Who: Roger and Mandy When: Friday Evening Where: Roger's House What: God. The fight of the century Status: In Progress Rating: Language and violence
Mandy was livid. The hurt and disappointment had turned to nothing. She'd spent the whole day at home, trying not to think of anything that Roger was doing with Fleur Delacour but Lavender had practically given her a play by play and she'd read the paper. Fleur had been in his lap and there'd been a lot of sexual dancing and grinding and she felt sick. The whole situation had made her ill all day. The man who wanted to marry her, supposedly, had cheated on her. There was really no way to go about denying it. He'd done borderline stupid shite before but this was too much. She wasn't going to sit around and be some idiotic woman who Roger fucked over because he was scared or nervous or whatever. So was she. She was bloody terrified. She was sick and he'd just tossed away everything that they'd had. Years of history and love. It was gone. It was easy how quickly love turned to hate and fury and anger took over. Mandy was a calm person by nature but this? This was too much. This was more than she was capable of bearing. Roger had gone on a bloody date with Fleur Delacour.
She'd defended him and told her best friend that she knew Roger loved her but she'd just been lying to herself. Roger didn't love her. Roger loved himself. He was too selfish to love anyone but him. And she knew exactly what he'd say. That it wasn't him. That it had been Fleur. Roger wouldn't take responsibility for his actions. He'd blame it on the Veela whore and she really thought that both of them deserved one another and she deserved so much better. She headed up to his room, passing Will in the hall. She didn't even say hello and Will just ducked back into his room. Pushing the door open. She felt the contents of her stomach rise up but she pushed it down. It smelled like sweat and beer and alcohol and there was a hint of something girly. Her heart was racing and her fingers drifted to the slight roundness of her stomach. She'd thrown her hair up into a pony tail and had only bothered to throw a light sweater over her tank top and jeggings. She'd considered wearing pointy shoes just to be able to kick him. Hard. However, she'd stuck with her lambskin boots. She'd probably kick him anyway and break a toe.
"Fucking bastard," she muttered, rolling her sleeves up as she stared down at his sleeping form. It was evening and late and all she wanted to do was punch that perfect face. Hauling her fist back (ring pointed outward), Mandy put as much force behind it as she could, punching him in his stomach, eyes narrowing. "Wake up," she said, flatly, smacking him in the face. She'd never been prone to violence but just seeing him and his cheating face? The lipstick on his hands and it was fucking disgusting. She had never been disgusted with Roger before. At least, not like this. There was no turning back. There'd be no fixing this. She was done.