Get out }{ Dominik

[Diomedea Rosier]

The fingers that locked around the cigarette did so with resignation, and their bones were pressed out of the pressure she was putting in them to control her fury. Her lips, pale, unmoving, tense; her eyes fixated and intense; her jaw strong. Her feet standing tough on the ground, immobilised, waiting. The blood channeled throughout her body in waves of loathing, and revulsion. The muscles in her neck rigid, and stiff, hard-pressed, a vein popping out, again in her endeavour to muster her fury. The smoke flew into the air and danced into the wind in circles and different other shapes, surrounding her first, and then mixing with the breeze that had strengthened ever since the sun had set. The stars were languidly staring from the sky, but no light ever reached her. Her inability to calm herself, tantamount to the proportions of her hatred, made her even more insane, and insanity could not be stretched any more; she had come at the end of it, at the end of the thread, and she would fall.

She exhaled fume from her nose and mouth, and it dissolved into the cold atmosphere of that April’s evening. The people were indoors, having dinner, but she never wanted to be in the same place with him; and even the classes that had previously been so significant for her she had been absent from lately, as much as she possibly could. And when she attended any, the ritual was the same. She had changed, it was obvious. In classes she had ceased taking the first seat in the first row of desks, and now stood at the very end of the classroom, writing manically – but what was she writing? She did not seem concentrated, or caring about the subject. She was distant, remote, in her own world, and going through her own struggles. She kept writing not notes but bloated blotches of ink, saying again the same and the same. I’m not Jason. I’m not Jason. I’m not Jason. This is what he had told her; that he was not Jason, that he would never hurt her. But he had hurt her. Her face while writing that in class was fierce, almost unrecognizable, as despair was sown into it now irretrievably, now frantically and without an end. She forced the quill into the paper, and it tore the yellowed roll of parchment; it was the only thing she was concentrated on.
But he had been Jason. He had been Jason all along, and he had betrayed her just like Jason had betrayed Medea.

Why were women so vulnerable at such things? This is what she had attempted to avoid all her life, and now it had happened. It turned out she had taken the wrong pathway, not just observed it. How could she have been so blind?

She stood on the bench in the courtyard, the torches hang up against the stone walls and lit, but she was enshrouded in darkness. She was not thinking of anything, but she did not have to think; she was feeling instead, and it hurt. It hurt like hell.

[Dominik Michaels]

Dominik was wandering, he often did when he was not in the mood to eat anything. The cooler weather did that to him at times, he would lose his appetite, but not for long. He would be hungry again sometime later this evening and would eat a snack from his little stash in his dorm room. Or he would sneak into the kitchen and make something to eat. Something along those lines. So, right now, with him not being hungry, he was wandering aimlessly through the different areas of the school. Things looked so different to him now, he was no longer an outcast, he had his section of friends, he had people he cared about. He had his family back, his mother and father had long since met up with his aunt and uncle, they had spent many nights seeing each other, it was wonderful to have his best friend back, after so many years.

What bothered him though, was the fact that Danielle didn't know that Risi was sick. She was not to be told either, which was hard for Dominik because he didn't want to keep secrets from her, he wanted their relationship to be free of such issues. He wanted to be honest with her from the get go. He licked his lips and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. His cousin and her parents had begged him not to say anything to Dani, so he promised he would not. Risi said that she would tell Dani when the time was right, but when would this be? When Risi was on her death bed? Dominik did not want to think about that. He let his mind find something else, this time it was Sage Doloran... a friend of Risi's and a good guy, Dom could tell Risi was starting to like him. Where could this go though? With her days being numbered?

Dominik's mind went blank for a moment when he saw a flash of blond. He raised a brow, now seeing he was in the courtyard. Who else was out here other than he? He walked toward the area he saw the flash and saw a figure looming in the darkness. Who was it? It looked like a woman, girl, female... student. Whatever. He stepped closer, his eyes catching onto the slight green on her uniform. Slytherin. Oh boy. He came around and looked at her, silently, she could ignore him if she wished, but for some reason he could tell she was rather upset. Like she hated herself. He swallowed and walked toward her, seeing the cigarette in her hand. Normally he would leave her be, but something inside of him told him to stay, to see if she was alright, house rivalry or not. She looked upset. "Uhm, are you alright?" he asked her.

