Such Sweet Sorrow

Twenty-Eight

Draco Malfoy

I couldn't sleep. 

As per usual. 

I laid in bed in the perfect conditions to sleep until dawn broke the next day, and yet, my brain wouldn't shut the fuck up for long enough to let me get some peace. 

It was times like these when my mind wandered to depths that I had no strength to keep it from venturing into. Staring at the ceiling, I would spiral. Fully aware of the consequences of not stopping the kamikaze train of thought that was bound to crash and burn. The thoughts would fester, and the scenarios that I created in my head would eat me alive from the inside out, only being fueled by my own intrusive thoughts, which also had a habit of slipping through the armor of my consciousness. 

It fucking sucked.

After a day like today, I wasn't in the mood to dig myself out of a self-induced "I fucking hate myself" fest. My mental capacity for emotion today had been reached, and that was a quota I wasn't fond of reaching in the first place. Feeling like a shell of a person was something that I was growing accustomed to, but not something that I inherently liked. It fucking sucked feeling like a ghost, but what else could I be. I haunted the halls while the souls of those that died here haunted my memories, stomping on my already tarnished conscious with steel-toed shoes. 

But it appeared I was stuck in a cycle. An unwilling victim of a circular current that dragged me under the waves and threw me back up to the surface, but only for long enough that I could take a single full breath, before I was pulled under again. 

Those moments of breath were went I felt even remotely close to myself again. I smiled genuinely, maybe even laughed. I felt somewhat restored, even if for a few minutes. And every time I was allowed to take that breath, it was always the same sweet scent that filled my nose. The same smell that seemed to seep through the walls as steam whenever the dull music played on the other side. 

So here I went. The currents were taking their hold, gripping onto the most vulnerable parts of myself so that there was no chance for me escape as I was yanked under, and faced with the demons that plagued me. 

Just as I felt the first wave of darkness begin its rapid encapsulation of my thoughts, a quiet sound disturbed the peace around me, making said wave cower back into the depths of my mind. 

Three dull knocks. Faint, but too rhythmic to not be purposeful. Loud enough to crack through the heavy silence of my room, but quiet enough for me to realize that the knocks weren't sounding from my door, but from behind my head, beyond the wall. 

The timing felt purposeful--catching me right before I fell back into the cycle--but I knew it was more than likely just a coincidence. She hasn't got a clue what's going on in my head, and if she did, there isn't any way she would still be able to be even a thin wall away from me. She'd probably put a whole country between us and still not feel content with the distance. 

Who am I kidding? It would be an entire ocean. 

I waited a minute, trying to interpret what her knocking may have meant. Did she need something? Could she not sleep either? I mean, she hardly ever found sleep this early in the night. It had to have been around 2 in the morning, which was a rather early night considering when sleep normally came for two people whose minds never seemed to shut off. 

Was she having another panic attack about something? A memory. A thought. A feeling. Something that she didn't want to face but was being given no choice as the stubborn bastards forced their way into the fore front of her conscious. 

Should I check on her? 

What am I? Her fucking mother? Check on her? Where in the hell did that come from? When have I ever checked up on anyone but myself?