melancholy
Die Hoffnung schon erfüllt die Brust...
Title: Fighter
Summary: Bellatrix is tired of constantly disappointing people.
Characters/Pairings: Bellatrix Lestrange
Genre: Drama. With lots of Angst.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; Dark-ish
Word Count: 1250
Summary: Bellatrix is tired of constantly disappointing people.
Characters/Pairings: Bellatrix Lestrange
Genre: Drama. With lots of Angst.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; Dark-ish
Word Count: 1250
FIGHTER
She did not exactly know when she had started to hurt herself. When she had started to cut through her skin, to let the knife irrupt to her flesh. To watch her blood flowing, streaming down her arms. When she had started to wait for the pain.
She stared at her arms, carefully stroking over the scars the knife’s blade had left, and then closed her eyes. Tried to concentrate on what she felt.
But how... How could she still feel, now, after all that had happened? Now, that it was not the time to feel... Not the time to show weakness.
There had never been time for weakness in her life, not for her, the fighter. Yes, she had always been a fighter. Had fought for her rights, had fought for what she believed in, had thought for the people she loved. But she was so useless... Had disappointed everyone who had once cared about her.
Her parents, who had had great expectations in their eldest daughter, her husband, who loved her since their time at school, and her younger sisters, who had needed her more than anything else. Especially Narcissa, her sweet, fragile sister Narcissa had hardly been able to bear the pressure, that was put on her by her parents, lying heavily on her tender shoulders.
They had blamed Bellatrix, when Andromeda married that muggle boy, had blamed no one but her, for not taking care of her sisters, like she was supposed to do.
Even later, when all thre daughters were already married, her parents blamed Bellatrix for everything that happend, like they always blamed her.
And Rodolphus... Rodolphus, who still adored her, now, after all these years, after all that had happened, who still had hopes... She had been told about her duties as a wife since she was a child, had done everything to fulfill them. But she had failed. Of course she had failed, like she always failed when she wanted nothing more than to do it right.
How much had she desired to just be able to love him, as much as he loved her, to at least develop feelings for him... To bear his children.
Yes, she had disappointed everyone, desperately trying to please, especially her family. But most of all, she had disappointed herself. How often she had wished to just be able to run away, to leave everything behind, and to escape the expectations everyone, even herself, seemed to be having on her. She knew more than anyone else that she was useless, nothing but a failure.
She kept on looking at her arms, that were smeared in fresh, scarlet blood, and started to smile. Observing, focussing on what happened, everytime she hurt herself, made her calm down in a very special, but dreadful way. But the pain was missing. Sometimes she wondered, if she even was alive... But yes. Yes, she was alive, and the only reason that kept her breathing was him. Him, the Dark Lord, for whom she was willing to sacrifice everything. He was the only one trusting her, relying on her, the only one to give her the feeling that she was needed. That she was important.
She even went to Azkaban for him, for over ten years. Did not fear to be locked up in a place everyone feared to be taken to, that had broken so many people, where almost everyone had become insane, not able to bear the happenings there.
But she was not insane. Had not lost her mind, like everyone thought after she had escaped from prison. Of course Azkaban had changed her, she was not the Bellatrix everyone knew from when they were young. Yes, it had changed her, she’d lie if she said it hadn’t. Changed. But it had not made her mad.
Azkaban had been a shelter for her, the only place where she was not forced to worry about her duties, about what to do right or wrong. Where no one cared about her.
She had sustained everything. The screams at night, the loneliness... Even the dementors. But as if the dementors had been able to harm her... As if she had ever been lucky enough to feel happiness. She did not even sense their presence, so why... Why would she care about them?
And the loneliness... The loneliness had saved her life. The forbiddance to see or to talk to anyone she loved had taken all pressure from her at once, had given her the opportunity to think. To think about everything. Her husband, her family... About what she had done wrong, if they would visit her if they were allowed to. No... No, of course they wouldn’t. How could she be foolish enough to think they’d care enough about her to be willing to visit her in such a dreadful place...
Yes, Azkaban had been her shelter. Her place to hide. To escape. But the Dark Lord had called her. And she knew that there was no chance to not obey his order.
So she did what she was supposed to do, like always. Like nothing had changed. Now, she was free again. But felt more trapped than ever.
The knife, firmly lead by her hand, cut into her flesh again, this time deeper than ever before. And then she realized... Realized that the pain, she was so desperately waiting for, had always been there. Not caused by the knife, the self-inflicted injuries, not physically sensible. It was hidden, but at the same time present enough to immediately kill her.
It took her only a few seconds to realize that the door to her room had opened, that Narcissa was now standing right in front of her, looking at the blood on the floor, her eyes wide open with horror. Bellatrix rose, quickly hid her arm under the long, black sleeve, but it was too late. Her sister had taken her arm, quietly, was now about to roll up her sleeve again. She stared at the numerous wounds, fresh, some of them still bleeding, but already dirty, building a dreadful contrast to her ivory coloured skin. Her hands started to tremble, but she did not think of easening her grip. Not until she stepped back, had a brief look into Bellatrix’ eyes. And then she slapped her, slapped her right into the face, as quickly and unexpectedly, that she could hardly supprress a scream.
"How dare you... " Narcissa whispered, her voice harsh and cold. She turned away again, and left the room, slamming the door behind her back.
Bellatrix closed her eyes, barely able to breathe, one hand lying on her chest. She had done it again... Had disappointed her again, like she always did when she wanted nothing more than to just do everything right. Had failed, like she always failed and broke her sister’s heart, while she set hers on fire at the same time.
