♬
Car Radio - Twenty One Pilots
I ponder of something greatMy lungs will fill and then deflateThey fill with fireExhale desireI know it's direMy time today
Dahlia knew that she wasn’t a nice person, not to those she deemed irrelevant anyway. By that, anyone who didn’t display complete love and affection for her, or didn’t live up to the WTC’s indoctrinated ideologies.
She wanted to be better than that.
Despite knowing this, the guilt never seemed to bother her, at least not overtly. The shame and regret built up inside her, to such an extent that Dahlia would run off to the room of requirement and scream. She would scream and sob and heave until she was exhausted, eyes bloodshot from the crying and voice hoarse from the wails.
She smoked to relax.She drank to forget.But they weren’t enough. Merely temporary solutions to a much more permanent issue.That’s why she needed the room.
Dahlia finished, her fingers trembling and whole body feeling weak, but at least it was gone. She had cursed herself for hours, screeching at her reflection in the wall-high mirror.
The things people said about Dahlia behind her back, Scorpius always wondered how Dahlia didn’t seem bothered. It was because she had heard them before, and nothing anyone else says can hurt if you hear it from yourself first.
She walks out of the room after calming down. Her makeup has been reapplied and hair neatened before she steps back out into the cool corridor of the seventh floor. She quickly makes her way back to the great hall, bumping into a younger redhead and knocking he other girl’s books from her hands. She almost blurts out something unpleasant, but stops herself, picturing her own sobbing reflection that didn’t stand up and leave the room of requirement like she did, and the words catch in her throat.
“Sorry.”
She looked around to make sure nobody except the other girl heard, but Dahlia Parkinson-Wilkes actually apologised. What was the world coming to?
