s f м (mullets) wrote in valesco,
@ 2013-03-12 01:28:00

Entry tags:

howell!
She had shoved the ragged wand box under and behind the stack of her favorite books on her desk, but the corner of her unwanted weekend delivery was jutting out just enough that it could still be seen if one looked hard enough. Which she did, so Saoirse had, yet again, taken to fixedly staring her package, wrestling with what, if anything, to do concerning its disturbing appearance. Would it be better or worse to give her broken wand the attention it undoubtably deserved? Give into the simmering terror it had immediately created within her, or continue to push any emotion concerning it down because she would not let anyone have that kind of power over her? It was even difficult to decide if she should contact Thomas, for that sprouted a whole new slew of issues her mind felt haggard at the thought of dealing with.

Howell shuffling into her bedroom broke Saoirse from her tangled thoughts, though only temporarily. She turned to look at him blankly, unable to truly take in what he was doing or saying, as her thoughts had become all consuming. Howell would... she would want him to tell her if something like this was happening to him, and she wanted to tell him... but, she didn't want to burden him, or anyone else for that matter, as he had just begun to feel better, and with his birthday on Thursday... that sounded silly. Those excuses were trite and downright thoughtless, and she knew she couldn't hold to them, but everything would be at lot easier if she could. She had to tell him, she must tell him; she could not hide behind trying to make this development insignificant, because it was not.

Taking in a shuddering breath, her gaze raked back across the room. Unaware to Howell other than that he was present in the room, Saoirse quietly slipped over to her desk. She pulled her lips back, then quickly reached to slip the box out of its hiding place.

"Howell," Saoirse started softly, now clutching the parcel in her hand tightly. She turned finally to look at him, seemingly much more aware of him, and their surroundings. "I'm going to tell you something, but I don't want you to get upset over it."

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howl
2013-03-12 11:50 pm UTC (link)

Howell was still easily winded and found himself turning in earlier and for longer than he ordinarily might have, but otherwise was recovering well from his feverish bout. He didn't have much experience with being ill, and had to say he didn't care for the experience at all. Due to said experience, he had missed his monthly visit with his family, all get-togethers with the Frobishers (though not just because of him, sadly), and Michal lurking in Howell's flat, waiting to pounce upon his return. When said wait exceeded Michal's attention span and temper, he'd dognapped Jago in retaliation, and hadn't that been a mess to sort out.

If the lesson was "Stay at your secret girlfriend's house less," it was one Howell hadn't learned, since he continued to half-live there since. Presently, he was nudging the door open to Saoirse's room, saying, ""Nona's chasing after Pig for something I think we're all better of not knowing what…" The announcement was as much an excuse to exercise as advise Saoirse on the potential need for rescuing her pet from undue torture and experimentation, " to use in something-or-other for the hospital, I wonder if we sh—" Howell trailed off, noticing her unusual dazed expression.

He eyed the box in her hands wearily, then looked at her face. While those words were not usually something one wanted to hear ever, they seemed particularly troublesome when spoken by his girlfriend. Howell thought he should probably be sitting for whatever she was about to say next, but didn't. Instead, he rubbed at the back of his neck in slight discomfort and dropped his hands awkwardly by his sides, with the feeling that he should be bracing for impact.

"I will try," he said, though doubt laced his voice. "I can't pr—Yeah, I'll try."

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mullets
2013-03-13 01:05 am UTC (link)

She frowned, deciding that his reaction didn't make her more willing to share this development. Though, Saoirse supposed, she could have attempted to sound much less ominous, now that she was playing her words back in her head, for that didn't lend to a casual response.

In an attempt to cut the now mounting tension, Saoirse shrugged one of her shoulders, and jerkily handed over the wand box with her other hand. At first, a part of her thought that her old wand must have been cursed, but after some preliminary tests it proved to nothing more than a snapped piece of wood. She supposed that should have been relieving, but in reality it only perturbed her more concerning its peculiarness and startlingly frank message.

