Part 1 Complicate You
"Help me I broke apart my insides, help me I've got no soul to sell
help me the only thing that works for me, help me get away from myself"
'Malfoy, I-' I stopped him short. I placed my hand over his mouth, causing his face to contort with the usual emotions, horror, contentment, and confusion all at once. The way we usually look when we start to express our love. It's so hard, I really wish I didn't know the lengths hate really meant. I know now, it's scary how deep that word is. Hate means love and visa versa. But mostly, its just the fact that hate means you cant stand a person so much that you have dreams of ripping there soul out through there heart but really don't even want to get That close to them. I dropped my hand and held back the tears.
"Harry." I chocked through clenched teeth. "Draco Harry, Draco. Please." I know he could hear the raw emotion in my voice. I knew he could feel the terror tremor through my body as I pleaded with him softly. "Harry, I cant.I mean." I mumbled incoherently trying desperately to show Harry how much I needed, how much I wanted him. I was broken without him. He's taken my soul from me. He stole it the first time he kissed me. Well not the first time he kissed me. The first time he.loved me. The first couple times we kissed was just spite and hate; we hadn't yet encountered the part of our lives where we could never return. The time in our lives where we would grip the pillow and cry ourselves to sleep at night. No one would understand us if we tried to explain our emotions. It was like fire and ice. The fire in his eyes, the fire of our hate, the fire in my soul; the ice of my eyes, the ice of our 'love', the ice of his soul. Even though he would never admit his soul was ice, it was. How else could he thaw through my layers to get to where I really knew what my world was about, and ironically enough, it just happened to revolved around The Boy Who Was The Only Thing That Worked For Me.
"Draco." started Harry, softly, trying not to hurt me. It's not that he didn't care, don't get me wrong, he just hated me as much as he loved me. "What are you trying to say?" He asked without patronizing me, but smiling because we'd been through all this before. "I'm listening, I'm always listening."
The unintentional truth in that phrase momentarily froze my thoughts and I just thought about what it wouldn't be like if he wasn't always listening, what it was like before then. What it was like before The Boy Who Lived stole my soul and kissed me like I was God. Before, all I could think about was this obsession with Harry. Before I actually knew what love was, and how I wish everyday I could just go to hell, and stop suffering in this hell on earth.
"I need you Harry."
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"Do you need me?"
"More than I can ever tell you."
"I'm sorry too then."
"It's okay."
"No, no its not. I for one will never be okay again, Harry."
"I know, me neither. But as long as I have you with me it's not as awful, I guess. Sometimes"
"I know, but sometimes, that's just the problem isn't it?"
"Yes, of course."
And then
"I'd better go."
He flinched in the bluntness of the statement. Of course he should. Why shouldn't he?
"Yeah, I guess I should too." It's not as if I wanted too, but as I should have explained earlier, I make very few decisions, I just sit and watch as my life goes up in flames. Flames held in Harry Potters eyes. Ironic. Harry started getting up and was walking towards the door as I sat on the desk tabletop looking at the floor with evident interest. Or at least I hoped it looked like I was interested. I couldn't look up at Harry because every time I looked at him it was all I could do to make sense of the words spiraling in my head such as 'kiss him', 'fall into his arms', and things much more graphic that if I even think about now, will ruin me. But we never kissed. And right now, I knew that if I looked up at him, I wouldn't be able to help myself. As I said previously, I was barely able to help myself just thinking about it. Suddenly the room shifted and Harry had turned around, I looked up and fell into the fire of his eyes, he touched my cheek right under my eye, where he'd hit me in a fight we'd had earlier today over Weasley. He leaned in slightly looking me straight in the eye, and kissed my bruised face. My breath caught in my throat and suddenly he kissed me. He hadn't kissed me like this in weeks; he kissed me with tender pain and suffering. Pain and suffering that near killed me, because I knew it was my entire fault that any of it was his. It was times like this that killing myself seemed less petty. I never did it though. Any guesses why? Because it would kill Harry. He barely talked to his friends anymore. I saw it in his eyes. I saw it everyday as we stared off into the darkness of our lives at lunch and dinner. Needless to say, I didn't talk to my friends much either. And if I killed myself, he'd be incomplete, I knew this because it's what I feel every time I'm away from him. As Harry deepened the kiss I felt a tear running down my cheek, these days were wearing me down, and the whole 'A Malfoy Never Sheds A Tear, He Hides His Pain Rule' had gone out the window. It wasn't soon after that I felt my tears mingled with Harry's. I broke the kiss in a low pained cry, I wouldn't let Harry cry on my account, it just wasn't right. Breaking the kiss probably wasn't a very good idea, because as soon as I did, I felt so much pain in the back of my mind saying that Harry was only playing with me, that Harry didn't in anyway love me, that Harry could never love someone such as me. These thoughts occurred to me often, and every time they did, I had to cry myself to sleep at night. Damn, I wont be sleeping at all tonight.
As if reading my thoughts Harry backed up, not even bothering to wipe 2 minutes tears going down his reddened cheeks, and stated quite clearly, "You look tired, and we better be leaving anyway. Good Night." And with that he was gone. I don't think I've ever seen him move so quickly. Wait, yes I have, every time I look at him without hiding my pain and love and hate and every raw emotion filtering through my eyes, he flees. He run's because it's exactly how he's feeling, and he doesn't want me to feel it too. How do I know this you ask? Because a Malfoy knows everything.
