the trial ; d.m

25

3rd March 2003

Geneva is barely awake when her bedroom door quietly creaks open and in slips Theodore, careful not to make much noise. Before she squints through half open eyes and sees it's her husband who has returned, she automatically assumes it's Draco. Her chest tightens at the thought, willing his presence instead.

But she keeps her eyes closed, pretending to remain asleep in order to avoid conversation with him. His supple fingertips brush over her hair and she feels his lips plant gently on her forehead in a brief peck. She feels sick.

Once she hears the door shut to a close and is sure he has left the room, she awakens properly with a start, sitting up and cusses to herself under her breath.

The past few days have been unfamiliarly blissful if words were to describe it. She hadn't a care in the world, floating about aimlessly, letting go of each tempting worry which tries to trouble her. She and Draco found themselves in each other's company more often than not, mostly holding captivating conversations and always falling into the greatest extent of sweaty, passionate scenes.

Everywhere she went she craved him. Craved his touch, craved his breath against her skin, his lips indulging hers— more particularly his mouth wherever it may find itself that causes her to feel more alive than ever.

So naturally each time she found herself with him, it was inevitable she would end up beneath him. And he was so determined. It was obvious he craved her the same amount. Because each time she accidentally flounced into a room that Draco would be in, a starving expression would possess his features and she knew that all he could think about was making her cry out his name.

And now Theodore is home and heaven forbid it's all going to return to the way it was. Draco most likely won't even meet her eye anymore. It would be ironic considering that all he has been doing recently is staring through the very depths of her soul, begging for her to look at him whilst he fucks her.

Although she attempts to compel herself that she ought not to care whether he completely abandons their recent rendezvous, that starving growth of life within convinces her that it would be the worst possible thing to happen. And she should be able to do nothing else but envy his ability to pull himself out of this trance so effortlessly.

But these are only her expectations. Nothing is to say whether this will become the reality she dreads. Because if Geneva is to become desperate and yearning due to his sudden withdrawal, then to hell with him. To hell with all of it.

After several prolonged moments of remaining barricaded in her bedroom throughout the early hours of this morning, she knows she must face it at some point. Her husband and his false devotion. The way she used to esteem him has seemingly been forever changed now, having completely eroded away with any respect she used to hold for him. 

Perhaps that's what makes it easier for her to draw on a pleased, loving expression when wandering into the dining room and meeting eyes with him for the first time in days. For the first time since she had learned the truth.

And there's Draco, perched upon the chair beside him, also glancing up at her like a startled dog the moment she breezes in, nothing at all seeming different. His eyes linger on her for a prolonged second, capturing that same gaze she'd locked away in her memory from the night before. And the multiple times before that. Sheer angsty desire. Her insides quiver.

"Geneva," Theodore announces, and she suddenly remembers his presence during this stolen exchange. "You look pleased, darling. How have you been?"

She doesn't allow herself to meet Draco's gawking stare. Just beams at her husband and smacks a small kiss on his cheek. The notion feels out of place.