"This came in the post on Sunday," Saoirse supplied, retreating her hands so that they could hold the opposite arm's elbows. And, because she didn't think it right for him to know such a small detail about her, or leave him to assume, she then added quietly, "It's my old wand."

And then, because she felt an increasing anxiety within her, Saoirse thought it best to speak again, if at the very least to make it appear like the most casual of conversation topics was occurring between them. "I haven't spoken with Thomas yet," she finished, and because she no longer wished to sadly look upon the remnants of her tainted wand, Saoirse instead shifted her gaze to Howell's face.

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howl
2013-03-17 02:30 am UTC (link)

The conversation began far from what he was expecting, so it was with considerable bewilderment that Howell accepted the box from Saoirse. Bewilderment which only grew upon seeings it contents. It was not until some moments after she had spoken that her words sank in and he could make sense of the pieces he was staring at. His eyes didn't lift from the wooden shards, but he no longer saw them. Instead, Howell had uncomfortably clear visions of a drab St Mungo's room and of a fragile, pale girl whom he had just begun to know, curled up atop the bedding.

The sickness and worry he had felt then, when they had barely known each other and she was more another victim to read about in the papers, was a laughable relief compared to the fear which lanced through his stomach now to think about that month. "From the summer?" he asked tightly, his knuckles turning white around his grip on the package."When you were—" Howell stumbled over the next word, unable to bring himself to say it though the word echoed harshly within his own head. "—taken?" he finally settled on.

Finally, he raised his gaze from the box to look at Saoirse, expression frozen impassively. Slowly, Howell asked, "Who sent this to you?"

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mullets
2013-03-17 07:24 pm UTC (link)

"Yes," she replied heavily, experiencing deeper and deeper regret with every passing second. While Howell was seemingly keeping to his almost-promise of not becoming overly or visually worried, the lack of emotion on his face only felt like a thinly-veiled cover to her. But Saoirse ignored it, accepted it even as something positive, because if he did begin to show his worry, then her fears could no longer go unmerited; it would prove that this wasn't something to overlook and indeed a weighty development to bear.

Her brow furrowed deeper, and Saoirse dropped her hands to her sides. And if she had to accept this, then that meant... having to remember... she would admit, there was not much that Saoirse remembered from her missing days. Just flashes of Thomas, shiny objects, and experiencing pain... and a man's face. The man's face, the one that had been responsible for... her eyes briefly trailed down toward the insides of her wrists, absorbed with the faint, but still present, scars there.

"The man that snapped it, I suppose," Saoirse finally responded, having taken her time to answer. "It was poorly wrapped, and there was no note so..." she trailed off, finding that she didn't know what else to say. Or, that she had too many thoughts flying through her mind and wouldn't allow herself to entertain the ones that came with emotion, which was all of them.

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howl
2013-03-17 07:59 pm UTC (link)

He was silent for a long time, his gaze drawn unwillingly to the contents of the box. There was nothing Howell wanted less than to be holding it, but he was reluctant to set it down because, perhaps foolishly, he didn't want Saoirse to have to handle it. He of all people knew how able she was—had she not just solely nursed her boyfriend and her best friend through a fever epidemic?—but there was little he could do to stop the sometimes psychotically protective instincts that flared up around her.

"What do you want to do with this?" He hoped Saoirse's answer involved Aurors or Hit-wizards, or that he could gently but effectively steer her in such a direction. "I think it would be a good idea to…" Howell grew distracted when he glanced back at her and saw her eyes dart downward, then bit off entirely when he saw what she looked at. Was the same person responsible for the wand responsible for those marks on her? He'd seen them before, and he'd wondered, but had never pressed.

They were two quiet people with more than their fair share of scars, literal and figurative. Howell respected the boundaries protecting those to a certain point, because he had his own demons to battle, some he'd won against, and some he'd locked up in sloppy prisons to face again another time. One day, he believed they would both be able to tear all those walls down, but it was enough for now that they were together and safe. And he had every intention of keeping it that way, which was why useless anger and worry swamped him, his jaw snapping shut and his brows pulling together darkly while he turned his face away.

