the trial ; d.m

24

Geneva bursts through the doors of her bedroom with force, her chest heaving as soon as she encloses herself within the four walls. Sobs rip through her, escaping gutturally, growing more uncontrollable as her thoughts encourage her.

She can't place what has overcome her. Can't determine why she's even sobbing this much. But nothing in this moment seems rational. All she can do is cry and cry and cry until her lungs feel as if they are heavy with her tears, on the verge of collapsing through her ribs.

She scans the exterior of her bedroom as a means of distraction and suddenly recognises the entrapment she feels within her little life— within these four walls. Stares at her marital bed and sees nothing but the cracks and creases within the duvet cover. Feels sick with disdain. But not for the act she's just committed. No, but for the falsity which is her life.

Whatever that was she just experienced has made her feel more alive than she has done since she were a child. The colours of her youth have inked back into her soul and the gloomy promise which had been her future seems suddenly replaced by something much changed.

She steadies herself, taking deep, slow breaths. From the hallway, she hears doors bang open and closed. Until the door to her bedroom swings open with a thunderous slam and in stalks Draco, seething anger projecting from every inch of him.

"What the fuck was that?" the harsh shrill of his voice slices clean cut through her.

She shakes her head, holding a hand up to her brow, trying to contain herself from allowing more sobs to break their way out.

"You can't just—you can't fucking do that. You wanted it. You told me— You wouldn't let me stop and—and now you sit here crying."

"Please just— leave me alone."

"No, not until you fucking tell me that I have done nothing to—"

He hesitates.

"To harm you."

She's never seen him this way before. Almost panicked and fearful. It drives a strange guilt through her.

"What? No, of course not."

"You wanted it," he repeats.

"Yes, I did. I just—" she begins. "I can't explain it. I just I want to be alone. Please."

He observes her, sheepishly.

"Geneva—you can't— you can't do that shit to me."

"I'm sorry, okay? Please—" Her voice trails off as her eyes shut to a close, waiting for him to hear her.

He nods, curtly, understanding what she wants. He turns to leave but before exiting the room, holds her gaze and says, "Don't hide from me."

"I won't," she returns, meaning it.

Once he leaves, she stands vacantly, staring at the door as if there's a shadow of him still waiting there. Her chest throbs slightly, a little twinge of the heart feeling out of place.

She takes herself to the en-suite and draws a bath, filling the tub with steaming hot water, dashing in a portion of a relaxing potion in hopes of curing her anxieties. Though perhaps anxiety isn't what she feels. She's not sure.

Every feeling she currently possesses merges together into one overwhelming heap of emotion, leaving her left with peculiar traces of a desperate need.

She cracks open the cupboard under the basin and digs through their potions, snatching out a vial of the aftermath contraceptive and swigs it down in one, cringing at the oily taste.