[Diomedea Rosier]

Her very pale, thin and long fingers brushed against her neck nervously, shaking, as she fixed her blouse, the fingers of her other hand grasping the cigarette and smoking, taking deep drags, over-filling her lungs with fume, and exhaling a portion of it through her nose and mouth, as it continued dissolving into the air. The nicotine pierced through her system mercilessly, but she could not at the moment feel the poison, but only the burning sensation which she welcomed inside her, to take hold of and drown her. She hoped it would drown her, but God knew she was afraid of death. Then again, however daunting and terrifying it was, perhaps that was a better choice than having to endure this new situation; utter crap and excrement. Even if she went away, away from it all, she could not endure the thought of it. It was beyond her capacity, beyond her tolerance, and ability of acceptance. She could not do it. Without him she realised he was her anti-drug; now that she did not have him she knew at even greater lengths how much he had meant to her, to have him in her life. How much purpose and reason he gave her, how much meaning, and wonder. How much peace, and balance; endless eternal power that came from his strength, and his belief in her. Had they all gone? Had they vanished into the air, without any intention or perhaps even destiny of coming back? He had not believed in destiny; he had told her he believed because of her, because of what they had together, something which had ceased, which had writhed with the first winter’s rain without any prospect of blossoming again, for what is dead stays dead, and that is the rule of nature.

She should stop thinking about him! About bloody Tristain, and his bloody sorry-arse relationship. How could she be so pathetic and waste her time away simply to think of him? Was she an idiot? A hopeless fool? Everything she would have hated herself to be? She had such prospects, such a bright future ahead of her, such a wonderful chance at a heavily promising career; she was beautiful, and young, and shone with life, and aspirations. What had happened to them? What an intolerable bore her new self was, she believed; this was not Diomedea, this was not her! She could slap herself one right after the other if she could, but all such bright thoughts could not at this moment persuade her of the current situation. She was certain it was all a process she had to go through; a heavy burden to guide her painfully to maturity, where she would finally learn to trace the years, control the whims of her mind, and face the world for what it truly was, and not for how she had it in her mind.

She felt someone stir next to her, and when she abruptly turned her face to look at the intruder, she noticed it was a Gryffindor sixth-year whom she had had a few classes with; in her state she could not remember or care for his name. Names were such silly things. Everyone should be nameless, everyone should walk their lives alone, naked, and standing on thorns. She wanted to be alone, she needed no companions; she only wanted to stay with herself, and try to at least arrange her thoughts, and see what she was going to do with this new turnaround of events, how she was going to get through it. Everyone got through it at the end. Was she really that weak? Had she really been that blind? How wonderful, he now pretended to care. Everyone pretended to care, it made them feel so superior, so above any other creature, simply because they showed the affection any other would bother not to.

“I’m fine,” she retorted, and took a deep drag from her cigarette, making it very clear she did not want him near her.

[Dominik Michaels]

Dominik could tell that she was not in the best of moods. She looked as if she could kill someone right now, or that she would break down and cry at any moment. Both of which he did not wish to happen, so he was going to try his hardest to actually get her to calm down. He didn't really know how he was going to do such a thing, or even how to go about it, but he was doing to try at least. He sighed and looked to her, taking her blatant tone as a cry for help rather than a warning. Only time would tell if he was wise in his assumptions or if he was foolish. This was going to get awkward really fast, he could already tell. This girl, she did not look like the kind of person who was adept in talking. He studied her face for a moment, she'd been in some of his classes, he knew it. What was her name... Dio! That was it. This was Dio, wasn't she with that Tristain guy... oh... wait...

Dominik nearly slapped himself, something really bad had happened, he remembered hearing some of his classmates telling people to watch out for her, she was not with Trist anymore and she was on a rampage. He thought back to the girl he saw in the commons a lot. Kayleigh... hadn't she been spending a lot of time with him recently? Oh boy. He sighed and stayed put, looking to Dio in silence for a moment before speaking. "I don't believe that fine is the right word for your situation." he said calmly, not wanting to get her mad at him or anything. "Smoking like you want lung cancer and giving the death glare to passers by really does not reek fine to me... Dio." he sighed and looked to her more intently now, he had to find the right way to put this... well, might as well go for the blunt. "You can talk to me... I am here..." he said gently.

