Mine. Theirs. Ours.
She thought those three words bitterly. They meant nothing. Nothing. She looked down at the knife gleaming in her hand. She had to do this. She had to.
She took a deep breath and entered the room. The huge silk covered bed with throw pillows strung all over it.
Her throat closed up with grief and she closed her eyes against the pain.
He pulled her roughly against him, slamming into her with one quick push. She cried out, but not in pain. He bit her, hard on the neck, and she clawed at him as he thrust rapidly, finding his own release before twisting her clit to give her hers.
She walked quietly over to the bed and lifted up one of the sheets. Part of her wanted to rub her cheek against it, feel the cool surface sliding so sensually against her skin. But she didn't, though it took all her restraint not to.
She slipped the knife under the sheet, the tip pointing upward. She pushed it up through the fabric and yanked it towards the end of the sheet, making a jagged cut. Once doing so, she turned it and repeated the action, until the sheet was in small unevenly cut squares.
She cried out, yanking at his hair, trying to pull him closer, but trying to pull him away at the same time. It was too much, it was just too much. She felt relief wash over her as he finally gave her what she needed, wanted. He crawled up beside her, his lips glistening with her juices. He licked them and pressed small kisses against her jaw, moving lower to her neck, and finally, her breasts.
She was done with the sheets. She was finished. She looked around the room. The throw pillows looked so peaceful, so inviting, she almost didn't want to destroy them. But she picked them up, put them on the coffee table, and slowly stuck her knife through the middle, pulling downward. Feathers cluttered the floor and she blinked back tears.
She laughed, telling him that tonight was not the time to play. He'd gotten a gleam in his silver eyes, saying he didn't want to play. Her breath caught, and he threw her against the throw pillows. She gasped as he pulled her shirt hard enough to make the buttons pop and clutter the now rippled sheets. She told him not tonight. It was her turn to pleasure him.
The couch cushions were next. The foam inside was hard to cut, but she made it through that. Though, once she'd gotten to the bottom of the first cushion, she'd accidentally pushed the knife too far, cutting her thigh and making it bleed. She didn't do nothing to stop it, to slow it. She welcomed the physical pain, because that meant she couldn't feel the emotional as much.
She kissed her way down his body, stopping momentarily to suck one of his flat nipples into her mouth, curling her tongue around it, waiting until he reached for her hair to hold her there before moving on. He groaned, calling her a tease. She laughed softly, dipping her tongue into his bellybutton before kissing her way further down. She reached the part of him that was standing tall, begging to be touched. She uncertainly ran her fingertip up it, inspecting the head and the liquid leaking from it. She curved her fingers around it, tentavely running her hand up and down the length roughly. He moaned, arching into her touch.
She felt her eyes fill up with tears when she remembered that night, i their /i first night. But she blinked them back because she knew if she started crying now, she wouldn't be able to finish the job that she'd started. She opened the huge wardrobe cabinet and pushed aside all the robes that were there, the practical, black robes that were comfortable and easy to get into to.
She found it. She'd intended for her daughter to wear it one day, but now… now it was too late. She pulled it off the hanger and sat down on the floor, the knife beside her. She held it for a second, touching the glittering, silky white as sunshine fabric, reminiscing. Finally, she picked up the knife. She put it under the robe and pushed up hearing the tear, and her resolve broke.
She yanked the knife through the expensive fabric, crying out tearless sobs as she did so. She laid it on the floor and cut it with scissors, making it into two by two inch squares. She picked up a piece of it after she was finished, and she held that part of her wedding robe close, screaming out her torture, knowing it would never end.
He pushed her against the wall, her legs lifting to wrap themselves around his waist as he kissed her passionately, stabbing his tongue into her mouth in a way she found so arousing. He pulled at her knickers, finally tearing them, and she gave a gasp of outrage. He smirked and she told him that one day he was going to find out just how much it hurt when the elastic of the underwear snaps against your skin. He chuckled lowly before claiming her mouth and positioning himself at her opening. When he pushed in, it was special, so special she saw stars and her eyes screwed shut from the pleasure.
He told her to open her eyes, to look at him, see him. She did, and told him in a breathless voice that she loved him. He nodded, but didn't return the endearment. He didn't have to, she knew. She knew he loved her, but couldn't say it. He told her that she's still in her wedding robes. She attempted a shrug but couldn't because pleasure overwhelmed her. And it was perfect.
She took a permanent marker, the one he used to be obsessed with, and wrote three words on the knife she used. She wrote another note telling him what he'll never hear her say, and tapes it to the mirror that's now cracked from her throwing a vase at it.
He walked up the long steps to his manor. He saw a knife stabbed against his wooden door and panic seized him. He rushed to it, seeing a note that's held against the door only by the knife.
To our bedroom . That's all it said. He looked at the knife, then back at the note, then back to the knife again, noticing small writing on it.
Mine. Theirs. Ours. It means nothing, Draco.
He felt his throat tighten and he rushed up to the bedroom---their bedroom---only to find a huge mess, his wife's wedding gown in shreds, and a note on the mirror.
She watched as he pushed into his flirtatious secretary, the bag of food in her hand dropping soundlessly to the floor. She watched as he bit Lisa's neck, the same way he bit hers, watched as he gripped Lisa's hips, the same way he gripped hers. She watched as he groaned against the other woman's throat, and she watched him shudder and spill his seed into her. She watched, felt disgusted, and without a backward glance, she left.