For the 101 Ways to Say "I love You" Challenge.
PS: this is very different than anything I have ever written.. but I like it.
Pale, cool hands ran up and down my spine, causing me to shiver in the darkness. He pressed me to the back wall of the little pub but I'm sure no one noticed. Everyone here was either drunk or preoccupied with their own hot, unintelligible, sex crazed ventures. It was a fascinating little pub that way. It was the kind of place two people could easily disappear to because no one "sensible" would dare set foot inside.
He noticed my distraction, that my "pretty mind" was wondering again, and bit my neck, electing a loud moan from my parted lips. "That's more like it." He mumbled against my shoulder blade, kissing it through my shirt before hitching my shirt up a bit on my waist, exposing the soft skin underneath.
The brush of air against my skin was the signal. I yanked the shirt back into place.
"What the hell!" He exclaimed, shoving me back up the wall by my arms and I knew there would be bruises in the morning.
My voice was soft when I responded. "We're in public."
He hissed under his breath. "What do you want from me?" He spat, fingers releasing my own and cold grey eyes staring me down.
My long, tan fingers slipped around to cup his face before sliding down to pull his collar, tugging him forward. "You."
"Fine." He grabbed my arm, yanking me through the tables of drunken muggles and magical people alike. Beer was beer and a pub was a pub and when it came to this kind of pub there was no discrimination. The walls, benches, seats, floor.. almost every flat surface there were people either making out or more - a disturbing fact when things got down to the shall we say "knit and gritty".
He grabbed one of the chipped metal keys off the very back wall without bothering to check in with the manager but he was drunk across the room dancing on one of the tables so something told me he wouldn't mind. He jerked me up the stairs by my arm, hands holding on to me as if I was a child that was opt to flee at first chance.
"You think I'm going to run?" I caught myself asking as we reached the platform, gesturing to his vice grip on my wrist. I ripped it away from his silence. "You think I don't want this just as badly as you? You literally drive me mad! Okay? Physically, mentally, emotionally. You drive me absolutely mad. The whole world is different when I am with you! It's like we've been transported to an alternate reality and I don't have to be perfect little Cho Chang anymore. I can be passionate and get pissed and everything will be okay! So you don't have to act like I am going to leave." My chest heaved heavily as I finished and he took a step toward me.
"Have you ever thought that maybe it's all a game? That treating you like a flight risk turns me on? That pressing you against walls is exactly what I want to do to you? Cuz it has nothing to do with your leaving. I know you won't leave." He responded in my ear before attacking my lips again, right there in the middle of the hallway.
He was then pulling me down the hallway to a room. He stopped to unlock the door and my eyes wandered. The walls were painted a dull and peeling grey and the door was once white but now dingy to the point of being more brown than anything. Most of the carpet was so badly stained I couldn't make out a color, but I believe under the layer of dirt and grime it was once white too.
His hands were pulling me inside then. Fingers grabbing me by the waist, hosting me on top of the dresser to wrap my legs around his waist. Arms around his neck, face pressed to his in another heated kiss like before. It was something I'd never felt before I met him and something I feared I could never find again if he wasn't here to stir it.
This sin was one I'd committed repeatedly, but regretted nor repented. The agonizing touch of his hands was worth it in the dawn of early morning or in the heat of the afternoon or dead of midnight.. The whole thing was a primal sort and really inexpiable by any fancy language I could muster. It was still wrong, yet I knew I'd never stop.
Harsh morning light streamed through open blinds, waking me from my eternal slumber. From the look of it, it was still early, maybe just after dawn. In the stunningly bright light, I appraised the room. It was tiny, room enough for a queen sized bed and a dresser against the back wall. The walls were covered with faded blue wallpaper, peeling at the molding. The wood dresser was covered in gashes, large chunks having been cut out by some violent stroke. The bed was draped in a once white blanket that like the carpet outside were covered in unusual, large stains in various odd colors.
I sighed, groping at the blankets to find my clothes. I sighed, setting for grabbing his long sleeved black tee shirt that had been under his robes yesterday. Silently, I pulled it over my head and careful to not jostle the bed, slipped to the ground. I padded to the bathroom barefoot, cringing at the feel of the unlceaned carpet under my feet.