[Diomedea Rosier]

Diomedea’s eyes widened in utter disbelief when he called her like that; she was a notorious Slytherin, the enemies called her Rosier, and those who were not simply called her Diomedea; those few she held closest could indeed call her Dio, but this was something Tristain had further established. She had never been Diomedea to him, or at least she could not remember ever being called that; it had formerly been Rosier, which had easily jumped to Dio, simply because of his laid-back exterior and disposition. “Don’t call me that!” she snapped at him, an angry scowl in her face, and then she looked away from him, as she took a desperate drag from her cigarette, trying to stop her fingers from shaking. “Don’t call me that,” she repeated in a softer tone, refusing to look at him.

But then he angered her; it was so easy to anger her at this point in her life, and it was so difficult for her, almost impossible, to control herself and maintain a peace of mind, especially when her mind seemed constantly pre-occupied, and peace was out of the question. Not only did he pretend to care, but also his words meant that he already knew what had happened, which to her was even more infuriating, and hurtful. The fact that he was a Gryffindor, Murphy’s House, did not help, either. “Are you?” she demanded furiously. “You don’t know anything about it, anything! So how can you pretend to care, or help me?” she pressed on, and from the stress she stood up abruptly, and made circles around herself. She was, it seemed, inadvertently strangled by her thoughts and feelings. “God!” she blurted out, now clearly frustrated, and paced, taking another deep drag from the cigarette. “Do you think talking is going to settle matters? Is going to recover the situation, is going to make me feel in any way better?” she asked him anxiously, but it was rhetorical. “It’s so easy to suggest it, though, isn’t it, as though it makes for the best cure? Well, don’t worry, I have no disease,” she told him, and for the first time she turned around to properly face him, and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t need your sympathy, I don’t need your pity.”

[Dominik Michaels]

Dominik was thoroughly confused. She just bashed him for calling her by her name. Well, it was a nickname, but still. Well, Trist had called her that, or so he thought. Maybe he should stop stepping on the eggshells of this conversation. Or... whatever it was. He had not clue. He just hated to see people like this, hated to see them so wrapped within themselves. He was reminded to Saorise, his dear cousin. Ever since that attack on her by their grandfather she had never really been the same. She had always had a slight bit of darkness within her and it bothered him. He didn't like to see her like that and he knew that Dio, or whatever he would call her from now own, really didn't want to feel like this either. Yes, she was a Slytherin, yes she was friends with the naturally evil Bellatrix Black. But she had loved... and loving someone means you aren't evil.

Dominik saw her shoot up and ramble on about every little thing. She was ranting about how talking would not make her feel better, but in fact, she was talking. This was a good sign, it meant that there was still hope for this conversation to turn around. Well, hopefully. He could tell by her voice that she was losing her thunder. She was losing the anger within her by screaming it out. Didn't mean it was gone, just meant that there were more feelings inside of her, competing to get some face time on the usually immovable Diomedea Rosier. He looked up at her silently when she turned on him, he was not going to jump or to get afraid, she was a woman, a human being, she was hurting and she was scared. He knew this, he could feel this. He didn't really know what to do, but he'd think of something...

Then the thought stuck him. He stood and took a quick step toward her, a passer's step as his mates would call it in Futball. It was a step designed to maneuver where you needed to go with speed and agility, as to knock the person off guard for a moment, just enough time to take the ball. Though he was not taking a ball from Diomedea... he just needed to get close enough to her. When he was directly in front of her he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her lean frame to his own muscular one. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, holding her in a friendly embrace hoping to calm some of the fury that was within her. He wanted to let her know he was here for her and that no amount of her bashing him with words would get him to go away. He would likely stand there and let her curse him to. He was not someone to run.

He sighed softly and whispered to Dio, while still holding her. "Diomedea Rosier. I Dominik Michaels, am not here to cast pity upon you. I know you do not need sympathy and I know you are without disease, but you are hurting... and that is something I can not allow to go unhelped. I don't want you to think I am pretending to care, because I am not. I want to help you in any way that I can. I know that talking does not seem to help at all but it really does, when someone is willing to listen. I am willing to listen to you Diomedea. I am willing to be here for you and be your friend. I can tell you are hurt very deep, I can tell that you have so many emotions inside you right now, so many things to say. It helps to say them and helps even more to have someone there to listen to you... I am here." he let her go slowly and looked down at her.