RP: Corrie Pye Date: 23 June, right after this. Characters: Corrie Pye Location: Casa Celtic (her flat) Private/Public: Private Rating: PG Summary: Corrie angersplodes on paper.
Corrie narrowed her eyes at the screen of her laptop, focusing her glare into a mighty beam that, if the world was the place it should be, would blast through the ether and strike Scorpius Malfoy dead of sheer arrogant stupidity. 'I do think the reasons are obvious.' 'It seemed like just a memory, not some statement that he wants to get back together.' What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was Lorcan telling people that she was throwing herself at him, or were his mates going around deciding this rubbish on their own?
Well, she was damn well going to put a stop to it either way. Malfoy hadn't replied yet, and with any luck never would because her medusaglare had killed him, so she gave him the lack of attention he deserved, shoving herself up and off the front room sofa and stomping off to her room for a biro and some paper. She didn't entirely trust wizardjournal to not post anything she wrote before she was done, or where everyone and their dog could see it. No, this was going to be absolutely scathing and perfect and personal, and that called for the silence of her bedroom and good, old-fashioned handwriting. Anyway, she didn't know his email address, or if he even had one.
Dear Lorcan, Corrie wrote, after settling down on her bed with her supplies. She crossed it out.
Un-Dear Lorcan, she wrote. And crossed it out. No reason to pound the point home.
Oi you, she wrote. No, no, no - scribblescribblescribble, more than the shortness of the phrase needed.
Maybe it was best to just get right to the heart of the matter.
What is wrong with you? Corrie eyed the sentence like you would an enormous spider you found on the floor, appraising it for weakness and level of animosity. It seemed all right, so she went on instead of throwing a shoe at it.
Are you just that big-headed? I talk to you twice in one week and you automatically assume I want you back? Well don't flatter yourself, pal, because that's the last thing going through on my mind.
The biro paused, then picked up speed. I don't suppose it ever occurred to you that I might be happy and have moved on? No, I guess it wouldn't-
Something about that didn't feel right. She frowned, dislodging a bit of odd tightness in her face, and double-crossed-out the last bit. Repetitive, or something.
I'm better than that.
Corrie stared down at the paper for a moment, her face a pink dawn over its pale landscape. That felt right. Or if it didn't feel right, it at least felt something.
I'm worth more than that, and I can do better than that. And I can do better than you, too.
I shouldn't have to deal with the shite you put me through ever again. I shouldn't've had to in the first bloody place. I'm not some stupid little girl anymore that'll do whatever you like, especially when-
Her handwriting was getting messy, she was going to have to rewrite the whole thing again when she was done. Or hell, maybe she would just post it on wizardjournal anyway, then even if the filters did stop working everyone would know and they'd shut up about it forever. It wasn't like she had anything to be ashamed of, after all, she'd done everything she could.
-it's obvious now we weren't even suited in the first place.
The tension had moved to her throat. Time for some water, she hadn't realized how thirsty she was. Grabbing her usual glass from her nightstand, she went to the kitchen for a refill. The faucet still sprayed slightly - they'd have to have that taken care of soon, she thought, brushing her slightly damp hand through her hair.
Sitting on the bed was getting old, and it was hard to write on paper on top of her duvet cover, so Corrie moved her work and herself to the tight, flat industrial carpet instead, and grabbed a book for a better surface. She coughed a bit to clear her throat, then raised the pen and bent over the paper again.
But honestly, I'm not sure who you would be suited for. All I know is you'll never find someone who'd that will try as hard as I did for so little reason, and even if you did, I bet you wouldn't even appreciate her. But I don't care, because it'll never be me again, and I wouldn't want it to be anyway. I know better now.
So go ahead and tell your mates that, why don't you?
She stopped, because she couldn't think of anything else to say and her heart was pounding like she'd been flying diagonal laps around the pitch. Her hair slipped out from behind one ear and into her face as she read through what she'd written.
Yes, that was right. That was perfect.
She tore the paper up. Then she tore it up again. Then she scooped the pieces up and dumped them into her rubbish bin, and set them on fire. Then she picked up her half-full glass and threw it in too, dousing the flames.
Then she curled up on her bed with her back to the bin.