"I'm sorry," Howell said finally, amazed he had yet to destroy the package containing the wand shards with his grip. "I'm trying not to be upset, but it is—difficult."

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mullets
2013-03-17 10:11 pm UTC (link)

What did she want to do? Her mind continued to blank, effectively being unable to make a decision like that. She supposed the right thing to do would be to involve Hit-Wizards, contact the Ministry and effectively wash her hands from the matter, but that did not seem to be an effective route to her. The Ministry had done little to nothing concerning their return (to what she understood), and they certainly had not caught these people, even a little under a year later so would it even be worth the time? Would they even care?

Saoirse thought, vaguely, of stating these thoughts, but those words promptly died in her throat as Howell spoke again. She didn't want him to feel like she was forcing him to without how he felt, or what he was thinking just because she had asked him to. Saoirse quickly tore her gaze away from her arms and back to his face. And it almost startled her, how much it struck her, with the amount of emotion present on it took over her.

She struggled, for a moment, unsure of what to say or what to do, except for expressing to him that she didn't want to hold him back.

"You can be upset," she relented softly, and then felt a strange effect within her occur. Her shoulders sagged, and her heart suddenly felt heavy, like it could bare not a thing more. The terror which she had so expertly lidded since Sunday began its steady ascent toward her forethoughts, and before Saoirse could stop it, it overtook her.

"Howell," she choked suddenly, unable to withhold her thoughts and fears any longer. Something like tears formed in her eyes, but unable to without anything else, Saoirse ignored them.

"This scares me, it scares me and I don't want to be scared." She pointed at the box in his hands, voice ripe with issues unresolved for the past year. "So I thought if you didn't get worried, then I wouldn't have to feel like this. That I would be--"

Saoirse stopped, feeling a wetness on her face. Shakily, she reached her hand up to press her fingers to her cheeks. She had begun to cry? In front of--- completely seized by this development, Saoirse quickly spun her back to Howell and unrooted herself from where she was to.... dart into her closet. Pushing her back into its corner, she slid to the ground and let the tight proximity of the three walls help calm her.

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howl
2013-03-17 11:53 pm UTC (link)

For a moment, Howell did nothing but stand and stare. He hadn't actually believed what had happened, before the guilt washed over him. If he didn't get worried, she wouldn't have the feel like this…? He was the reason for those tears? Then, with his heart firmly gripped somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, his eyes darted back down to the box. There were times he just needed patience with Saoirse, to be unwavering in what he wanted but to also give her the space to come around on her own terms, in her own time. Today, he thought, right now, the hell with that. As much for his own comfort as he imagined it was for hers, he threw the box aside without a second thought and started after her.

Ducking in, he could see Saoirse curled in the corner and there was a strange, muted violence to the scene which simply sliced at him. It was the most emotion he had ever seen wrung from her, and that included more than one bedside visit when she was in St Mungo's. In any other situation, he might have been at a loss of what to do because of her tears, but his only focus now had to be Saoirse, had to be making sure she was all right—which she plainly wasn't.

On his knees beside her, Howell raised his hand to the side of her face, nudging it towards him. He couldn't let her hide away or shut him out this time. He didn't want to quiet her or stem her tears—perhaps it was finally time for those—but she didn't have to be alone, not if she was afraid. "If I can be upset," he whispered, stroking his thumb along her wet cheek, willing her to look him in the eye, "you can be scared."

Brushing back hair from her face, he swallowed around the thick lump in his throat at seeing her like this. "It's all right." He had thought them quiet people, with quiet emotions, but he wondered now if that wasn't because they had an insistence on burying anything stronger deep in the sand.

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mullets
2013-03-18 02:04 am UTC (link)

It felt like she couldn't breathe, and her head had begun to pound so harshly it felt like it would crack in half at any moment. Chills ran up and down her skin as her body shook, and while she had thought the dim lighting would be calming, it only seemed drive her more into feeling out of control of herself. Why was this happening, why, suddenly, now were all these flashes, pieces of what had happened to her all coming? Her tears continued to fall, and whether she was crying for the past pain she had endured, or the terror of what could potentially come, Saoirse was unsure.

