Imperfect (Drarry)

10

Long ass authors note

It's been a while. If you read these and don't just skip right by them, I applaud you. I never read them. I wanted to enlighten you guys about the contents of my story. When I started writing this, I was young and immature. I was in the 7th grade. I wrote the first 6 parts of this story on notebook paper. It was short, unrealistic, and too fast paced. I realized something after publishing them. I realized that some of you reading are only here because you relate to Draco. I want everyone to know that the purpose of this story is not to glorify or romanticize suicide, depression, or eating disorders. These things are real problems. I wrote this in the beginning to express how I was feeling about myself through characters that I loved. The only problem about that is I knew nothing. With the past few chapters I have been trying to get you to realize that Depression is a serious and real thing. A relationship is not a problem solver. You shouldn't end you life over someone. Don't try to kill yourself and expect someone to save you, things are not like that in real life. In this story, Draco is coming to terms with his depression. Draco is not depressed because of Harry, please don't think that. Draco was depressed before. Well what is he depressed about? I don't know. In all honesty, if you are depressed and don't know why.. that's completely okay. You don't have to have a reason to feel the way you do. Don't take my story out of context. (:

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I flutter my eyes open. Where the hell am I? I'm staring at a ceiling that's not mine. As soon as I turn my head, all that alcohol I drank last night caught up to me. Oh, the pain and irony. I squeeze my eyes shut. Why did I do that, dear God. I wish I could go back, and just say no to Hermione. These sheets smell familiar. I know where I am. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be anywhere. I can't get myself to leave. I can't gather the strength to get out of this bed, or even sit up. I don't want to do anything anymore. I don't want to eat, or even go to the bathroom. I know I have to do these basic necessities, I just can't. I open my eyes through the pain. This damned hangover. If I knew how to apparate, I would just apparate into my own room. Being that I wasn't taught how, that's not really an option. Why do I have to be here? Wait. How did I get here? I gather all the strength that I have, and pull myself into a sitting position. I rub my eyes, and blink a couple times. Red bed sheets, Robes lain out on a nearby chair, Quidditch posters. Disappointment. That is the only word I can think of to describe how I feel looking at this room. I shrink down a bit. I want to leave. It is fairly early. Nobody gets up early on a Saturday. I could just walk out without seeing a lot of people. I just sit there staring blankly at a wardrobe. I've been contemplating when I am gonna finally stand up for a good 15 minutes. The door slowly creaks open. My glassy eyes shift over to the opening. I should have left. I look down, and gently put my head in my hands. I should leave, I should leave, I should leave. That twat comes in and sits himself right on the edge of the bed. I move myself to the opposite end of the bed.

-"Draco" Harry says with seemingly concern.

I don't answer. I groan loudly and flop myself down, pulling the covers over my head. Fuck yourself Harry Potter. Only Merlin knows how many people have.

-"What am I doing in your room?" I pathetically say, just loud enough for my voice to be heard.

-"Well Draco, you were pretty drunk last night. Remember?"

-"Yeah, I remember pretty damn well." I grumble from under the covers, and rub my eyes. There's a painful silence that seems like eternity, but realistically only lasted a minute and a half. I shouldn't be here. I sniff. This is stupid. Why didn't I leave already? I can't just leave now. If I leave now I'll have to look at him. If I leave now, I will be very uncomfortable on the way out. I need to stop this. I don't understand why it is that every time I am doing something, my brain has to constantly scrape up ways to put myself down, or talk myself out of a situation. It's inevitable. I have no way of stopping my thoughts. On one hand... I am aware of the way that I think, and how unhealthy it is to think this way. On the other hand, what am I to do? Shower myself with cheesy, cliché, unhelpful 'encouraging' quotes? Or maybe I should "find a hobby?" Trust me, I've tried it all. It's disappointing. I want it all to stop. Everything.

-"Can I explain?" Harry breaks the silence, pulling me from my thoughts. Why that- that dumbass. His voice rings in my ears. I have made some truly regretful decisions in the close past. I massage my temples.

- "What is there to explain exactly? I don't want to hear it." I shift dramatically while I realign the covers comfortably over my face. I think for a second.

- "I'm only staying here because I'm hungover." I attempt to say matter-of-factly, but my words come out sounding more sheepish. I regret everything.

-"yeah okay" He says softly. "Draco- just- I..." He struggles to form words. I can understand the feeling. Imagine experiencing this difficulty when you discover your boyfriend with someone else. Not so fun.

- "Things weren't how they looked.." Harry trails off.

- "Oh yeah." I sarcastically say.

- "Draco. Ron is a homophobic ass."

What. Excuse me.

- "He never liked you, and frankly I don't think that he ever will. I don't know what his problem is. Let me explain. Me and Ron were genuinly practicing Quidditch. It was hot and we needed a break, so we decided to sit underneath the stands and cool down. I told him that I heard footsteps, so he went to check and see who is was. When I asked him who it was, he didn't say anything. He just pushed me against a wall and put his tongue in my mouth. I was pretty shocked and also pretty disgusted. I pushed him off. Then everything happened so quickly. You were there. Hermione came later. Everyone was there. Hermione punched him when I told her what happened. In the end, this is exactly what was anticipated. He saw you coming, so he did all this to split us up. I wish you would've let me explain earlier."

All this information runs right though my hungover head. I don't think that he is lying. I feel so bad. I shouldn't feel bad, but I do. I'm a mess. No one should have to put up with me. No one should have to deal with this.

- "Sorry, I'm s-sorry." I stutter and soak tears into the sheets with the covers still over my face. I'm not sobbing, tears are just falling from my eyes, it's inescapable. I roll over onto my face.

- "None of this was your fault Draco." Harry lays next to me, on top of the covers. He touches my back, and I flinch. Lovely.

- "I know" I say unconvincingly into a pillow. Of course, if I had let Harry or Hermione explain, then we wouldn't be in a situation such as this. I wouldn't have been locked in a room for 4 days, and I probably wouldn't have gotten that drunk in the first place. I scratch at the scars on my wrists. They are still healing, of course they're itchy.

- "May I get under the sheets with you?" Harry asks. I make a small opening as a welcome. He adjusts himself under the covers. I lift my head off of the pillow and look at him. He looks so put together. I must look like a train wreck. I don't care how I look, but at the same time I care very much about how I look. I hate my thoughts. I hate my head. My thoughts and head are what compose me. I hate myself then. I hate everything about myself. I feel my lip start to quiver, so I move myself closer to Harry and bury my head in his chest. My eyes are slightly swollen. Mainly because I have been rubbing them, but also because tears can make your eyes irritated. A combination of those two things is unpleasant. It's hard to keep your eyes open when they're swollen. I'm not even going to try to stay awake. I am aware of that it is 5 in the morning. I need to sleep off this hangover. After several minutes of laying there with my eyes closed, I finally fall asleep.

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I also would like for you all to know, when you shower me with please update comments I don't just ignore them. I see all of them. I truly am trying. Sometimes it's hard for me to even get out of bed, and more or less to write a story. I write each chapter months apart, so every time I write a new part I read the whole story over again. It's a bit difficult.