Falling For

Lee had taken Angelina out for afternoon tea one day – the man having sensed my general displeasure for guests, which had grown quite dramatically over the week. As much as I did not want them to leave for George’s sake, I craved the space and attention that came with an apartment free of guests. Having been moping around for the previous couple of days, I found solace in my muggle books I had borrowed from work and subtle visits to Noël – something of which I was sure Lee was beginning to worry about. That boy had always been quite switched on in the way of people, and he had been watching me like a hawk ever since I had basically crawled out the kitchen window the night of George and Angelina’s first weird connection.

It wasn’t like I was on the edge of a breakdown, but it was beginning to feel like it. Everything made me feel like crying and I felt exhausted – hauling myself to work and back was turning me into a walking cadaver. Noël was constantly gifting me pep-up potions to keep me on my feet – something that I was so grateful for, because I had become too soft to sleep well. Most nights I lay awake with my tired body begging for some sort of rest, while my worried mind tried to sort through battle plans to keep me afloat. The thing that probably messed me up the most though, was the idea that if George had noticed my discomfort, he certainly was not saying anything about it. It was like I was reaching for him to pull me up, and he was just staring back – my begging hands blocked by the mist of his own evils.

It was shameful; knowing that I couldn’t have the same affect Angelina seemed to have on my boyfriend. There was nothing romantic, I knew it well, but she brought something out of him that I could not. They both loved Fred more than I could ever imagine – her as a lover and he as a brother. He was my friend too, but I was never on the same level as they were, and that was my real downfall. I did not understand their pain as well as the other did, and it absolutely killed me.

My breaking point was reached on a cloudy afternoon; me bent at the waist as I took stock-take. George was humming softly along to an old Weird Sisters’ song, his longing hair pulled back with one of my previously abandoned plastic headbands. After having spent the morning with Angelina excitedly discussing the possibilities of expansion, the redhead was just delighted– and the happy aura that seemed to follow him was biting into my heart, leaving a sour aftertaste to pump through my system. Oh, I was so jealous – in fact, I was ready to just throw down all my help and walk out into the bustling breath of the street that fluttered with life outside.

I guess I just couldn’t help myself. His happy mood made me angry and I was uncomfortable with that fact, and that made me even angrier than I was in the first place. Why couldn’t have I just treated the whole thing with well-deserved caution? I had never caught onto the idea that I was a jealous woman, as I had never really had to share George with anyone but Fred – and the deeper I read into my situation, the more I realised that it was not a becoming position for a lady such as myself to be in. All I wanted was to feel normal, but the constant gnawing of envy was poisoning my lifeblood.

“How many have you got, Min?” He asked me cheerfully, sending me a warm look that made my insides clench with guilt. The beast swimming in my stomach rolled painfully, forcing out a grunted response that I never meant to set forth.

“Fifteen.”

“And how many Rubbys?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Trainers?”

“Four.”

“What about the Umbridge Dolls?”

“We—” I stopped, frowning at my checklist. “We haven’t stocked those for a year now, George.”

He sent me a sly smile and frowned gently, stretching to full height. “Just making sure that you’re paying attention, love.” He told me, reaching out to pull me to him. “You seem kinda spacey today, Min. You feelin’ alright?”

Resting his chin on my head, I felt George’s arms fall around me tightly. I could almost taste his good intentions soaking through my sweater, and it caused my insides to tense up with shame. I really wanted to tell him – just to blurt it all out – but I couldn’t find sense in ruining his good mood. “I’m alright.” I muttered back, wrapping my arms around his middle, burying my face into his warm chest.

“You sure about that?” He asked me softly, his fingers running through my hair. “You’ve been a bit off this week. I didn’t think it was coming to that time of the month already.”

I scoffed, pulling back from him. “It’s not that at all.” Our eye contact vibrated and I had to look away, telling myself to break free from his grasp but failing to find the strength.

“You can tell me, sweetheart.” He cooed, feeling rather lovely that day. I hated myself for even starting the whole mess. I hated myself for years and years.