Gasping for large breaths of air, she held her arms close to her chest with her eyes shut tight--- until a gentle hand brushed up against the side of her face and guide her dropped gaze away from her knees. With eyes open wide Saoirse momentarily quieted as she fully stared at Howell. Her embarrassment concerning him quite possibly being one of the few, if only for a very long time, people to witness her crying had not yet struck her, so she spoke freely.

"But I don't want to be," she let out feebly, in an almost child-like manner. "I don't like how it feels, I don't want to give them the satisfaction of doing this to me." Saoirse immediately felt dumb for thinking it, let alone saying it, but it was the truth.

"Nothing's alright," she let out miserably, feeling lost again with Howell's final words. How was anything alright? She was currently paralyzed in her closet because the people, person, that had kidnapped and tortured her under a year ago had mailed her old wand back like the foreboding message of darkness that it was. And they was winning, she was letting them win---

Saoirse pushed herself back into the wall forcefully to remind herself that it was still there. Desperate now for Howell's embrace, but unable to move much at all, she released her arms from within their hiding place between her knees and her chest to quickly find his free hand. Both of them held onto his one tightly like her life depended on it for a few moments, before pulling it closer to her with the hopes that his body would follow.

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howl
2013-03-18 02:50 am UTC (link)

He couldn't have stopped himself from being drawn to her even if he'd wanted to. The thought of where they were, cloistered away in a dimly lit cupboard, mattered not at all. He didn't have the heart, or the strength, he admitted, to move her from that spot on the cramped floor. Instead, he pressed closer, fumbling in the dimness to half-scoop Saoirse into his lap as his hands came around her tightly.

As Howell rested his cheek on the top of her head, stroking his hands up and down whatever part of her they could reach, he felt useless. Useless and helpless, with his fear and panic steadily turning to rage at the idea of what she'd had to suffer, that she was suffering again and he couldn't stop it. Impotent rage that he hadn't had cause to feel in a long, long time. The slight vibrations of Saoirse shuddering in his arms fought through that red haze enough to ground him, to remind him to let it go because there was nothing productive he could do. Though Howell wanted to, and the words were on the tip of his tongue, he couldn't promise her everything was going to be all right, he couldn't tell her he would never let anything happen to her. Because everything wasn't, and something would.

"You'll get through this," was what he could say to her instead. Because when things hadn't been all right, when they couldn't stop them from happening, they had gotten through it. In their own sad and horrible ways, Saoirse and he had the stamp of survival on them. "I promise you that we will get through this."

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mullets
2013-03-19 07:02 pm UTC (link)

The unadulterated tears she now had no control in stopping continued to fall, and in an attempt to hide them, Saoirse pushed her face into Howell's chest. She bunched the fabric of his front in her hands, still desperately needing contact despite feeling his arms around her and his hands seeking to comfort her in anyway they could. While the effort was appreciated, she was unsure any amount of tight holding, or the smallest closet in the world, could help her currently feel less terrified.

And, then, Saoirse begin to cry harder at his words, as they gripped at her heart in ways she could not discern. Had they moved her, or weighted her down further with the verbal acknowledgement effectively dragged Howell into this? Perhaps a bit of both. Or, even more significantly, did they sieze her so tightly because they made her realize she had much more to loose than the time before?

In attempt to nod her head feebly, which resulted to be just a plain poor attempt, instead Saoirse curled closer into him still, facing as much of herself as she could against him. Saoirse knew she would endure this, like she had all other difficulties in her life, but knowing better, she understood that making it through an ordeal didn't leave you without scarred remnants. Going through it in itself... the thought exhausted her. It emotionally drained her, and after a while it seemed her physical exhaustion met her emotional one, crying herself into quietness.

"I believe you," she murmured tiredly, as soon as she could manage, and in spite of feeling quite the urge to smack him for almost partly being behind her emotional display. But it was a weak annoyance, one that didn't last and had no merit, and passed as easily as she did leaning in more comfortably to his protective arms. Closing her eyes, Saoirse took a final long, shuddering breath before willing herself into sleep.

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