Can you see right through me?
They see right through me,
They see right through me,
I see right through me,
I see right through me.
For as long as James could remember, all he’d ever wanted to do was help. It didn’t matter how, it didn’t matter who; he just knew that everyone in this world could use a friend, and the least he could do was be that friend, for anyone he could.
So, when eleven year old James boarded the Hogwarts express and entered a carriage seating a certain three other first year boys, he knew from that moment on that they were going to be his family, and he would do anything for them. That was James’ way. It was how he loved- strong as the voice of fate, deep as night and heaven.
He’d felt an instant connection, though, to one boy in particular. Sirius Black. James felt they had been destined to meet; not even the universe itself could keep them apart. It was like their souls had been made one and the same.
At first, James couldn’t understand why Sirius would go quiet at the mention of his family, or become withdrawn at the thought of going home for the holidays - one which James himself couldn’t be more ecstatic with. Gradually though, he began to understand.
He didn’t understand the true gravity of his best friend’s situation at first, but on the first day of third year, when Sirius showed up to the train station with a black eye, a poorly disguised limp, and bruises littering his pale body, James felt his heart begin to crack inside his chest.
He knew from that moment he could never let Sirius go back there, anywhere near those monsters, and so he opened up his own home for him. But James knew that there was still more he could do for Sirius, so he made sure he was always comfortable, talked him through nightmares and panic attacks and flashbacks, and slowly began to help his best friend see joy once more.
Then there was Remus. James knew it wasn’t just the full moon that was bad for Remus- it was the days around it, when he could barely move, fighting the aches and pains coursing through his body. The knowledge that he couldn't stop those things, that he couldn’t put an end to Remus’ suffering, cracked his heart open further.
But, James made sure he was always there for him when the pains were especially bad, always restocked his healing potions and made sure he was supplied with an amount of chocolate fit to feed a village.
Anything he could possibly give, he gave. That was just James’ way.
So, at the beginning of fifth year, when James began to feel inexplicably down most of the time, when he felt like where his world had once been in screaming color, it was now black and gray, he couldn’t fathom what was going on.
He knew he didn't deserve to feel like he was. He looked around him and saw Sirius, who’d suffered more than he could ever comprehend at the hands of the people who were supposed to love him most in this world. He saw Remus, who had to endure one of the worst pains imaginable once every single month, had to live with the fact that most of the world was against his mere existence.
And he saw himself- a privileged, wealthy boy with kind and loving parents, amazing friends, and good grades. How could someone like him have the right to be upset, when people around him were going through worse things than he could ever possibly imagine?
But the feelings didn't stop.
And so he began to hate himself more.
It was the constant state of anxiety- he couldn’t relax, how could he, not when he knew he could be doing more, more to help his friends, giving more of himself to the people who were in pain.
It was the crushing feeling of inadequacy when he was turned down by Lily, over and over again, year after year. He no longer even had feelings for her, their friendship had actually grown inexplicably strong over the past few months, but it didn’t stop his mind wondering what he’d done wrong? Maybe he just wasn’t enough?
And in the end, that's what it came down to.
James knew he wasn't enough, he knew it as well as the lines on the palm of his own hand. It was a cold, hard fact, set in stone, flowing around his mind and his blood, dictating his thoughts and dominating his feelings. But the feeling was so truly overwhelming that he didn’t know how to get rid of it. The only way was to bleed himself dry.
So that’s what he did.
It started as just a little scratch on his upper arm.
Then a couple more, here and there, until he was drawing blood.
The relief that the feeling of the blood trickling down his arm gave him was so indescribably euphoric. He couldn’t get enough.
Before long, both his forearms and majority of his upper arms were littered with thick, ugly scars, of different sizes, shapes and colors, but all ultimately showing the same thing; he wasn't good enough. And he never would be.
His friends didn't know, of course. How could he tell them? He was the happy constant in their lives, always there to provide a laugh, or comfort, or support- who would he be if not happy, and carefree? How would he tell the people who have lived out horrors not even bad enough for his worst nightmares that he’s just sad, for no reason in particular?
He didn’t even let himself cry in front of them. After all, James Potter didn’t cry. He was happy. That’s who he was.
So that's how James found himself at half past midnight on a Friday night sitting with his knees up to his chest in front of one of the sofas in the Gryffindor common room, watching the flickering light of the fire dancing around the room.
