew the truth, perhaps? But no, he could not tell Percy the truth. At least not until his mother was either safe or – his worst fear – dead. Then he'd make sure Percy knew, though he was not sure he'd listen. In either case, he was sure it would not change anything. The images would still be in Percy's mind, just as they would in Cass'. There would be no second chances, no going back, no changing what had happened.
It was too late. Too late too fast and as necessary as he tried to convince himself this was, the mere thought of that made him groan in pain as he curled up on himself, his arms wrapped around his knees. In his heart there was a rip he knew would never heal, a fresh bleeding wound that he could only hope he'd learn to live with. He tried to hold onto what had been, the perfect days in Italy, the everyday life in the house, yet every memory felt bitter sweet. Every memory brought a fresh waive of pain over him as he knew it was over, that he'd never more get to look into Percy's eyes right after they'd kissed, that he'd never again would sleep with the weight of Percy's head on his shoulder.
It was lost. All of it. Everything that mattered. It was just him. Him and the stabbing pain in his chest. Alone. Lonely. Empty.