Title: Hate It.
Summary: One-Shot Draco POV. DM/HP implied SLASH.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author Notes: Please oh pretty please review after you're done with this. Thank you. Love you all.
I hate it. Hate everything about it, but it's something addictive and heady and it's better than any drug or alcoholic buzz I've ever had. I just can't stop.
And when we're together it's blinding and amazing, and then someone else comes in and the illusion is shattered. Broken into tiny fragments that slice my skin, invisible blood welling up in angry, red blooms on the inside.
Because I can't let it show. Because then this pushpullharderyesjustthere thing is tainted. I wasn't supposed to get attached. For fuck sake, I'm fantastic at not getting attached. But his smile and the sweetsoft curve of his lips when their pressed against your skin don't make it any easier. The way his eyes sparkle when he knows you're going to kiss him, or the fire they seem to lack until you piss him off, and secrets spill from those pretty lips, and all you can do is stare. Because this is not what you expected.
I didn't expect the slight fear that darkens those eyes as he puts his trust in me, something fragile and precious, rare and irreplaceable. I'm not prepared for the onslaught of emotions, the crashing wave that overwhelms me, grippinggrippingdrowning me. And that's when it hits me; I'm so far in over your head I don't think I'll ever see daylight again.
The raw passion I'd felt before is ripped and twisted until I can hardly recognise it. I've never felt like this before. And then it hits me, love. It's love. Not a sweet, delicate love, but love where you're afraid to touch in case they break or break you, but then you can't get enough of them. The feel of them, their scent, the silkyrough texture or their skin beneath your fingerslips. This kind of love is blinding and all consuming. It burns.
And now I'm in danger, the chance of anything lasting between us is fading rapidly, and I keep grasping at straws but the truth is, we're on different sides. How could we not be?
Some times I feel calm, I can sit back and let myself be in love and not judge it, or force it. But other times I feel desperate, a consuming need to touchtastesee and I feel like I'll drown in it. And then there are the times I hate it. Like right now, pacing inside my own mind, like a trapped animal, trapped by my love for him. Hate it because I don't think he believes or accepts it in these moments, or worse that he really doesn't care anymore. Not about anything, least of all me and my problems. Why should he? He never asked for me to love him. But the again neither did I. But he has his own problems, a war to win; his own demons whispering in his ears, wrapping his mind in black smoke, the way mine do when I feel this way. When I want to end it. When I hate it so much I'd kill to get away from it, slice open my own flesh for real and let my hotredblood bloom on my skin, let my love escape my veins. Sometimes I even get as far as holding a blade, but then I'm calm again. And it's okay to love him.
