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he’s never felt so insignificant in his entire life. that was the first thought to ring through his mind upon opening his eyes. he was alone, not a soul left in their room and the silence was already getting too loud, the ringing in his ears only ever broken by his pulse picking up for a single second and a beat vibrating through his brain every so often.
he doesn’t know what day it is. he woke up late, he’s aware of as much from the way the sun’s normally soft, golden rays are currently painting crimson red streaks onto the horizon. his mouth feels dry, as if someone poured an entire desert down his throat while he was off in dreamland. ‘dreamland’ he thinks, as if the back of his eyelids weren’t the only things he sees in his sleep nowadays.
he’s weak. his eyes are puffy and wet, his face mushy, having become one with his pillow for the past god-knows-how-many hours from making no movement in his sleep. the sheets are sticking to his skin and there’s a headache brewing at the top of his head. he feels wrong. hot and cold at the same time, yet completely numb to the physical effects of his self deprivation. he wants to take a shower, to feel clean again but the fear of washing himself down the drain as soon as he steps into the bathroom still won’t let him move a single muscle.
he thinks of the time peter found him that way, nearly a month ago. the panic in his expression when james, only barely coherent, made him promise never to speak a word of it to anyone. and he hasn’t, in fear of losing his best friend entirely. he didn’t ask about it again either, yet catching himself searching for any signs of harm on the other boy constantly. like a day later, when james got hammered and broke a vase full of water, cursing at his own clumsiness and nearly splitting his finger in half whilst attempting to clean the scene up. for a while he just sat there, watching the thick, dark fluid flowing out of his hand mix into the water and stain his trousers upon sinking to the ground. he wished he could cry. anger and embarrassment ate away at his already guilt ridden mind because whatever happened to him to end up this way? who died and made him the king of despair? his friends; tortured, nearly in pieces, hurt by their own families and hunted by their pasts deserve someone who can be there for them at all times, someone with the care of a mother and the trust of a lover, unbroken and unfaltering.
and james wasn’t that, not anymore.
he couldn’t help the thoughts of finally slipping away at the top of the astronomy tower constantly tickle his mind and jump from one corner to the other like they’re running away from any happiness or comfort he could find himself surrounded by. he couldn’t help feeling helpless.
even now, when he can hear music playing outside their dorm and warm laughter echoing through their side of the castle. it should be nostalgic; he should be thinking of his very first day at hogwarts, their first prank on the slytherins or the first time him and his friends really opened up to each other. but he’s not. instead he dreads the moment when the other boys arrive again and start talking loudly, start asking questions because he doesn’t think he can muster up the energy to even just shoot them a bright smile and say nothing at all.
he distinctly wonders where they’re off to anyway. for days on end, they’ve been trying to force him outside, pulling him off the bed by his ankles or pushing him up into a sitting position and each time, he swallows his annoyance down and huffs out a laugh. he puts on a smile, musters up a voice that is most gentle and sincere and tells them that he’s tired. that his endless quidditch practices are finally getting to him and he simply needs his sleep. he knows he’s full of shit when he tries to preach for his own wellbeing. he knows it’s all just one big lie and even if nothing else was able to cheer him up, his pathetic attempts at staying locked up in his own head wouldn’t fail to make him burst out into laughter. whether they believe him or not, he’s not sure. more and more, though, he can feel the air stop flowing for a moment as remus gives him a curious look - that which turns sadder and sadder each time - and pats him on the back; sirius, small and quiet, nothing like his usual self, chews on his nails and refuses to look at him. right. so maybe they do know. maybe he just doesn’t care. he’s lost control over his own emotions and attitude a long time ago. he has, he thinks, lost control over everything.
well, almost everything. except for one.
he wraps a hand around his wrist and to his aggravation, he finds his thumb and pinky reach each other without an issue. he hates it. he’s proud. he despises it because, really, how much lower can he go before the people around him start noticing it? but for merlin’s sake, how he loves it.
it started off as something small and insignificant, only trying to keep his perfect golden boy image up. it worked, he was satisfied for a while and the people noticed him. except he very quickly lost the ability to tell the difference between what is enough and what isn’t, the line between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ blending into their surroundings. he never did see it as a problem, too many other things to deal with for it to become a priority and honestly, it’s not that he thinks he needs to be a pile of nothing in order to find himself attractive. sure, he’s always cared about his looks, more than the average - that’s what he works out for, day and night - but lately, it’s truly all about control. it’s about whether he deserves to be fueled or not. whether he reached a new goal in his routine, whether he felt like he was able to properly help someone out that day, if he cleaned the entire potter manor and been an acceptable enough son to his parents. he’s not sure if it should be considered a reward or discipline. he doesn’t know if he’s found a way to hurt himself as punishment instead of relief or if he’s just addicted to it now. either way, he’s content.
so when marlene asks if he’s eaten already, he lies and lists all of the things he hadn’t eaten that day. so when he runs 10 kilometers in the morning and by the end his knees buckle underneath him, collapsing against the cold, hard ground, blurry vision making his stomach churn, james pays no mind to it. instead, he looks for the constellations in the stars dancing in front of his eyes. he looks for one star in particular; he looks for its stolen kisses in the night and eyelashes brushing against warm, reddened cheeks as its brightness dissipates the dark spots swimming before his vision and brings him back down to earth.
by the time he manages to crawl out of bed, the moon’s gentle touch is caressing his face through the window. his head is swimming and he nearly trips in the half empty bottle of jack’s that’s been laying next to his bed. the motion stops him in his tracks and he picks up the beverage, weighing it in his hands and swallowing hard at the sight of the bitter liquid bouncing off the glass as it shakes between his palms. and this feels good. this gives him a purpose. he feels guided.
he feels saved.
the tower is an infuriating place. he grew up in it, they all did. he’d spent several nights in a row pent up in this place, talking his loved ones through some of the most horrifying experiences he’s ever heard of. he lived here and loved here. and here he is again now, destroying everything he’s built, kicking the empty bottle and letting its clank echo through the building, his body shivering with a newfound excitement.
it’s not long before a shadow of his deepest desires start pushing him around, shaking him by the shoulders, desperately trying to get through to him because-
“you need to fix this, james.” he says, voice stern. his face is stuck in a frown and his eyes are glistening in a-
“fix it, james.” he’s out of his mind, this isn’t really-
“fix it.”
“do it, james.”
“you have to fix it, james, do it. fix this.”
his brain feels foggy, nothing seems to make sense to him and every word following each other gets lost quicker and quicker in his brain and it starts to feel like his face is going numb, like he’d be able to peel his own skin off without any sensation and there are several beats that he thinks his heart might’ve skipped but it’s okay. it’s okay. it’s all okay. his vision is a mix of colors, no shapes are recognizable to his eyes but he thinks it’s fine. he feels cold, freezing, there’s no feeling left in his fingers so he reaches out to touch regulus’ face because regulus is the only thing that he is sure of.
but he’s not really there. he never was.
and james has already fallen.