IT'S New Year's Eve.
The common room is roaring with people screaming along with the song playing, as they are dancing against each other. Alcohol in the air as in each and every corner of the room something new is happening and considering it's the Slytherins, it never came as a surprise.
Amelia and Bonnie decided that we would agree on letting ourselves loose tonight and just enjoy it because we deserved it. Bonnie also decided to place the trophy from the competition in the Slytherin common room because it was something we all deserved to look at and call our own.
I struggled as I tried to tie up the strands of my dress in the back as my hands struggled to tie a knot properly, I hated corseted dresses because it would be a whole puzzle to solve before you could bind it properly, and I couldn't find anyone to help me out as I walked through the common room, bumping into people—trying to find Blaise since his mom owns a corset shop in Brazil.
I walked through the crowds, staying away from any type of alcohol, my eyes trying to search the group of people as the lights kept flickering everywhere—a surreal night as we're all just enjoying it like there's no tomorrow.
"Watch it," I said rudely, already annoyed at my dress as I looked up, pieces of my hair falling on my face as a hand stayed behind my back, holding up the two strands of the strings. "Little witch."
"I'd prefer if you didn't call me that," I rolled my eyes, turning around as he pulled me back with the two strands of my dress strings, almost making me gasp because of the sudden tightening around my waist. "Have I ever told you how much I hate you?"
"So I've heard," he sneered, wrapping the strings around his fingers, pulling me slowly back. "I could help you with that, you know," he offered.
"And why would you do that?"
"Can't accept anything without asking questions, can you?" He was wearing a black button-up shirt, the first two unbuttoned, revealing his chest, the curves of his muscles—the rings on his hand as my eyes tried to get a clear image of everything.
He was the same way, his eyes always looking at any chance they got—traveling down to my thighs as they went up to the silk dress around my body, up to my waist, as they slowly peered up to the way the dress was like thin skin on me, pressed against my body. The curls of my hair fell onto my shoulders, a few strands shaping my face as it was nighttime, but I could feel his glare.
"Fine, go ahead." I turned around — as my hands pressed onto the couch, he picked up the two strands, pulling on one of them as my body jerked up, as he pulled the other. His head was next to mine. I could feel how close he was behind me, the ghost of his face lingering around my neck.
His hands knotted up the strings as I could feel the dress sticking against my body more and more. He slipped his hands onto my waist purposely as I didn't speak a word against it, yet.
He rested his hands on my shoulder, as he slowly went down my arms, tracing them like he did that day—when he was teaching me. "Have I told you how annoyingly hideous you look tonight?" He whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.
"Yes," I mumbled, a pause, "you just did."
"I'd rather show you instead," he whispered again as his hand traveled to the front, resting against my stomach as I leaned back—against him, almost.
His hands make their way down to the hem of my dress, as he's toying with it for a moment, twirling it around in his hand as the coldness of his hands against my thighs makes my body shiver. His rings pressed against my bare skin as he's placing them between my thighs, dragging them upwards.
"What are you doing?" I let out a sentence, hardly, as my mind is too focused on his hand on my body, slowly traveling up. "Do you want me to stop?" He whispered in my ear again as I didn't say anything, not clear if I'm thinking rationally.
The tips of his finger, tracing my skin as he's moving my dress upwards, giving himself access to do whatever he likes, slowly pressing his fingers against my inner thigh as his thumb is stroking the lace of my knickers, a gasp escaping my lips as my back is pressed against his chest.
My fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him from doing anything further, as he fiddles with my hand, feeling the coldness of his rings. "Don't you have to play with your new toy from that night?"
He chuckles, "who said I wanted to do anything with her?" His lips touch the shell of my ear as I tilt my head slightly, exposing my neck. "Didn't seem like it the way she kissed you."
He hummed, "does it bother you that she was touching me, love?" He questioned as I swallowed. It shouldn't bother me that another girl is kissing him—or touching him or doing anything at all. It doesn't bother me, it shouldn't bother me. "Or," he paused, "does it bother you that I was touching her?"
It felt weirdly good to have his hands on me, touching my skin as he traced it with the tips of his fingers, memorizing it like it was art.
"Or do you desire that I touch you?" He murmured as I hesitated before I reacted to anything. "Do you like it when I touch you?" he hummed at the end. I felt like the need to breathe wasn't my main priority right now as his hands traveled down to my waist.
"What do you want from me?" He waited for an answer as his hands moved down, taking his time like he knew it was torture, "tell me, and I'll make it happen."
"Tell me," I whispered, "tell me what you want to do."
His hands stopped moving on my body as I felt myself frown from the sensation disappearing as he's turned me around to face him, my back pressed against the top of the couch—his hands gripping my waist as I looked up at his eyes—deeply grey.
"I want to take you right now," he quickly spoke, his hand swirling around my thigh, "I want to fuck you against this couch till you beg me to stop. I want you right now, I want you here, and everywhere. I want to make you into this unholy mess, I don't want anything between us."
He's looking down at my lips as I'm looking up at his eyes, my hand on his forearm as he's forcing himself from not leaning in, holding himself back from doing much more than he is right now.
"I want your clothes off, I want to touch your skin—I want to have your bare skin against mine. I want to feel every part of you, with the lights on, so I could memorize and study every inch of you."
"Would you like that, Young?" He muttered as my head leaned back, my eyes strictly glued to his lips—I can't help but stare, to know him and every single one of his features, to know the slope of his nose or the curve of his lips. The need to trace his jawline with my fingertips as I feel his soft skin, running my hand down to his neck, I want his weight pressed against mine.