“George—” I began gently, fear racing through my heart as I thought of what to say. Should I even say it? He must have felt me begin to shudder, cause he pulled me back in again – a lighter frown forming across his face. Should I even bother him with this ridiculous drivel? “I—”

“Min…”

The way he said my name made it hard to breathe, my body substituting words for tears, which suddenly began to run down my cheeks. I attempted to staunch my efforts by sucking in my bottom lip, biting down hard to stop the sobs that soon began to choke through. It must have startled him, because he swiftly held me tighter.

The fact that he had noticed my change in mood made it harder for me to speak – unable to find any steady evidence to back up whatever I was previously cursing him for. But there it was, that same feeling that chewed on me when I looked up into his eyes – telling me that I had every right to feel the way I did. Merlin, thinking about it now – just the way he was looking at me, I knew he loved me. I knew that he was sending me all the positivity he could afford to spare, but at that time I could not see it. The whole thing felt so faithless, light and like I was watching from the back of my head.

“I feel so—” I snivelled, hiding in his arms like a woman unworthy. “George, I—”

“Mignon, please…” His fingers dipped beneath my jumper to press the soft skin of my lower back, his loving touch finally bursting the cracks in my dam of sadness. His lips on my forehead burnt me; my eyes shutting tighter than I ever thought possible. My body was shaking – practically overflowing with all the emotions that had been stacking up over the previous days.

“How come I can’t—” I started, having broken my vow of silence. I was already too far in to attempt to wade back out again. “How come I can’t make you look at me like you look at Angelina?” The words left my mouth so easily, and I felt like reaching out to pull them back in the minute I had set them free.

There was stillness for a while – it felt like forever – and nothing came while I continued to sob into his shirt. “How I what?” He finally asked me, voice tinged with honest curiosity.

“How you look at her—when she talks about Fred and you just—” Staggering through my speech with little tact, I looked up to watch the curiosity darken to an impending storm “I can just see it when you—I don’t know, George. Maybe I’m being silly.”

“You are being pretty silly, if that’s what you’ve been thinking about this week.” He teased me, leaving my brain to seethe at what I read as condescending. “I don’t look at her any differently than I have before.”

“I think it looks different.” I sniffed back at him, pulling away. “I haven’t been able to recreate that look since—”

Our eye contact was searing; his shocked stare leaving me to feel like a shuddering monster. “Are you..? Are you jealous?” He asked me, trying to force a flippant smile but sounding a little harsher than he probably intended.

“No.”

“You’re not a good liar, Mignon.” He sighed at me. “And honestly, you really have no reason to be—”

“I just want you to talk to me like you talk to her, George.” I snapped at him. “This is going to sound absolutely horrible, but I’m really getting sick of being the one you crawl back to each night after staying up late having ‘deep and meaningful’s with another girl.” Annoyed at his lack of compassion, my tears stopped and my fists began to clench and unclench with exasperation. “I just—why don’t you talk to me anymore? Why don’t you laugh with me?”

“Merlin, Mignon, is this what you’ve been thinking about when you’re staring off into space at dinner?”

“Can you blame me?” I wailed softly at him, trying not to lose my cool and become a dithering mess. “I need it too, George—I need you to tell me that things are going to be okay, too! I can’t be the one who stays happy all the time, George, it’s wearing me thin! I’m—…! I’m bloody miserable, George! Fred was a big part of my life, too!”

He shook his head at me, the look on his face shifting between confused, wounded and a little annoyed. “You shut down on me, Mignon – I thought you had already moved on.”

“Are you serious?!” I blathered. “I haven’t had time to move on! Between you and Angelina and re-opening the store, I’ve been too busy trying to keep the both of us afloat mentally!”

“Be honest with me, Mignon,” He took a step back and sized me up, most likely trying to decode the situation. Why was it that the both of us could never manage to be completely happy at the same time anymore? The only moments of joy we could scrape together at that time was the fleeting moment during early morn when we woke, the simmering sun shining through our bedroom windows to brush our naïve faces – before our minds could focus in on what was real and what wasn’t. The crushing force of reality squeezed the good intentions from us before we even got the chance to embrace them, and a new day began still laced with yesterday’s dust. “Is this honestly about Fred, or are you jealous of Angelina and I spending time together?”

