How Does Your Heart Beat
Everything was a mess. The room, where pillows were strewn across an unmade bed, papers were haphazardly placed across the floor in undecided patterns, the closet that held one article of clothing on a hanger, and the rest lying limply on the floor.
His mind was a mess, most of all. Thoughts whirled through his head, in one way and out the other; he couldn't hold onto any of it. He grasped at them, tried to pull the thoughts in and hold them there, but they broke away.
Nothing would ever be right again.
Her image floated into his consciousness as he collapsed onto the bed, cringing as his back slid against the fork left over from the only food he'd been allowed to eat. Her face was the only thing that didn't spin out of his mind; it stayed right there, haunting him. But she was smiling.
Draco had let her down; he had been defeated, even when he'd promised to keep her safe for the rest of his life. He could still feel her hand in his when they had performed what she called 'pinky swearing.' He had said to her, "I'll never let anything happen to you." But he had not kept his promise.
It was too late; words didn't mean anything now. They were just letters glued together in no distinguishing form.
The door creaked open and he jumped up; the man he loathed the most in the world stood sneering at him. It was ironic that the man he loathed most, was also the man he loved the most. Draco could never figure out how that was possible; but it was.
"Get up," he ordered in that crisp voice he always used; there were never any endearments.
Draco did as he was told; he always did. He wasn't weak, he just knew that he had no chance up against his father. There was no way he could win.
"What have you done with her?"
"The Mudblood?" He laughed coldly. "I just did to her all that she deserved."
That was it. No longer would he be in his father's shadow; he would fight. This was not the day to give in, roll over and just pray he died in his sleep. This was a day for mutiny.
"I loved her," Draco stated evenly.
His father had not expected this at all; he had expected a bit of a fight, yes, but not such a truthful statement filled with a sincerity that no one could force.
If Draco knew one thing, it was what button he should push; to besmirch the family name right in front of the leader of the pact was something he knew would cut deep.
There would be no going back.
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Written for the firstlines1000 challenge #16. (at LiveJournal.com)