BEHIND CLOSED DOORS | D.M

018 | wounded & confused

Is it a dream? Or perhaps a nightmare?

It shouldn't feel like a bad dream, it shouldn't feel like torture, yet this simple sentence keeps consuming Kallista's mind to the point of making her want to scream at the top of her lungs to let go of all frustration.

She's pregnant.

Astoria Greengrass is with child. With Draco's child at last.

These words keep on replaying in Kallista's mind like she can't seem to get rid of them.

She doesn't know why — it's unknown to her to feel this way, but when Draco announced to her the supposedly good news, she felt as though the sharpest knife in her kitchen passed through her back and stabbed her heart right in the middle.

The pain coursing through her heart isn't being felt to directly hurt her, but rather for feeling torment and discomfort for Astoria.

Does Astoria even know how Draco acts with Kallista in private?

Should Kallista talk to Astoria? No. Their relationship shouldn't be her business. But why is she feeling guilty? Is it guilt or is it—

"Are you listening to me?"

His voice. His voice might be one of the top three aspects she hates most about him. It's so deep, so low and overbearing. Every syllable leaving his mouth sends chills through her body, yet she longs to hear more each time he speaks.

Draco Malfoy is like a sweet and sour candy. Sour at first, almost repulsive but as time goes by, the sweetness takes over. Kallista is finally realising it — she doesn't appreciate admitting it, but Draco is starting to leave a honeyed print on her.

And she has to stop him before she becomes liquid, melted, ready for him to consume every part of her mind and heart.

It cannot happen.

"Obviously not." Kallista replies, exhaling a small sigh as she locks her eyes to the silver ones staring back at her, "What do you want?"

"You're making it really hard for me to stay calm." Draco drops the quill on his desk and leans back on his chair. Without breaking eye-contact, he motions his chin towards her figure sitting on the leather seat across from him, "Focus."

A perfectly manicured hand gestures to the papers scattered in front of him, "I don't understand why you're doing this now. The incident happened over three weeks ago."

Draco takes his glasses off and places them on the wooden desk. He rubs his jaw with his hand as his eyes saunter over her frame. When his eyes halt on her lean legs, one crossed over the other, only covered by a black pencil skirt with a small slit on the right side, Kallista lets her lips curve up into a smirk.

"Maybe you should be the one who needs to be focusing."

Draco ignores her statement and locks his eyes back to hers, "It's part of the process." His fingers drum over the paperwork, "You need to tell me how you really feel after what happened in Paris."

Kallista leans backwards into her seat, her hands placed gracefully on the armrests. Her head tilts to the side and her blue hues turn into a darker shade, "Are you talking about Morgan or about us?"

Draco gulps. His own eyes flicker to a dark shade of grey as memories from their night replays in his head.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Draco replies quietly, his fingers fiddling with the buttons on the sleeves of his black shirt.

The witch stands up, slowly striding towards Draco. His eyes drop to her legs before trailing up her frame to meet her intense gaze. She stops beside him, leaning one hand on the desk and using the other to take the quill in between her fingers.