As We Fall (Blaise Zabini Fanfiction)

Chapter 18

Zoe

Sometimes, something of great significance consumes our mind so deeply that we cannot shake the thought of it for even a minute. In a situation like this, it's logical to ask why this thing means so much to us.

I've asked myself this question what feels like dozens of times today, and I haven't even begun to discover the answer.

Blaise. Me. Blaise kissing me. Me liking it. Me feeling ashamed for liking it. Me being mad at Blaise for kissing me, and even more mad at myself for how much I liked it. Me wondering what could possibly be going through Blaise's mind right now.

I wonder if he is obsessing over the kiss as much as I am. If he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since it happened. I know that I sure haven't. I wasn't able to focus in any of my classes today - my mind kept wandering off to a land of thoughts forbidden. Confusing, frustrating, and tempting thoughts that I just can't seem to resist occupying myself with. I want to be thinking about anything but it (the kiss), but I can't seem to separate myself from the memory.

When Blaise's lips touched mine, a sensation so full of warmth had rushed through me that I thought I might collapse. It was short - a sensitive touch of the lips, and then nothing. But when he pulled away, I found that my breathing was deep and irregular. Why?

I want to pull my hair out in frustration. Blaise is cold, and an ass to me most of the times. There is no way I could like him. How could I like someone like that? I'd always pictured myself with a man that had traits somewhat similar to those of my grandpa's - compassion, kindness, and strength, folded like a warm blanket over a good heart. This is not Blaise. For a moment, I try to picture the two of us together - him with his arms around me late at night, once the rest of the world has gone to sleep. I can't tell if I don't know how I feel about it or if I just don't want to know.

I sit still on a couch in the Slytherin common room. There are a dozen other students spread out across the room, but I feel alone. I inch my toes closer to the fire, allowing the heat of the flames to warm them.

"Zoelle."

Flint appears next to me, the unoccupied space of couch sinking down as he plops onto it. The sound of my full name rolling off his tongue makes me feel strangely uncomfortable.

"I'm glad I found you. I needed help on this damned Herbology essay." He pulls a piece of parchment out of his back pocket, slaps it down on the table in front of us. The thing is wrinkled and torn and looks like it has been run over by a car several times. A few lousy lines of chicken scratch grace the top of the paper.

"I'm not sure why you're asking me. You know I'm dreadful in that class."

"Better than me, though. And everyone else has bailed on me." He gives me a puppy-dog eyed look, as if it will somehow win over my time.

"Please? I'd do it for you."

Guilt-tripping - nice touch.

"Alright, then." I say.

I quickly realize that Herbology is the last thing Flint wants to discuss. He starts simple - how was my day? Am I tired? The classics - mere fillers that provide leeway into the more intense topics. His questions do turn more personal. He wants to know where I'm from, what's something I regret, what are my parents like (I'm not keen on answering this one). Then, all of a sudden, he pelts me with -

"Are you a virgin?"

My hand gives a little jerk, causing the quill I'm holding to make a panicky scribbling motion.

"Um, what?"

"Well, you seem like you would be."

I set my quill down, feeling like boiling water. "No offense, but that's really none of your business."