Chapter 6

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"WHERE THE H*LL IS THAT LITTLE B*TCH?!" I shout the minute I step out of Potions Class. My voice bounces off the wall, echoing my despair back at me. The corridors are empty, as no one has left class yet, but I know he's somewhere here. I can feel it. Him, smiling down at me, laughing at what an idiot I am.

How could I have not seen it coming? I knew something was suspicious— I tasted the bitterness in my juice; I noticed the vial in his pocket; I saw that look in his eyes and in my mistake, I confused it with some sort of attraction. Merlin, I was even warned countless times about what he may do to me, but I refused to believe that he would ever reach this low. He took away something that meant so much to me. It could have been the key to my happiness, a chance at life, a final goodbye.

And now I have to take something just as important to him as it is to me, no matter the cost. I refuse to go down without a fight.

My feet slip outwards onto the cobblestone, creating faint noises of my heel tapping against the solid floor. Within each step, there is this uncomfortableness that surrounds my feet, a slight pain that slowed me down.

I cannot have that. Too caught up in the excitement of shredding him into little pieces, I kick the heels off, bare feet against the icy floors of the Dungeons. It's unnoticeable, quiet, and best of all, I have the upper hand.

As if my mind conjured him up, there he is, running off like always, a coward no doubt. His back faces me, a black robe flinging up against the unnatural wind, simply unaware of my presence. I had him, at least I thought I did.

I shoot a silent hex, but he turns around unexpectedly and dodges it in self-defense. As he backs away, I continue to throw spells at him, left and right, yet it somehow never touches him; almost as if he wrapped a little bubble around himself, knowing that I would try to hurt him. But he got all wrong— I wasn't only going to hurt him. I was going to kill him, of course.

Disregarding my attempt at an attack, he spins around and walks off as if nothing had happened. Just watching him and that tiny smirk on his face angered me even more. All it does is just remind me what a fool I have been for these past couple of days. Each day I thought to myself that the knots in my stomach, the sensation of seeing him, and the touches we've shared were all just a lie. I don't know if it was the heat of the moment— lust even— but I need to push these ungodly thoughts aside. It's not real. It shouldn't be.

I was right at first to not trust him. He is and will always be my enemy.

Without even noticing it, I race through the hallways as a crowd of students begins to flood the narrow corridors, blocking the sight of my target. I push a few third years out of the way, too bothered and focused to apologize. I had a mission to complete and I wasn't going to waste time being nice.

My thoughts are running wild and my blood is curling. I hate him. No, hate is too feeble for a word. I despise him. I despise him so much that I would love to see him begging for my mercy, pleading that I'd let him go. What a beautiful sight that would be.

I swerve to the next corner, not realizing that I was closer to him than I thought. I reach out to grab his robe but the invisible bubble that still surrounds him throws me off guard and causes me to trip over air.

Face flat on the ground, I push myself up, just a little, searching for where he went. And to my surprise, he's right above me, silent eyes locking onto mine, contemplating something in his head. But he doesn't offer to help. Instead, he chuckles to himself and slowly strolls away, as if it was a typical day in the park. Before I knew it, he was already gone, carefully walking through a wall that opens up only to him and to... me? I thought I knew what was going on, but it was as if he wanted me to follow and I don't know if I should. I can't trust him. I know I can't. Should I just end it here? Get up and pretend that I haven't been chasing him for a while now. Pretend that he didn't hurt me and ruin my life.

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