One.
One.
November 11th, 1977.
The night was still. Sometimes Regulus found himself wondering what he could’ve done better. What he could’ve changed to stop all this shit from unfolding. Regulus tried not to let the negative thoughts consume him, he really did. But it served to be easier said than done.
His mind began to spiral as he stared out of the window, the curtain pulled to the side to let just enough light seep in. The only sound being that of Regulus’ uneven breathing and pen scratching against paper.
‘dear, sirius. i’m sorry, i--’ No. That wouldn’t do. Regulus tears the page out and tosses it into a nearby waste bin. He’d been at it for hours and he couldn’t even write a decent letter. Jotting his feelings down on paper was just a scary thought in itself. The thought of someone finding it and reading it made his stomach lurch with an odd mix of anxiety and fear.
It wasn’t that he had anything to hide when it came to his family. Being the perfect son, he had a reputation to uphold, and in his parents’ eyes, he was an angel. Well, sorry to burst your bubble, fuckers.
With a heavy sigh, Regulus grabs a fresh sheet of paper. He’d keep it simple. Nothing too fancy or over the top, ‘sorry, siri. - reg.’ It wasn't the best, but it was the closest thing to an apology anyone could get out of Regulus.
He had considered writing a letter to James, letting him know of his feelings, but that was out of the question. Things had gotten off to a rocky start this year, and all Regulus wanted was to stay in bed ans never face the world again. But he couldn’t.
Narcissa had many times tried to rope him into her endless chats on relationship advice, but he turned down the offer. He had no reason to bother with relationships, he had promised to focus on himself this year. So, that’s what he was going to do.
He could only hope that no unfulfilled desires would get in his way, he didn’t want a repeat of what happened last time.
Regulus had gone out today, for the first time in what felt like forever. He had gone to the park, watched as the children laughed and played, they seemed so happy and carefree. He almost envied them for it. As he sat on the swing, a pen and notebook in hand, his mind began to spiral again. He tried writing, he really did, but every time the pen touched the paper, his thoughts wandered elsewhere and he got distracted.
He had moved again, his parents never seemed to decide on whether staying in France or London. It sucked, but it’s not like he had a say in it all. He just had to sit back and watch, it felt like he was walking in circles. The nagging feeling that he still had to unpack tugged at his conscience. He really didn’t want to. Maybe he’d do it later. Though later could always change; he had gone out with the purpose of spending some time in nature, and writing. That plan quickly changed.
The walk home was dreadful, having to retrace his steps each second to make sure he wasn’t going the wrong way and wouldn’t get lost. He was still getting used to the area. It was a nice change of scenery, the nature and the views were a sight to see. But he’s not sure it’s for him. These days he didn’t know what he liked; he had a tendency to pick up new hobbies just to discard it days later.
He had two notebooks, one almost filled out. One was a scrapbook and the other was.. well, he hadn’t started on that one yet. He had books, lots of it, enough to have his own library. But he wasn’t a reader, exactly. He found it hard to read, not because of the struggle of words but the struggle of concentrating.
Concentration is key, he’d been told that many times, more so than he can count. But if concentration was key, then why was it so hard for him to do it. His inner turmoil only mounted his frustration. He envied anyone who could write and read with such ease and still be pleased with the outcome. You had to struggle to succeed, but Regulus was still never proud of any of the shit he had jotted down on paper and called ‘writing’.
Now, laying in bed, he couldn’t help but think to himself; “why do people live just to suffer?” He stared up at the lamp that hung overhead, blanketing his bed in a warm sort of glow. He wasn’t a writer, he wasn’t meant to be one. But it felt like fate was already written in the stars for him.
He hoped that Evan and Pandora could visit soon, his parents had only moved to be closer to the Rosiers. Regulus somewhat appreciated that he had his friends close, but somehow - selfish as he sounds, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to just have friends and assume all would be well. No. You had to fight for happiness, pray that people would have the decency to leave you the fuck alone. He just wanted space sometimes, was that too much to ask for?
A glass of cold water - or what was once cold - sat on his nightstand, long since neglected. Everyone else was in the living room; his parents, cousins. It was just him in his room, one of the rare moments where he actually got to be alone with his thoughts, without having to worry about how long he’d get before he was ushered out of the room and forced to ‘socialise’. It was annoying. It was bullshit, infact.
His gaze drifted to the closet, only one side was open, but even from here he could see the state it was in. The reminder that he had to finish unpacking nagged at him again. Sometimes he wanted to cry. But he couldn’t. It was silly, showing unnecessary emotions. He was soon to be 16. 16. He’d always dreamed of it as a kid. Dreamed of being ‘grown up’, like his parents. It sickened him as he thought back on it. Oh, what he’d do to have just one more moment of his childhood back. One more moment where he could just be him and didn't have to worry because he wasn’t ‘of age’, yet.
“Childhood is a dream that everyone is forced to wake up from eventually.” It hurt. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. It was only getting started and there was no point crying now when he hasn’t even lived to see the world. He can cry then, when there’s real reason to cry. But even so, boys don’t cry. Those words would be engraved in his mind, it was something he couldn’t shake, no matter how many times he tried to forget. His brain just wouldn’t let him. What a cruel, cruel world this was. Everyone is supposed to just hold their words on the tip of their tongue and their emotions in a fragile bottle that threatened to overflow. You’re just expected to be perfect, just because. Just because they’re your parents. Caretakers. Regulus didn’t see where the care came in, was it something you were supposed to earn or did it come to you when you were ‘worthy’?
He abruptly sat up as his mother walked in, showing some of the guests around the new house. That’s the trouble that came with moving. Visits everyday, every night for atleast a month. Family, friends, it was all the same. He glanced over at the childhood plushies that adorned his bed. Precious as they were, he ought to grow up soon. Childhood is over and he was bound to let them go sooner or later. He just didn’t want to. He had always disliked having to say goodbye.
He could hear his aunt’s voice from the other room, he hadn’t a clue what she was rattling on about this time, but it’s not like it bothered him. That was, until he heard his name being mentioned. He was always brought up at family occasions, and he always assumed the worst of the scenario. Then again, the worst was all he could think. Not like they were planning a princess sparkle party for him or some sappy shit. When his name was mentioned, it was never good. He had learnt that by now. It was the truth, and the truth could be a bitch, more often than not.
For probably the 3rd time that evening, he remembers he still had unpacking to do. He couldn’t be bothered though. Not right now. He’d do it some other time.
‘Maybe in the morning.’