𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 | 𝐃.𝐌

ηιηєту-єιgнт

"What—" that's when more guilt rushed through Draco's head and he had to take a seat.

Owens, who seemed just as guilty sat beside him, "they've got feeding tubes attached to her and have already given her a blood transfusion. Now it's just up to Vienna to wake up."

"She will wake up, right?" Draco uttered, his elbows resting on his knees and head lowered.

"Honesly, I don't know," Owens answered truthfully, "you didn't see what she was like. How bored of life she seemed. I should have done more, I should have told her you were alive because that girl, for some reason in love with you and she doesn't deserve to feel like she is better off dead without you."

Now, if Draco didn't agree with him then Owens would have been knocked out on the floor before he finished that sentence. But he was right. And Draco needed to hear the harsh words.

He should have come back sooner. But he thought by not telling her, he was keeping her safe. And her grief had to look real. And Draco thought by making her think he betrayed her, then she would hate him and it would be easier for her, that way.

But, God was he wrong.

He now saw how deeply Vienna was in love with him and that made him both the happiest man in the world and the saddest.

"She had to believe I was dead," Draco responded.

"I know but that almost killed her," Owens answered.

"I was going to tell her once I finished what I needed to finish," Draco said, his words becoming more frustrated.

"And have you?" Owens asked carefully.

"My father is still alive and breathing so no," Draco said.

Owens just nodded his head as though he wasn't a private investigator and in the police force and didn't just hear Draco confess to trying to murder his own dad. Not that would matter—he knew of their crimes. He knew of all the people both Draco and Vienna have killed. If Owens wasn't just as bad, then Vienna and Draco would both be locked away by now.

But he wasn't that type of police officer.

"Where is she?" Draco asked, "I want to see her."

Owens took Draco to the room Vienna was in and which has led him to this moment, staring into the room in the quiet hallway, at three in the morning. Owens left him alone, he had to go back to the station and take care of Hermione and he knew Draco had to be alone with her.

For some reason, Draco was terrified to go into that room. The guilt was killing him. He felt like he might as well have been the one to have taken the blade and shoved it through her himself.

The door handle was cold as he held it in his hand and his eyes began to pool with tears. The rage had gone and was only left with the agony of sadness. Draco didn't cry, but looking at the way Vienna looked was killing him.

Not only was she in a hospital bed, in a patient white gown. She was also covered in cuts and bruises and her face had stitches over the long gash on her cheekbone. It hurt him to see her this way, so hurt and fragile. She was also as skinny as a skeleton. There was no weight to her at all and she did indeed look like a corpse.

Had she not eaten at all in the past month? Tears were covering his cheeks as he approached her and when he reached her, he took her weak, skinny hand in his shaky one and begged her to wake up. But she did not.

The only thing assuring him that she wasn't dead was the constant, slow beep of the heart monitor.

He sat on the chair beside her as he now held her frail hand in both of his and pressed his forehead against her hand. He had never cried so much in his life. This pain and guilt was unbearable.

He wanted to give her every bit of life he had. He wanted give her his own breath and oxygen and everything that he had. Every last heartbeat he had left he would give everything to her.

"Wake up," he cried, "please, Vienna—I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm sorry, I'll do better."

He was begging for her eyes to open but she lay there like a sad corpse. He looked back up at her and he only cried more. He was sobbing. He was utterly broken.

"Come back to me," he whispered.

Then the door opened and quickly closed, and Draco was on his feet in an instant and rounding the bed so he was between Vienna and whoever just walked in. He didn't even bother wiping away his tears but he did check his hoot was up.

"Who are you?" He seethed but his voice was weaker than he expected.

The woman's eyes almost seemed surprised as she took him in but then relaxed and became casual, almost.

"You don't need to be threatened by me," the woman assured him, raising her perfectly manicured hands in front of her.

She wore a long trench coat which was damp from the rain and her hair was black and curly, just like Vienna's and her eyes— just as bright and green as hers too.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Draco warned and reached for the gun hidden in his waistband.

Who is this random woman and why is she in Vienna's room?

"You're Draco Malfoy," the woman said as she began walking to the side, Draco followed her every step, "I was at your funeral." she seemed to randomly pointed out.

She walked so carelessly and fearlessly, sort of how Vienna used to, and that smile. . .

"Who are you?" Draco repeated himself and he was close to shooting her down.

She stopped and smiled, "I'm Lilith Ezriel, you might have heard of me. . . "

Shit. Vienna's mother he realized, then he furrowed his brows, "you're supposed to be dead."

"So are you."

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