𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑¹⁸⁺ | 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

16

i changed the cover for this book btw.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 | "𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝?"

ϟ

  Nerves are a signal of truth of what I value, of what I need and cherish— and frequently of what I want so much that the idea of not winning brings on those telltale tremors. I always ask myself what the nerves are telling me, it is one significant way my body speaks.

  "He'll be fine, Vance has been through way worse." Draco plops into the plush chair beside me, gently tearing a package of potato crisps open. "He got attacked by a vampire once— um, oh— he was also stabbed in the thigh, but that was less fatal. How long as it been?"

  "Three hours, twenty two minuets, and forty si— seven seconds." I'm apprehensive my heart will erupt from the vicinity of my chest, it beats at a hundred miles per hour and I anticipate it won't slow until I am assured Vance will be okay.

  Draco sets the bag of crisps onto his lap, reaching his fevered hand to plant a palm onto the rear of my shoulder. "He's fine, if they failed we would've heard his body explode."

  I shove his touch off me, my heated face thawing my frosted fingers. "I get that you don't particularly like him but he's literally holding my life together. Without him I would have been one of them— the Sector 54 release, I would have been them."

  "With the restriction you have, I don't think he's holding your life together." He crunches rather boisterously onto the chips. "I mean— think about it logically. He keeps you in the same two areas, limits your wizardry, fits you into the tightest of dresses, he treats you like his personal doll. That's not healthy."

  I wish to slam his head into the drywall. "You're acting like it's just physical he also—"

  "—Also what? Calls you pretty? Tells you there's no one else? Makes you feel good?" He laughs to himself, a corner of his lip upturning into a playful smirk as his brutal words drip from his tongue "Any guy can do that without holding you captive."

  "He's not holding me captive."

  He chuckles once more, "look at me straight in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't leave him for your freedom. Your wizardry, your ability to travel, to not be surrounded by death."

  "I wouldn't," I frown, fiddling with my fingers as I flinch my lids and glare into his devilish eyes. They're the shade of a blossoming bruise. "Not after this, I told him I hated him and he didn't see me the same after that. I called him a liar and said he was arrogant. He's in here because I acted out, because I said hurtful things that distracted h—"

  He shoves a potato crisp into my mouth. "You talk too much."

  The tears brimming my waterline burst, a full sob splashing onto the crevices of my palms. The bottled up emotions explode beneath my fragile heart.

  "For fucks sake— stop crying. Vance is fine." He isn't educated enough to have knowledge of the proper method to carry on in the present circumstance. He panics, ascending from his seat whilst pressing his fingers to his pale temples. "Okay— fuck, fuck, fuck. I'll be back."

  I wish to never be responsible for one's death. Intentional or not, the guilt overwhelmingly tears my goodness apart, bringing the darkest of shadows to the sunshine left within me.

  It is my tears that keep my soul alive in the furnace of this pain. They cannot extinguish what has been, yet only carry me forward until a time comes when that searing pain is distant enough to forget more than remember, and maybe one day erase itself from my brain.

  So perhaps it may be an oddity to thank my tears and be proud to cry, yet if that's what saves me from becoming a monster, a person indifferent to suffering and sorrow, then crying is the smartest thing I can do.

  "Okay I'm back," Draco's apperation and steps thud against the hard tiled floor. Deliberately treading before me. "Here, I brought your only friend."

  I peel my palms from my wet face, my slightly swollen eyes remain with underdeveloped tears. In one hand, he has Cream hoisted within the length of his fingers and in the other, the bag of crisps is folded between his thumb and the niche of his forefinger.

  "Okay," I lowly say, my tone unifying the cracks of my voice. I ignore the bittersweet statement he conveyed, utilizing both hands to remove Cream from his grasp. I contemplate whether or not I should apologize to her for accidentally dropping The Quibbler on her head but Draco would judge me too hard for speaking to her as if she would talk back.

  The tears delay, hindering as Cream comfortably sat within the vicinity of my lap.

  Draco returns to his seat straightforwardly to the right of me, nibbling to the inside of his cheek."This might be the wrong time to ask bu—"

  "—Then don't, don't ask." I interrupt, trailing my fingertips on the silky white fur; streaming miniature shapes onto her skin. "Just so you know— I regret everything I did with you."

  He stays quiet for the quickest minute, his expression remaining a frosty gaze.

  "Okay but weren't you the one begging me to let you cum? You didn't regret it in that moment, did you?" He laughs, my words did not damage even an ounce of his large ego. "If you regret if, that only means I'm your guilty pleasure."

  His statement hits me like a brick, the words in my brain fumbling as my bones rattled beneath my cold skin.

"That doesn't mean I didn't regret it after. It was a mistake and it won't happen again. I promised Vance I wouldn't see you again."

  Draco scoffs, a chuckle lighting his features as his lips shaped to his worthless words. "You couldn't resist so you had to promise him? Damn, he wasted money saving you."

  "Okay, I belong to Vance and he—"

  "well that's too bad," Draco inclines nearer, our faces less than an inch from grazing one another. "If you belonged to be I wouldn't have you captive, or have you promise not to see anyone— I'm not insecure, I would know you enjoy me and me only."

  Before I can collect my shattered emotions and speak to him with statements that debunk his behavior, a woman— maroon scrubs. She arrives with a vacant expression plastered across her face.

  Draco turns his head, moving to his original position and reclining onto the rough cushions of his chair. "Well, is he dead?"