Earlier that day, he’d made two particularly deep cuts on his lower left forearm, but the relief that usually came with it never arrived. So he sat on the floor, shakily breathing, tears streaming silently down his face, wishing he could do more.
Wishing he could be better.
Wishing he was enough.
And soon that was the only thought spiraling his mind, consuming his brain and eating him up from the inside. He could no longer breathe properly, his chest was tightening, his palms were clammy, his legs were shaking and he couldn't breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe.
Where his heart was once cracked, it was now shattering into a million tiny pieces. He couldn’t take it anymore.
But then he felt a soft, gentle hand lay down on his knee.
He snapped his head up and was met with concerned, but calm green eyes, belonging to a certain redhead, who was crouched beside him on the floor. He didn’t know when she’d come in, but now she’d seen him like this, what would she think of him? Now she’d know who he really was. His happy facade was finally slipping, and it felt like the world was ending.
He was gasping for air now, and as embarrassed as he was about his current state he looked at Lily with a pleading look in his eyes.
He was going to die.
He was going to die.
And then who would be there to help his friends?
He was going to die.
How could he be so selfish?
All he ever wanted was to be enough.
He was going to die.
‘’Breathe with me James, okay?’ Lily said, softly and slowly. ‘I’m here, you’re alright, It’s just a panic attack, okay? I’ve got you.’
James couldn’t fully grasp his surroundings, he was lightheaded and dizzy and he could feel every inch of his body shaking uncontrollably, but the sound of Lily’s voice sent a wave of calm crashing over him.
She moved from her crouching position to sitting down on the floor in front of him, her hand never leaving his knee, her soft touch beginning to ground him, starting to bring him back to what was going on.
‘Ok James, copy me alright? Breathe In,’ she took an exaggerated breath inwards through her nose, motioning for James to do the same.
James followed pursuit, taking a significantly shakier breath inwards through his nose, using his sleeve to wipe the tears that had been streaming down his cheeks.
‘Good, now breathe out,’ Lily said softly, with an encouraging smile.
He did as he was told, looking up into Lily’s gentle green eyes, and slowly but surely his chest felt as though it was beginning to untangle, like the huge weight that had been crushing down on it moments before had been lifted.
‘Well done James. You’re safe, you’re okay,’ she whispered, removing her hand from his knee and running her finger through her hair.
The reality of what had just happened suddenly dawned on James, and he quickly recoiled, horrified.
‘Sorry Lily, I- Fuck, I don’t know what happened, sorry,’ he said feebly, trying to plaster on his most genuine smile.
How could he let this happen? What would she think of him now? James Potter, spoiled rich brat, sat feeling sorry for himself when every single person around him had it worse.
‘Hey, no, look at me,’ said Lily, firmly but warmly.
James hastily met her eyes, shocked to see her face staring kindly back at him. Why was she not disgusted? Why was she not mocking him?
‘Don’t apologize for having feelings James, okay? You don't have to be perfect, alright; you’re human, just like the rest of us, and I think you want people to forget that sometimes, I think you even forget it yourself. But you are, okay? You don’t have to be happy all the time just for the sake of everyone else. I’m always here for you, whenever.’
Oh.
James had never really had those words spoken to him before, He’d always been the one saying them, and now to be on the other end of the conversation was a completely unfamiliar experience. His eyes began to well up, and he looked down at his knees, and brought his hands up to his face in embarrassment.
But a sudden gasp of shock snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked back up at Lily.
But she wasn’t looking back at him.
Instead, she was staring at his arms.
Where he’d lifted them up to cover his face, his sleeves had begun to roll down, revealing the rows and rows of scars coating his arms like a blanket, raised and angry.
James froze. This couldn’t be happening. No one was ever supposed to know. It wasn’t like he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, he just… didn’t want to. There was no doubt in his mind she wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore now she knew- she’d be horrified, surely, disgusted even. And what if she told the others? What would he do then? This was all his fault, all his fault; how could he be so stupid?
But just as he was about to get up and leave to go back to his room, Lily shuffled slightly so she was sat next to him in front of the sofa and, to his genuine surprise, put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him towards her.
She began to move her hand slowly up and down his upper arm in a comforting manner, telling him without words she was here, and she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
So finally, James let himself go.
He rested his head against Lily’s shoulder and allowed himself to cry, for the first time in longer than he could remember.
He sobbed and sobbed, letting out all his anxieties and insecurities and self hatred, just letting himself be there in that moment.
And maybe, for now, that could be enough.