I blanched, enveloped by a jumble of grief and ire. “If we both lost ourselves in his death, George, we would have sunk too deep. What use would I have been if handled it like I handled Cedric… or Dad… Merlin, George, I was doing what I had to do!”

He said nothing, watching me with a blank face that slightly stirred with the emotions that must have been rolling through him.

“And okay,” I continued, past the point of controlling my feelings, “I am jealous! You’re my boyfriend, and the way she looks at you like you’re the best thing in her life makes me hurt! And you can’t see it because sometimes you look at her the same way – which makes it worse because you don’t even know that you’re doing it! I know that she’s always been a big part of your life, but so am I!”

I felt like a child having a tantrum, watching myself in the back of my mind as all the swollen heartache inside of me spilled from my mouth. My poor, sweet George, unflinchingly taking it all in as I regurgitated months worth of hurt and distress – blaming him, blaming Angelina, blaming everybody but myself in a situation that I knew I was blowing out of control.

“I feel like my heads going to bust because I’ve not had the chance to breathe, George.” I exhaled through a storm of right and wrongs, a huge tremor running through me from my shoulders to my toes. “I just need someone to pull me out of this or I’m going to sink.”

Unable to bear the slightest amount of eye contact, I turned my gaze towards my shoes and let out a shaky breath. My shoulders were heaving and my stomach was rolling, each turn and shudder giving me more reason to feel absolutely disgusting.

And I cried again; warm, fat tears trailing down my cheeks as my face screwed into something I couldn’t even feel. I turned myself away from George, covering my shame with my trembling hands and letting out a rough breath.

“I have to take a break, George. I have to go to my mother’s or I’m going to go insane.”

“Min—” He started, his voice cutting off sharply, as if he had never thought of what to say in a situation like the one I had just thrown us into. I couldn’t blame him.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” I continued to dither into my palm, facing away from him as I waved my spare arm at him in dismissal. I couldn’t bear to look at him - I was just so ashamed. All of my pent up bad thoughts and feelings were just leaking out of me, the fallen words scuffing the soles of my shoes that danced away from his. “I’m going to go bloody barmy if I stay here any longer, George, I have to take a little break, okay? I’m sorry,” My mind had hit the eject button and I felt as if I was already halfway across the English sky, a subtle numbness beginning to soak into my sobbing heart. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare go,” He grabbed my floundering arm, tugging me back a little. I spun back to him, feeling my eyes empty into nothingness - malfunctioning but determined while I caught the reflection of myself in his stony eyes. “Don’t you dare bloody leave, Mignon, I need you.” George’s voice was full and heavy and for a moment I almost gave myself up.

For a few years after we separated, I used to lose myself in thought over that moment. I would leave for hours into my mind, travel into the depths of what could have been George and I’s life together… Where we would be if I hadn’t left for my mother’s that night – if I had stayed and let him talk me down.

It was those last real words I heard from George that broke me, which turned my strength of resolve into a weakness. His voice, his beautiful bloody voice that had always soothed me, was raw and begging – every syllable ballooned with a realness I had only heard when he spoke about Fred.

“Min, please.” He breathed and I flinched, tugging my forearm from his grip. Blue and white tiles with a grey grout. Scratched floorboards the colour of my favourite caramel. A creamy windowsill garnished with a ficus potted in a glossy white vase. “Mignon, I love you.”

My stomach was turning and my eyes scrunched shut, praying for the best – soon overwhelmed with the aroma of fresh-trodden grass and a hearty sauce bubbling on the stove. The pressure in my head was throbbing, and I could not stop sobbing but the air felt lighter and the invisible hands around my neck seemed to fade away.

“Merlin on a bloody bicycle!” My mother’s shock erupted with a burst of papers, watching as her only daughter shrunk to sit on the kitchen floor. “What on Earth..? Is that you, Mignon?”