WHO: Carys Llewellyn and Tristan Bardera
WHAT: Early morning revelations!
WHERE: Catapults Locker room!
WHEN: Early this morning!
She fucking hated the bastard.
Carys wiped away her tears gingerly, her hand throbbing from breaking his nose with her fist. She made her way down the row of lockers, using her shoulder to slam the open doors shut because she felt like making noise. She wanted to scream, she wanted to continue to hit things, she wanted to---she wanted---
Her pace slowed as she approached the end of the lockers, a dim light showcasing her reflection in a mirror. Grimacing, she drew closer to the counter and forced herself to stare down the woman looking back at her. How had she let herself come to this? She was better than this, she was stronger than this! Or at least, that’s what she told herself. That’s what she told everyone else and wanted them so badly to believe.
A few tears slipped down her cheeks, though with how swollen her left eye was Carys couldn’t figure out how. She let out a few shaky breaths and fumbled for her wand to start the concealment charms she’d gotten so good at.
For all accounts and purposes, Tristan felt he was having a pretty bloody lovely day. Waking up next to a beautiful woman always made him feel like he was blessed, and that set him off on the right foot. Of course, stopping for an extra-whipped-cream and sugar mocha in the morning hadn’t hurt things, either. He’d been planning to get to the stadium a little early to set up a few drills for the team’s practice, which was brought him in far before he was expecting anyone else.
The sound of banging in the locker room set him on-guard -- they’d had a few problems with teenagers circumventing the wards and trying to come in to steal quidditch gear to sell as ‘collectibles’, and he was fully expecting a gaggle of pimply boys when he rounded the corner to the mirrors.
What he found was not at all what he was expecting. Once he registered Carys’ face, he took long strides toward her and furrowed his brows in concern.
“-- Carys, what in the seven hells happened?”
She seized up completely, her entire body struck frozen. Carys jumped out of the light and ducked her head, her breaths becoming harsh. No, no, no, she couldn’t let anyone see, that would---
“Get out of here, Bardera,” Carys spat, lifting the hood of her cloak over her head and backing away into the shadows. Her hands were shaking, but she could absolutely not allow Tristan, her teammate, her---friend, see her like this. That would--
Her lips twisted, as she turned away. “Practice is in an hour!” she barked over her shoulder. She had to get out of here, she absolutely could not be seen like this, because then---that would---
“GO!”
That was absolutely not the way that Carys would’ve been reacting to this if she’d gotten one of the bludgers to the face opening up the trunk or something silly like that. In fact, he recognized the way she was acting all too well, and he felt hot prickles chase up the back of his neck. It wasn’t just anxiety, it was -- anger. He had to swallow that down as he fisted his hands at his sides, decidedly not moving from the spot he’d rushed to but not moving closer to Carys, either.
“No,” he said quietly, glancing down and to the right a bit so he wouldn’t have to look at her while he spoke, “I’m not going anywhere. I came in early to set up some new drills that I read up on over the weekend.”
He shuffled one foot against the ground, scuffing up a few loose pebbles that he’d tracked in on his shoes. What was he supposed to say, now? He respected Carys too much to treat her like some sort of damsel, but if she was hurt -- if someone was hurting her, and it was who he thought it might be, then he couldn’t just do nothing.
“Oh.”
Carys faltered. That was it? That’s all he was going to say? Good. That was good, then, because now she could duck into the women’s loo, fix herself up, and be done with this. Tristan could dismiss what he saw with some bad lighting, because she would be happy as a flying pig in mud once the rest of the team showed up and practice began. It was how she managed to get through the tougher days; she sunk her anger so deep and low that it felt like she was watching herself perform her life from a far away distance. To keep a smile on her face for her son while in reality she was in the most miserable state of her life---
“That’s---good,” Carys said, nodding, unable to lift her gaze from the ground. Right, this was good. It was good. If it was so good, then why wasn’t she leaving? Why couldn’t she get herself to move from this spot? It was a good thing to have an escape route, wasn’t it?
An escape?
Tristan wasn’t going anywhere. Carys felt more hot tears prickle her eyes, but this time, for the first time in a long time, out of a sense of relief. Was she allowed an escape? She’d dug herself into such a hole, she’d let things continue, he’d made her feel like such shit--
“I’m sorry!” she blurted, feeling ashamed for yelling at her teammate. A sob burst out of her and she put a hand to her mouth, “Go--go practice!”
He was going to kill him. All the stupid things that he’d read up on the last time he’d had to deal with this, all the signs and symptoms flashing through his mind that were suddenly starting to piece together -- he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for not suspecting anything. When she apologized, when he heard the sound coming out of her, he couldn’t help his baser instincts. He’d always been a brother, and even when Nic hadn’t wanted him to be an overprotective clod, he was.
Tristan took a few cautious steps forward, palms up toward Carys like he’d approach a scared animal (or a scared child, maybe).
“It’s okay.” He tried to meet her eyes, making some attempt to search them for any hint of what he was supposed to be doing. They were friends, good friends -- he’d been there when she’d become Captain, and he’d tried his best to be supportive of the decision. Maybe that’s what he needed to do here, too.