"Help me I broke apart my insides, help me I've got no soul to sell
help me the only thing that works for me, help me get away from myself"
'Malfoy, I-' I stopped him short. I placed my hand over his mouth, causing his face to contort with the usual emotions, horror, contentment, and confusion all at once. The way we usually look when we start to express our love. It's so hard, I really wish I didn't know the lengths hate really meant. I know now, it's scary how deep that word is. Hate means love and visa versa. But mostly, its just the fact that hate means you cant stand a person so much that you have dreams of ripping there soul out through there heart but really don't even want to get That close to them. I dropped my hand and held back the tears.
"Harry." I chocked through clenched teeth. "Draco Harry, Draco. Please." I know he could hear the raw emotion in my voice. I knew he could feel the terror tremor through my body as I pleaded with him softly. "Harry, I cant.I mean." I mumbled incoherently trying desperately to show Harry how much I needed, how much I wanted him. I was broken without him. He's taken my soul from me. He stole it the first time he kissed me. Well not the first time he kissed me. The first time he.loved me. The first couple times we kissed was just spite and hate; we hadn't yet encountered the part of our lives where we could never return. The time in our lives where we would grip the pillow and cry ourselves to sleep at night. No one would understand us if we tried to explain our emotions. It was like fire and ice. The fire in his eyes, the fire of our hate, the fire in my soul; the ice of my eyes, the ice of our 'love', the ice of his soul. Even though he would never admit his soul was ice, it was. How else could he thaw through my layers to get to where I really knew what my world was about, and ironically enough, it just happened to revolved around The Boy Who Was The Only Thing That Worked For Me.
"Draco." started Harry, softly, trying not to hurt me. It's not that he didn't care, don't get me wrong, he just hated me as much as he loved me. "What are you trying to say?" He asked without patronizing me, but smiling because we'd been through all this before. "I'm listening, I'm always listening."
The unintentional truth in that phrase momentarily froze my thoughts and I just thought about what it wouldn't be like if he wasn't always listening, what it was like before then. What it was like before The Boy Who Lived stole my soul and kissed me like I was God. Before, all I could think about was this obsession with Harry. Before I actually knew what love was, and how I wish everyday I could just go to hell, and stop suffering in this hell on earth.
"I need you Harry."
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"Do you need me?"
"More than I can ever tell you."
"I'm sorry too then."
"It's okay."
"No, no its not. I for one will never be okay again, Harry."
"I know, me neither. But as long as I have you with me it's not as awful, I guess. Sometimes"
"I know, but sometimes, that's just the problem isn't it?"
"Yes, of course."
And then
"I'd better go."
He flinched in the bluntness of the statement. Of course he should. Why shouldn't he?
"Yeah, I guess I should too." It's not as if I wanted too, but as I should have explained earlier, I make very few decisions, I just sit and watch as my life goes up in flames. Flames held in Harry Potters eyes. Ironic. Harry started getting up and was walking towards the door as I sat on the desk tabletop looking at the floor with evident interest. Or at least I hoped it looked like I was interested. I couldn't look up at Harry because every time I looked at him it was all I could do to make sense of the words spiraling in my head such as 'kiss him', 'fall into his arms', and things much more graphic that if I even think about now, will ruin me. But we never kissed. And right now, I knew that if I looked up at him, I wouldn't be able to help myself. As I said previously, I was barely able to help myself just thinking about it. Suddenly the room shifted and Harry had turned around, I looked up and fell into the fire of his eyes, he touched my cheek right under my eye, where he'd hit me in a fight we'd had earlier today over Weasley. He leaned in slightly looking me straight in the eye, and kissed my bruised face. My breath caught in my throat and suddenly he kissed me. He hadn't kissed me like this in weeks; he kissed me with tender pain and suffering. Pain and suffering that near killed me, because I knew it was my entire fault that any of it was his. It was times like this that killing myself seemed less petty. I never did it though. Any guesses why? Because it would kill Harry. He barely talked to his friends anymore. I saw it in his eyes. I saw it everyday as we stared off into the darkness of our lives at lunch and dinner. Needless to say, I didn't talk to my friends much either. And if I killed myself, he'd be incomplete, I knew this because it's what I feel every time I'm away from him. As Harry deepened the kiss I felt a tear running down my cheek, these days were wearing me down, and the whole 'A Malfoy Never Sheds A Tear, He Hides His Pain Rule' had gone out the window. It wasn't soon after that I felt my tears mingled with Harry's. I broke the kiss in a low pained cry, I wouldn't let Harry cry on my account, it just wasn't right. Breaking the kiss probably wasn't a very good idea, because as soon as I did, I felt so much pain in the back of my mind saying that Harry was only playing with me, that Harry didn't in anyway love me, that Harry could never love someone such as me. These thoughts occurred to me often, and every time they did, I had to cry myself to sleep at night. Damn, I wont be sleeping at all tonight.
As if reading my thoughts Harry backed up, not even bothering to wipe 2 minutes tears going down his reddened cheeks, and stated quite clearly, "You look tired, and we better be leaving anyway. Good Night." And with that he was gone. I don't think I've ever seen him move so quickly. Wait, yes I have, every time I look at him without hiding my pain and love and hate and every raw emotion filtering through my eyes, he flees. He run's because it's exactly how he's feeling, and he doesn't want me to feel it too. How do I know this you ask? Because a Malfoy knows everything.