Realization
05:32 am.
Great, he thought to himself as he took a deep breath, fucking brilliant.
Did he want to get up?
No. But, ha, staying in bed without any distraction from his thoughts?
I think not.
It’s funny, he thought to himself as he slowly turned around and tapped his nightstand, feeling for his glasses, he wasn’t exactly tired. Not in that sense. He had enough energy, infact, too much, it is fucking exhausting. He just wants a break, wants to for once not think.
He slowly blicked around the room, now that he could see clearly, right now he really didn’t want to be alone, he was worried that his thoughts would start getting too dark without his friends or anyone really to distract him, not that they were light right now.
Nothing to be done, he supposed, he knew it was too early to wake them, he loved them, they needed their sleep, besides, James knew he couldn't hide his distress on his face right now, he was too exhausted.
What would they think of him? What would anyone think? James Potter.
Quidditch prodigy.
Loud and lovable.
Their sun, as padfoot would always put it, he never let anyone forget, not like they could.
He couldn’t let them know how far away from feeling like the sun he really was.
Realizing he had been staring at the floor again he grabbed his clothes for the day and quickly made his way to the showers.
The icy cold water helped him.
It made it harder to think about anything else, which is what he liked, really liked.
The pain that came with it helped, the burning feeling on his skin, he invited that feeling in. Normally, the pain after playing Quidditch for as long as he did helped, the burning feeling of his muscles, the way his lungs screamed for air, and now the way his shoulder screamed when he turned too fast or anyone touched it.
Sure, Pomfey could alleviate his pain immediately, but he hardly wanted that, he needed this.
He sometimes, nah, more often than not wished the world inside his mind would go quite, for a while. It was just too much. Too much chaos. His worst enemy was himself, his mind, sure it’s fast and sometimes even brilliant but he was truly and utterly trapped.
Each day was a battle, a silent battle and James was losing.
And no one knew.
It wasn’t only the cold he appreciated from the shower, it’s the rhythmic sounds of the water hitting the floor and walls.
It helped him breath.
It was always the same, same sounds, same pace of the water falling.
James slowly slumped against the wall and slid down. Gods, why was this so fucking hard? He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to stay in the present moment, I can do this, fuck he needed to do this, he needed to be okay, or at least seem it, his friends needed him.
The black stallion in his mind knew no peace, it never had.
James was brought back to the present as he realized how badly he was shaking, he knew the cold water wasn’t entirely at fault, the prospect of putting on a facade again, like everyday just felt too daunting.
I mean, he was used to it, sure, he had been doing it a while but he had never been sleeping so bad. It had gotten out of hand, he was lucky to be getting more than 4 hours.
It wasn’t just the mental toll the sleep deprivation took but it slowly started to have physical effects, with each day that passed he looked more and more pale and let’s not speak about the eye bags it left him with.
What if they find out how I really feel? I’ll be alone. I can’t be alone. They love the happy, smiling, loud James, the James that everyone wanted to either be or be with.
Ha, if they knew.
He would lose them all, that can’t happen, I can’t do this alone, I have for so long, so fucking long, it’s eating me up alive, slowing, daily taking something out me, and it never returns, I haven’t got much left to give.
Shuddering, he stood up slowly and turned around to turn off the water. His shaking hands reached out and grabbed his red towel with the Gryffindor crest on it. He looked in the mirror, that’s when he lost it. James lost all composure, his hands reached out and grabbed the sink, he left his head hanging and watched as tears slowly dripped down into the sink. His breathing became more and more unregular, too fast, from then on it just kept getting worse. How long this went on for he didn’t know.
Maybe it was the weeks of no or not enough sleep, maybe it was his usual lack of impulse control, he didn’t know but whatever it was, that led him to standing in front of Minnie's office, under his invisibility cloak, at 6am on a Tuesday, he thanked Merlin.
The thoughts of the tower, astronomy tower, had just been pulling and pulling on him and he really knew, if he didn’t tell someone now, it would be too late.
He pulled off the cloak, took one more deep breath, he didn’t try hiding his tear stricken face, James didn't have the energy for that.
James was brave, everyone thought so, Merlin he had to be, to play Quidditch the way he did, he was also a Gryffindor and a Marauder.
Normally he was never scared of anything really.
This however terrified him to the core.
Frustrated he dug his hands into his face, this is pathetic, he needed help he knew that.
Minnie however would never be able to look at him the same again. If Minnie helped Padfoot that much, she wouldn’t judge him, would she?
As he knocked against the wooden door and it opened he gasped slightly, he couldn’t do this.
Before he could change his mind probably, he saw in Minnie's eyes the concern as she said:
“Mr Potter?... James, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
He lost, for the second time today, all composure.