I've reached my breaking point.

Emotions swivel deep within me, each one more frantic than the next. Words release from my mouth in a clumsy tumble of tangled syllables, and yet, I can never seem to get my point across.

Life surrounds me in a thick hazy fog, obscuring my vision. I wonder sometimes: If I were to get a pair of glasses as hideous as yours, would my perception be fixed somehow.

Emotions swivel deep within me, each one more frantic than the next. I never expected any of the ones directed at you to be a fiery complicated mess, somehow trickling from hate and jealousy to something different. Something that is inexplicable and dangerous.

I never expected you to confess that you, too, you can't seem to hate me. And it frustrates you to no end.

That's the only satisfaction this situation brings. It brings confusion and admiration, yet envy and hostility as well.

Sensitivity and care, two things I haven't given much thought.

My father didn't know the meaning of care, and the only sensitive thing about him was his fair skin. I was expected to grow up just like him. Alone and pale.

Hostility, a feeling so familiar yet alien at the same time… I'm bewildered as to why you can rip at my insides, clawing them raw, so easily. Without even laying a finger on my skin, you can cause me emotional trauma that I hadn't even known existed.

Physical pain can't even compare to the twist of my gut and the feeling of fingers clutching at my chest so tightly that my eyes begin to sting with desperate tears. Physical pain will never surpass the sudden sinking and rising of nerves in my stomach, and the trembling of my lips when you're near.

The trembling of my fingers as they run up your back, my bewildered wide eyes staring into yours as your lips press against mine harshly.

The kiss is anything but simple and sweet. It's painful, passionate and obsessive. We can never seem to close our eyes as we kiss, always keeping them locked, watching them darken with feverish hunger.

I was born for one reason and one reason only. I wasn't born to be great, or to fulfill a prophecy like you. I wasn't born to surpass my professor's expectations in school or to become a brilliant quidditch player. I wasn't born to save a million lives, and heal a thousand injuries in a hospital.

I was born to take my father's place.

You have a goal, and so do I. We each want to achieve something in our lifetimes, and will work relentlessly at it until we do.

I was born to take my father's place.

There are many implications of that statement. The most appealing being the Malfoy heir and inheriting hundreds of riches, the least appealing…

I'm not sure anymore. I had thought it was responsibility when I was a naïve child. Now, I wonder if it's having to work to kill you.

You've created a visible dent in my future, in my life. It makes me want to hurt you more, lighting each one of my limbs in an explosion of fire. The fire immediately dies down as your eyes reach mine, so needy and desperate for a touch of any form.

Later that night, I touch you. My hands moving down your smooth chest and mentally noting each curve and hollow.

I've been broken, and can't be repaired.

You've broken me, and… Oh god, Break me again.

I don't want to be fixed.

Your fingers falter their gentle pulling in my hair as my eyes close for the first time as we kiss. They fall to my shoulders, and I hold onto your waist tighter, my eyes fluttering open.

You push me away, and you look so fearful. I let you go, berating myself.

Emotions catch in my throat, spindling my chest and swirling ruthlessly in the pit of my stomach. I take in a deep breath, pulling my knees to my chest, my arms quivering and my eyes opened wide with confusion.

An image of my father deludes my mind, and I let out a long shriek, arching into the wall behind me as my fingers tangle in my nightclothes.

It's entirely your fault.

My eyes are red, and I smile helplessly to myself. My fingers splayed against the mirror in front of me before curling into a fist.

I've reached my breaking point.

You brought me there, causing my resolve to fall apart like a tower of poorly stacked cards. I swallow uneasily, and each breath I take feels constricted in my tightening chest as I try my hardest to look nonchalant. Your eyes catch mine briefly, before they widen and you look away.

I can almost feel the grip on your fork tense.

I sit against a cold wall, my fingers laced loosely with themselves as I stare out a glass window. My father's face looms over me and I close my eyes, leaning my head against the stone wall. I lick my lips, envisioning your bright eyes focused on me as they often are when we kiss.

The castle is quiet except for my ragged breath as I caress myself; my eyes squeezed shut while I arch insistently into the wall behind me, letting out a soft restrained sound before falling back limply.

Later that evening I was summoned to be marked.

The only thought that crosses my mind was you, and I prolong the reply as long as I could. Then, painfully, I rise from my seat and scratch a simple reply.

No.

My chest aches with fear and regret, almost reaching the intensity of the slow throbs your simple name triggers.

I've never thought for one moment I'd give up everything for Harry Potter. In one moment, my fate was sealed and I could hardly fathom the idea of not having a family—I couldn't even imagine the anger of my father.

I walk out of the Common Room steadily, avoiding the vicious glares of my housemates. My breath comes out raggedly, and all I can think about is finding you and wondering if you'll have me.

Oh god, please have me. Take me anyway you need.

My emotions are set, my body suffering through many spasms as I try and grip the idea of kissing your tender lips again. Walking is difficult as my knees slowly collapse and my legs melt with the slow heat traveling through my body.

When I reach you, you're not alone. I open my mouth to say something, but find I can't. I'm frozen, my eyes widened with fear.

Not of my father, but of simple rejection.

I turn away sharply, my eyes closing as my tongue darts out from my mouth to moisten my cracking lips.

I've never known sensitivity or care. I know how to obsess and how to want. I know for a fact that I obsess over you with incredible vigor and that I want you more than anything I've ever known. My fingers clench around my robes as I imagine you pressing me against the wall, your breath hot against my cheek. I pull them away, instead letting them chip as they grip harshly onto the stone surface.

I let out a strangled moan that comes out as more of a tragic sob. Then, I let my forehead rest against the wall, my pale face flushing violently as lift my fingers to trail across my lips.

And then I thrust, my fingers curling and scratching at my body, at the grimy wall. I lean my head back, my hands smoothing down my body, rumpling my shirt as I imagine your piercing green gaze on my vulnerable body.

My breath hitches, as I close my eyes to force back the tears.

I make myself believe obsessing over you is okay when equipped with a more than willing wall and imaginative mind.

My emotions are more complex than simple obsess and want. I realize this when studying you closely in class as the familiar painful throb in my chest arises once more. I corner you after Potions, my mouth moist and my breathing heavy.

Your eyelids flutter as I press against you, my gaze searching and my lips acquiring a recognizable tremble. I whisper your name gently, and you lean against me.

A warm trickle flows down my neck, and I swallow uneasily, wiping away your tears.

I don't hurt easily. There are few people that can affect me.

My father is one of the few that can. You have proved time and time again that you can hurt me too.

You can break me.

I watch your eyes drift shut as you kiss me, press me against such a familiar wall. I hold you desperately, my voice knowing no restraint. My arms lock around you so heavily, and I can feel tears stinging my eyes.

I'm so thirsty, parched and needing. I had been craving your touch so desperately that when I get it, I'm overwhelmed. My knees are weak, my chest fluttering warily as I hold you close.

Your gaze locks with mine, and your warm breath skitters across my cheek. My own breathing is erratic, my eyes shining clearly with something so foreign.

Emotions swivel deep within me, each more frantic than the next. I succumb to your heat as you press against me fervently, and feel your hands unbutton my shirt. My fingers lace through yours and I let out a long sigh.

I'm obsessed in the worst way. I'm in love.

x.x.x.x