Once in the bathroom, I started at my reflection in the mirror with a long sigh, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal the bruises steadily developing on my forearms. Today the hand print looked like a purple ink stain, splattered around her edges from his pressing his fingers against my fragile skin. I knew soon the skin would ever slowly turn blue and then green and eventually yellow into my usual tan skin tone. Until then, I would cover my arms with long sleeved jumpers and robes at work. When at home alone, I would change into a tank top to let the bruises breath, hopefully expediting the healing process.
I released the sleeves of his shirt, smoothing them back into place before pulling the shirt over my head and dropping it to the greying tile below my feet. I carefully stepped over the lip of the tub and stood there, wiggling my toes against the cold, hard porcelain before arching down to turn on the water. It hit me like a thousand tiny, icy bullets against my heated skin and I gasped as it forced me back. The feeling jolted a memory I hadn't lingered upon in such a long time there were cobwebs suspended from it's theoretical frame yet the picture was impeccably clear.
It was a few months after the end of the defeat of Voldemort and the Death Eaters and everyone had fallen into their respective categories of life and living and things were back to normal. I'd resumed my job working at a bookstore in Diagon Alley, a mundane job as it was a rarity for anyone to breach the front doors of the little shop. I'm pretty sure the old man who ran the place with the bent want and balding head probably could have handled it by himself but he pitied me for my lack of anything to do - since then I'd picked up a job at the Ministry, rebuilding the falling structure that is our wizarding world with only the best and brightest Hogwarts had to offer.
I'd been working late again because the old man was hard of hearing and wore bifocal glasses that didn't work well at night so I often requested to close the store for him so he could make it home safely in the daylight. I took the jangly keys from the pocket of my jeans and slid to the door silently, flipping the lights as I went. The books descended into darkness and I opened the door, stepping outside with keys in hand. Quickly I slid the keys into the lock and twisted, relishing in the little click before groaning as a loud clap of thunder rang out through the London sky and the bottom fell out on the storm I'd been expecting all day.
Within seconds my white tee shirt was soaked through and I sighed, walking quickly with my head down, watching the water drip and listening to it's pitter patter as it fell against the red stacked brick. As I walked, I groaned at the daggers shooting through me with every falling stitch of rain. That's when I ran into him. He cursed under his breath, glaring at the sky and grabbing me by the elbow, jerking me away until he pulled me into what I assumed was his apartment. Shoving his blonde water logged her from his eyes, he pinned me to the back of the door.
The next day I'd woken up for the first time with bruises. My entire body stiff and sore. Muscles cringing when I dared sit up or even rolling over. Yet it was only the beginning. My body grew accustomed to his strength, but the bruises still came.
I stepped out of the shower, shaking my soaked body off uncannily like a dog before slipping his shirt back into place on my body. I walked slowly back into the room where he lay, still sleeping. I lie down beside him once more, watching as he inhaled and exhaled, bare chest rising and falling in time to create a slow beat.
"Stop watching me sleep." He mumbled, shifting upwards to cock an eyebrow at me. "You know I don't like that."
I smirked right back at him. "Well, I'm sorry I find you attractive."
He chuckled, still sleep ridden. "I'm downright sexy and you know it."
I simply shrugged in response, stretching my arms over my head and toes toward the end of the bed, carefully pressing my thumb to the sleeve of his shirt to keep it in place.
He frowned, noticing the action despite his being half asleep. "Cho." Voice like velvet I'd always said, but especially on these rare occasions when he'd utter my name.
I swallowed. "Yeah?"
His anxious fingers overrided mine, pushing the sleeve away. His smirk faded into a frown at the sight of the purpling bruises on my arm. "I was drunk again." It was a confession as if I didn't know that when I came to him. He sighed, leaning down to press butterfly kisses to the bruises. "I'm sorry." He whispered to both arms and my breath caught in my chest at the feeling. It was different than our usual banter, crossing a line, but I didn't care. "I don't love her."
I felt mute for a moment, but found my voice again after a beat of bitter silence. "Who?" I questioned almost holding my breath, but not quite.
He didn't look up, merely trailed another round of kisses around the purpling bruises. "Astoria." He answered my discolored skin.
My stomach dropped but I nodded, cutting my eyes down to look at him. Now his ice grey eyes were piercing into mine and I felt my heart race uncontrollably. "I know."
Well I'm strangely proud of this. As weird as it is. I think it turned out good. Peace out puppies. This isn't quite 2000 words. Ah well.