“I -- could use some help setting up, you know. If you want.” The two of them on the pitch without anyone else there -- it seemed like as good a place to start as any.
Carys nodded; right, she needed to get on with the day as if everything was fine. She had to because dealing with anything would leave her paralyzed and stricken with such anxiety that she was sure she’d lose her mind. She’d been in a place like that before; when her father was killed Carys had spiraled so badly out of control that no one thought she’d ever stand on her own two feet again.
But look what she’d done. She’d made it out of the darkness that her father’s death and shadowed her entire life under. Her quidditch skills became world caliber, the Catapults, her father’s team, her team had made her their captain. She’d created a good life for herself. And now it was ruined.
Gone, because of selfish decisions. Gone because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut and had to antagonize and pester and---Carys had gone and ruined all that she’d worked for and look! Look what she was left with now! Hiding under long sleeves to hide the bruises and concealment spells to keep down the swelling---
“Shit,” she let out, putting her hand to her sore cheek. She couldn’t go onto the pitch without fixing her face--what if more of her team showed up? There’d be no way she could explain it away! Tristan would attempt to cover for her and that would grow more suspicion, so unless she--Carys stuck her hands into her pockets to search for her wand, and let out a groan, “Shit!”
She’d left her wand! She left her wand---fuck, he probably had her wand! Carys’ face screwed up as she realized the shit she was going to be in when she went home and she grabbed at her hair, only to cry out at the pain in her probably broken hand.
“Fuck!” she cried out, moving away from Tristan. How could--she’d been so good at this! It’d been weeks! Months! How---how could she have fucked up so bad? Carys crouched down, feeling as if she couldn’t move from this spot or else the world would come crashing on top of her.
Her voice was low, “He’s going to kill me.” She let out a shuddered breath, squeezing her eyes shut.
Well, apparently trying to distract Carys hadn’t been the way to go about things. He winced as she started to swear, noticing her scrambling in her pockets for what she could only assume was her wand. What else could have her worried that Drake was going to kill her? She was a competent witch, after all.
“Like hell he is,” Tristan all but growled, letting his fist ball up at his side again. His mind was running a mile a minute -- he couldn’t just leave Carys to her own devices, but he didn’t want to put her in harm’s way, either.
“You’re better than this, Carys -- better than him,” he said quietly, reaching a light hand out for her forearm, “And unlike that good-for-nothing, Parkin, you have friends who are going to help you. We’ll get you cleaned up and then go out to the pitch as usual. You can head to my place and I’ll go get your wand.”
If she was better than this, then why was she this? Why was she this cowering fool of a person that hid her true self from the world so that no one would ask questions, so that no one would pry? Her life had been flipped so harshly upside down when her father had died that Carys had spiraled out of control, unable to face the world or any of her problems. It was in her instinct to run and hide from her problems, to keep them to herself because if no one knew about them, then were they really that bad?
They were that bad. Some nights were worse than others, some nights things were just like their honeymoon, and some nights it was as if she lived alone in their vast home. James was spending so much time with his grandparents that Carys was scared he’d forget who she was. Her son was truly the only reason she kept up the facade; what would happen to James if things got too out of control.
Carys lifted her head to finally look at Tristan, shaking from her worries and embarrassment at being seen this way. She was supposed to be the fearless Carys, daughter of Dangerous Dai, it---she was better than this.
She took his hand, sniffling and trying to hold back her tears but unable to. As awful as she felt in this moment, as vulnerable and exposed, it felt good to not have to hide, even if it was just for a few moments. It was a relief, an actual breath of air.
“I broke his nose,” she managed, her lips twisting into a smirk.
“I’ll bet it looks better this way,” he countered easily, pleased at least that she looked like she was getting a grip on herself. He’d been sure that all she’d needed was a quick pep-talk -- it was easy to think of how hopeless things could get and how alone you were in things, and even if they were just taking a small first step it was better than nothing.
He too was worried about James, honestly -- the sweet boy deserved to have his mother back, and Carys deserved to have her life back. He glanced over his shoulder to where he’d dropped his bag of equipment and went to retrieve it with a small half-smile.
“C’mon. I’ve got a ton of hovering pilons to set out before the rest of the team gets here. Who do you think needs the most practice with zig-zags? They get stuck in the pilon field until they do a fifty successfully.” He wondered whether he could sneak out during practice without anyone noticing or whether he’d have to wait until they were headed home to go and get Carys’ wand. He preferred the former, but the latter would probably draw less suspicion.
“Probably the rooks,” Carys mumbled, thinking that Tristan’s gear was a good idea and that their rookies really needed to get initiated. It was a good workout, and it would distract the team enough that they would hopefully not notice her favoring her hand or the shimmer of the concealment spells. This could---work, and it could be the beginning of the end of this hidden madness.
She unconsciously leaned into him, exhausted from the night, the early morning, this surprise revelation, and really, her whole bloody life. Maybe she wouldn’t have to be so tired anymore.
