when you're fourteen, she slits your throat. it's not your throat, not really, but the way she cackles in your ear (he looks like you only sweeter) makes it crystal clear that you both wish it was.
when you're fourteen, you learn that she doesn't have a filter (though you're mostly sure you already knew that) and that she sits in the doorway of the library to hiss horrible, terrible, unbelievably true things about the people that walk by.
when you're fourteen, she catches you kissing a girl whose name you neither want nor need to remember. the kiss isn't the best; the blonde is as inexperienced and hesitant as you are bored and confident in your own techniques, but it's a kiss you haven't had to ask for and you rarely turn them down. the look in her eyes isn't jealousy, but disappointment. (you feel more comfortable with the former.)
when you're fourteen, you fail astronomy. your parents are, naturally, horrified, and james and remus tease you for days because you failed the subject of your namesake, but you don't care about either of those because you hated the subject anyway. but then she calls you a disgrace and, for a brief moment, you wish you had revised; but then she says she wasn't talking about the subject and you hex her (because the slap she deserves feels too much like something you want) just to hear the sound of her scream.
when you're fourteen, she teaches you the meaning of black. it's a word that has a lot of meanings, a lot of variation, and one that you had only ever associated with the color and the deep, inescapable feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach every time april rolled around. but when you slide calloused hands along smooth, pale skin, black starts to mean wrong and she starts to scream your name, which starts to mean suffocate as you hold her shirt over her face until her limbs stop twitching and her body falls, numb against the floor as you slide your trousers on. (you would hold that shirt down forever if it would deafen her screaming in your head.)
when you're fourteen, things stop making sense, so you stop going back home, where people expect things of you that you no longer want to give.
and when you turn fifteen, she speaks of you in the past tense and tells her friends you've died.
bellatrix/sirius - fourteen is a bizarre number, pg-13
when you're fourteen, you learn that she doesn't have a filter (though you're mostly sure you already knew that) and that she sits in the doorway of the library to hiss horrible, terrible, unbelievably true things about the people that walk by.
when you're fourteen, she catches you kissing a girl whose name you neither want nor need to remember. the kiss isn't the best; the blonde is as inexperienced and hesitant as you are bored and confident in your own techniques, but it's a kiss you haven't had to ask for and you rarely turn them down. the look in her eyes isn't jealousy, but disappointment. (you feel more comfortable with the former.)
when you're fourteen, you fail astronomy. your parents are, naturally, horrified, and james and remus tease you for days because you failed the subject of your namesake, but you don't care about either of those because you hated the subject anyway. but then she calls you a disgrace and, for a brief moment, you wish you had revised; but then she says she wasn't talking about the subject and you hex her (because the slap she deserves feels too much like something you want) just to hear the sound of her scream.
when you're fourteen, she teaches you the meaning of black. it's a word that has a lot of meanings, a lot of variation, and one that you had only ever associated with the color and the deep, inescapable feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach every time april rolled around. but when you slide calloused hands along smooth, pale skin, black starts to mean wrong and she starts to scream your name, which starts to mean suffocate as you hold her shirt over her face until her limbs stop twitching and her body falls, numb against the floor as you slide your trousers on. (you would hold that shirt down forever if it would deafen her screaming in your head.)
when you're fourteen, things stop making sense, so you stop going back home, where people expect things of you that you no longer want to give.
and when you turn fifteen, she speaks of you in the past tense and tells her friends you've died.