I DISCLAIM.

I don't expect to be understood – I have stopped wishing for the impossible a long time ago.

I know people judge – I see it at every worried smile Albus gives me, every insult James throws my way, regardless of how much he might apologise later on. I see it in the eyes of Lily, in that fearful glance she throws my way whenever she sees me sneaking out of the common room for him.

But I've stopped giving a fuck. I can't really expect anything else, really, when I myself know that this is sick, that I'm infected, that it has created a void inside my heart that grows with every thrust, every punch, every kiss, every bite.

I know it consumes me, so save your breath.

You could blame him, I suppose – I know many do. But what they choose to ignore is that I walked into this knowingly. I knew, when I first saw the hint of desire in his eyes, that he didn't promise kindness, that there would be no gentle touches and sweet nothings, no moments of golden laughter. It was clear, there, in his eyes – if there was any promise, it was for consumption, for pain. But that, in itself, promised actual feeling. A fresh breath, something out of the dull everything is just fine state I've known all my life.

So I've let him claim me. I've walked into what he offered willingly, ready to swallow whatever he would send my way. Ready to be possessed by him, completely.

Looking at him from across the hall, even now, I know this isn't love. Love is what I feel every time Lorcan looks at me worriedly, a promise of a safe way out of this mess I've so skilfully created myself, a calm, protected shore that will take me away from the stormy open sea I've been drowning in for so long.

It's been four months since I've realised that this warmth I feel swelling up inside my stomach every time Lorcan looks at me is love. It's been four months since I last spoke to him.

But what I have with Scorpius – It's not love. I know he tells himself that, just to justify his actions whenever he pushes me into the wall for whatever form of infidelity I've partaken in before leaving me for one of his whores.

They say I'm submissive to him – maybe it is so, when compared to the stranger that used to be me. But when compared to the others around him, I'm fucking Guy Fawkes striking against King James. But only because I know I'll only get a fist which slips past my head to punch into the wall, whereas others could easily get an owl from home telling their father has been shacked from the Ministry for no apparent reason. Still, I will admit, I only go so far. I only test his boundaries, never cross them. The wanker crosses all of mine.

And still, knowing that he will do something the pull all the air out of my lungs in a matter of seconds, I always take him back. I cry, shout, punch, and every night, I let him back in, to claim me, to violate me, to bite off another piece of the Rose I used to be, only to chew on it and spit it out.

Knowing all that, I still say yes, every single time. And he knows. I see it now, in the smile he sends my way, with one of his hands under the table, doing god knows what to Alice Nott. I know in a few minutes, he will get up, walk over and reach out that hand to me, only to show whoever might be watching that I'm his. I know I will take that hand.

No, it's not love. It's a fucking addiction.

A/N: JUST A BREAK FROM A DRACO/OC STORY I'VE BEEN WRITING. FIRST ONESHOT . R&R PLEASE?