I hold Draco Malfoy. I don't know what to do with this. The part of me that finds him beautiful keeps thinking of the sounds he makes, what his face looks like when he comes. She smiles when she recollects how he laughs when we play. The part of me that loves to kiss him and finds his scanalized reaction at Myrtle's suggestions hilarious - she will never let go.
The other part doesn't care. Not really. She doesn't care for Draco Malfoy. She needs. She wants him to want her. She needs him to help her carry the rock. She wants him to drape her arm over his and parade her through the school so everyone can see how she's someone.
It's not a stone in my belly. I'm a cairn.
And both us know that holding him is a fucking stupid idea, so we, along with the evil cunt who can never stop judging us, we all dissociate together and watch Hermione Granger offering herself up as the brunt of the joke, promising a lost, blond boy all the chances he needs.
Says the evil cunt, "she's pathetic."
Says the lover, "she's unaccountably optimistic."
Says the attention whore, "why can't she just get drunk and dance naked in the common room like everyone else?"
He wants me to want him for real? What's real anymore? You want me to care enough to let you give? You'll wait? Until?
No one, Draco Malfoy, can wait that long. Caring for you won't ever make a difference. I'm just a bundle of nerves, I don't want you to touch me.