"I won't tell anybody!" Charlene screamed as he drove a syringe into her neck. She cried in pain, watched him look down at her in his arms, her vision beginning to go black.
Draco Malfoy was a powerful man.
He was even more powerful when he got wh...
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𒊹︎☯︎︎𒊹︎
She lays in his arms, his hands wrapped tightly around her body.
Something vile was rising in his throat, his hands shaking her, but yet— she wasn't waking up.
He'd looked in the closet to grab her inhaler, and when he checked it, his pulse started racing. She ran out of pumps. Her pulse was very faint, and his entire body ran cold with guilt and regret.
Draco knew he shouldn't have done that. He knew what it would do to her. Scratches laid all over her body, her throat, her thighs, her cheeks so red with tears and her bottom lip bleeding. He felt horrible. He just wanted her to want him, and when she said she wanted space, he got angry.
He didn't understand that she did want him.
Now? Maybe not so much.
Turning on the shower, cold water ran all over his body as he pulled Charlene to his chest, her lips parted and her chest hardly rising and falling.
"Come on," he whispered, shivering while he tried to wake her up. "Fuck. Fuck."
Her head fell into his chest, her body curled up on his, and she still wasn't waking up. He hated himself right now. Hated how he locked her in that closet and then left her for 10 minutes. Ten minutes. That's all it took when she ran out of pumps for her inhaler to lose consciousness.
When he'd locked her in that closet, insanity swept through her body. Darkness, and walls were the only thing surrounding her, and it made her want to die. She pricked at her throat, at her thighs, at her arms to try to distract herself. She'd felt choked, felt like everything was closing in on her and eventually, when her inhale ran out, the only thing that was closing in on her was her throat.
And now, she wasn't waking up.
He started breathing heavily, taking her head in his hands. He rubbed her cheeks with his thumb, mumbling an apology over and over— he didn't know what to do. He was sorry. He knew he shouldn't have that. But now, he was afraid she wasn't ever going to forgive him.
Her legs started to form bumps on them, being in cold water. Draco didn't care that he was soaking both of their clothes, he just—
Needed her to fucking wake up.
He watched her, face relaxed, and she felt so good to him. So good to hold, so good to look at and feel. Again, he checked her pulse, and he started to beg god to wake her up. He was begging anybody— anybody who would listen, anybody who cared about her life.
"Charlene," he was so, so sorry. "Please. Wake up."
He kissed Charlene's cheek, her nose, her forehead, until his lips were numb from the cold, until her small, weak hands tightened into his shirt and her mouth shut, eyes stuttering open. They were so heavy around her eyelids, but when she got them open, she breathed in deeply, her throat sore from screaming so much.
"Mave," Draco pleaded, water trickling down his face, hands still cupping her face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
She couldn't believe he was apologizing. She couldn't believe he meant it. She couldn't believe she was curled up into him right now, her entire body freezing cold and him holding her face. She couldn't believe that she hadn't hit him yet.
But her body was so tired.
She just wanted to close her eyes again.
Just— for a moment.
—
For the next few days, she stayed in bed.
Her body ached, so many little scratches on her body, and she felt like she couldn't breathe at times. Draco had gotten her another supply of inhalers, he flew all the way back to London just to get them. He'd been apologizing non-stop, been trying his hardest to make it up to her.
He'd bought her some more roses, and set them on her nightstand, had bought her a kitten because he thought she might like it— which, she did— he'd got her some chocolate, made her tea and even helped her drink it, had been there to wipe her tears. He'd got on his knees and begged her to say anything to him. But she didn't.
Now, she was walking into the elevator, entering the building again.
Draco was sitting at the bar, a glass of wine in his hands, and she knew by the look on his face that he wasn't expecting her to come back when she'd walked out.
"Charlene," he said her name so softly, ready to beg her again. "Do you need anything?"
She shook her head, her throat scratches healed because of Draco. "I'm gonna make some soup. Want some?"
She prayed he said yes.
And oddly, he nodded. "Yeah— that sounds good. Need any help?"
She shook her head no, and he turned his back to her again. He knew not to push. Not after everything he did.
So slowly, she took her time. Nobody else was in the penthouse besides them, everybody else was outside working. Harry was in New York now.
Draco could hear her back there, cutting vegetables, boiling water and adding the noodles. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to say sorry again— all she had wanted was to go outside. All she'd wanted was an hour of alone time for herself, and then she'd be okay. That's all she wanted. She didn't want to be locked in a closet, begging for her life.
He heard her take an inhale of her inhaler, and turned around to see her back profile, her hair pinned in a hair clip. She wore a pair of her own sweatpants, and a hoodie of hers too— he knew if he hadn't screwed up, she would've wore his clothes.
When he turned back around, he waited another 30 minutes for her to set a bowl down in front of him, and when he looked at the soup, his mouth was begging to taste it. It looked so good, and since she wasn't his maid anymore, he hadn't had her meals in a long time.
She sat her owl bowl down, across from him, taking a seat.
She watched him start eating, and she picked up her spoon.
2 minutes had passed, and he dropped his spoon, grabbing at his throat and stumbling out of his seat. His face was turning red, watching her eyes well up with tears.
"How does it feel?" She choked out, watching him start gasping for breath. "How does it feel to fight for your life?"
A tear left her eye as she got up, leaving him in the kitchen to throw up everything he had eaten.