But she would go on. Go on, like she was always going on, pretending insanity to have a chance to escape everyday’s life, at least for a while. Would keep on fighting like she always kept on fighting, bearing the pain it caused as long as she could. The pain, that grew stronger and stronger with every minute passing... That just seemed to be waiting for her to surrender. But she’d never surrender. Never. She was a fighter, had always been a fighter, and fighters never gave up. Because giving up would mean to die.
She stared at her arms, carefully stroking over the scars the knife’s blade had left, and then closed her eyes. Tried to concentrate on what she felt.
But how... How could she still feel, now, after all that had happened? Now, that it was not the time to feel... Not the time to show weakness.
There had never been time for weakness in her life, not for her, the fighter. Yes, she had always been a fighter. Had fought for her rights, had fought for what she believed in, had thought for the people she loved. But she was so useless... Had disappointed everyone who had once cared about her.
Her parents, who had had great expectations in their eldest daughter, her husband, who loved her since their time at school, and her younger sisters, who had needed her more than anything else. Especially Narcissa, her sweet, fragile sister Narcissa had hardly been able to bear the pressure, that was put on her by her parents, lying heavily on her tender shoulders.
They had blamed Bellatrix, when Andromeda married that muggle boy, had blamed no one but her, for not taking care of her sisters, like she was supposed to do.
Even later, when all thre daughters were already married, her parents blamed Bellatrix for everything that happend, like they always blamed her.
And Rodolphus... Rodolphus, who still adored her, now, after all these years, after all that had happened, who still had hopes... She had been told about her duties as a wife since she was a child, had done everything to fulfill them. But she had failed. Of course she had failed, like she always failed when she wanted nothing more than to do it right.
How much had she desired to just be able to love him, as much as he loved her, to at least develop feelings for him... To bear his children.
Yes, she had disappointed everyone, desperately trying to please, especially her family. But most of all, she had disappointed herself. How often she had wished to just be able to run away, to leave everything behind, and to escape the expectations everyone, even herself, seemed to be having on her. She knew more than anyone else that she was useless, nothing but a failure.
She kept on looking at her arms, that were smeared in fresh, scarlet blood, and started to smile. Observing, focussing on what happened, everytime she hurt herself, made her calm down in a very special, but dreadful way. But the pain was missing. Sometimes she wondered, if she even was alive... But yes. Yes, she was alive, and the only reason that kept her breathing was him. Him, the Dark Lord, for whom she was willing to sacrifice everything. He was the only one trusting her, relying on her, the only one to give her the feeling that she was needed. That she was important.
She even went to Azkaban for him, for over ten years. Did not fear to be locked up in a place everyone feared to be taken to, that had broken so many people, where almost everyone had become insane, not able to bear the happenings there.
But she was not insane. Had not lost her mind, like everyone thought after she had escaped from prison. Of course Azkaban had changed her, she was not the Bellatrix everyone knew from when they were young. Yes, it had changed her, she’d lie if she said it hadn’t. Changed. But it had not made her mad.
Azkaban had been a shelter for her, the only place where she was not forced to worry about her duties, about what to do right or wrong. Where no one cared about her.
She had sustained everything. The screams at night, the loneliness... Even the dementors. But as if the dementors had been able to harm her... As if she had ever been lucky enough to feel happiness. She did not even sense their presence, so why... Why would she care about them?
And the loneliness... The loneliness had saved her life. The forbiddance to see or to talk to anyone she loved had taken all pressure from her at once, had given her the opportunity to think. To think about everything. Her husband, her family... About what she had done wrong, if they would visit her if they were allowed to. No... No, of course they wouldn’t. How could she be foolish enough to think they’d care enough about her to be willing to visit her in such a dreadful place...
Yes, Azkaban had been her shelter. Her place to hide. To escape. But the Dark Lord had called her. And she knew that there was no chance to not obey his order.
So she did what she was supposed to do, like always. Like nothing had changed. Now, she was free again. But felt more trapped than ever.
The knife, firmly lead by her hand, cut into her flesh again, this time deeper than ever before. And then she realized... Realized that the pain, she was so desperately waiting for, had always been there. Not caused by the knife, the self-inflicted injuries, not physically sensible. It was hidden, but at the same time present enough to immediately kill her.
It took her only a few seconds to realize that the door to her room had opened, that Narcissa was now standing right in front of her, looking at the blood on the floor, her eyes wide open with horror. Bellatrix rose, quickly hid her arm under the long, black sleeve, but it was too late. Her sister had taken her arm, quietly, was now about to roll up her sleeve again. She stared at the numerous wounds, fresh, some of them still bleeding, but already dirty, building a dreadful contrast to her ivory coloured skin. Her hands started to tremble, but she did not think of easening her grip. Not until she stepped back, had a brief look into Bellatrix’ eyes. And then she slapped her, slapped her right into the face, as quickly and unexpectedly, that she could hardly supprress a scream.
"How dare you... " Narcissa whispered, her voice harsh and cold. She turned away again, and left the room, slamming the door behind her back.
Bellatrix closed her eyes, barely able to breathe, one hand lying on her chest. She had done it again... Had disappointed her again, like she always did when she wanted nothing more than to just do everything right. Had failed, like she always failed and broke her sister’s heart, while she set hers on fire at the same time.
But she would go on. Go on, like she was always going on, pretending insanity to have a chance to escape everyday’s life, at least for a while. Would keep on fighting like she always kept on fighting, bearing the pain it caused as long as she could. The pain, that grew stronger and stronger with every minute passing... That just seemed to be waiting for her to surrender. But she’d never surrender. Never. She was a fighter, had always been a fighter, and fighters never gave up. Because giving up would mean to die.