"Do you want me to continue talking about how I would fuck your mercilessly? To savor every bit of you, over and over again?" He placed his index finger below my chin, nudging it up to meet his eyes. "I'm pretty sure this is the same thing you tell every other girl," my eyes down at his lips.
His hand rested on my thigh, going around it as he grabbed it, bringing it up as he wrapped it around his torso, his body pressing onto mine as my nails dug into his shirt.
"I wouldn't hesitate to fuck you right against this couch, witch, to have you screaming my name as everyone around us watches," he paused, his other hand toying with the strands of my hair, "I'd let them watch, to hear your moans that I caused, to let them know that I'm making you feel this way, no one else but me."
I leaned in as our lips slightly brushed against each other, his hand in my hair as I smiled, dragging my lips to his ear, "don't forget I made you come first when we fucked on this couch," I whisper.
His hand moved quickly from taking a fistful of my hair to grabbing my neck as he's desperately trying to hold back from kissing me senseless, his hands around my neck, as he's desperately trying to not give in.
My mind quickly drifts from thinking about him and the way his skin feels against mine to thinking about Elliot and how he had me pinned down. I can't help but think about his hands around my neck when my mind begins to clatter, and he takes notice of it, quickly removing it.
"I—I need to go," I mumble, pushing my hair back as I move away from him. "Young—"
"I need to go," I spoke before walking away from him, pushing through people as my mind was racing, my thoughts miscalculated as nothing was adding up. I can still feel his hands on me as I reach up to my dorm room, pushing the door open as I quickly close it, locking it.
I felt my back hit against the door as my body slowly drags me down to the floor, breathing heavily as my hand is around my neck, scratching away the sensation of his hands as I tried to erase his essence of him.
"Make it stop," I whisper to myself, my head crouched up between my body, arms wrapped around my legs as I'm protecting myself from nothing in my dorm room. I feel stained and dirty.
I got up immediately, walking towards the lavatory as I immediately twisted the handle of the shower, ripped off my dress as I let the water hit against my skin, taking the bar of soap as I tried to clean every inch of my body.
|
It's the weekend, I haven't stepped out of my room in three days, I have cooped myself inside my bed, excusing myself as someone who is sick.
I wake up, breathing heavily as I'm reaching for my bedside table to grab the glass of water, but it's empty, my throat felt extremely parched as I try to collect myself, but then I see a figure standing in my room as my back hits against the headboard of my bed.
"Elliot?" I question as he chuckles, taking a few steps forward as his face appears from the slight light coming from the stars in the sky. "Did you miss me, Evelyn?"
"How the hell did you get in here? In—in Hogwarts? How did you—"
He grinned, taking a step forward as I felt helpless, my body was completely frozen—unable to move or speak as his presence grew closer, "shall we continue where we left off? Don't you think Evelyn?" He sits on the edge of the bed, going to take a hold of my wrist as I was quick, grabbing the lamp on my side table—hitting him against the face, throwing him backward as I ran.
I could feel myself drifting off—my head spinning from the lack of water in my body, the lack of food as I went down the stairs, almost tripping from the blurred vision.
I walk into the common room as he's already there.
"You can't escape me, darling," he got up from the couch, striding his way to me, "there's no escaping your past."
I quickly turned around as my body collided with another figure, as I stumbled backward onto the common room floor, my chest rising heavily up and down. "Long time no see, Evelyn," the girl spoke, she looked perfectly well, no scratches, no blood, her curly hair just as perfect. "Thought you've forgotten about me ever since the car accident."
She took a step forward as I pushed myself back on the floor, a feeling of my eyes betraying everything I'm seeing right now, not being able to tell the difference between what's real or not. "Such a selfish little friend, when was the last time you thought of me?" she questioned as tears swelled up my eyes, this can't be happening. "You're so full of yourself Evelyn, that explains why everyone leaves you, I did too, you're the reason I'm dead."
"No—no that's not true, you died because of reckless driving that day on the streets," I exclaimed, taking a deep breath, "you died because of a car accident."
"Lies!" The ghostly figure of her shouted, kneeling on the floor as she stared at me with her dark brown eyes. "You're the reason I'm dead, people die around you Evelyn, everyone leaves you because you're so pathetic, and unworthy."
"That's not true—and you know that," I argued back as she scoffed. "Have you ever thought that maybe you're the problem, no wonder your mother never loved you, she never will because you're nothing but a disappointment," she spat.
"I'm everything but a disappointment," I spoke, dragging myself away from her, getting up as I backed up, colliding against someone's chest. "Is that why you were such a whore and let me try and get into your pants Evelyn, see if you didn't dress so slutty I wouldn't have been provoked—"
"You're a vile disgusting person Elliot, you deserve to rot in hell," I swallow as I try to look around for something that would help me defend myself, completely unaware of the magic I was in touch with.
He took a hold of my arm, jerking me to him as I struggled against his grip, pushing him away, "let go of me, or I swear you'll regret it," I kicked against his legs as he didn't budge. "Always was a feisty little bitch. Tell me, Evelyn, if you aren't unworthy then why did George leave you?"
"He didn't leave me, it was a mutual breakup."
He laughs, "a mutual breakup? Is that so? Because he got over you really quickly, there were girls lined up for him, you didn't matter to him."
"That's a lie, he loves me as much as I love him, I'll always care about him, you don't know anything Elliot."
"Oh I know everything," he pushed me against the desk, as I hissed at the corner hitting my back. "You deserve nothing, you'll always be pathetic and unworthy."
I blinked, letting the tears stream down my face as my body collapsed onto the floor, his ghost disappearing as I looked up, he sat there, looking at me worried, his eyes were softened, his lips parted, trying to say something.
"This is another hallucination," I whisper to myself, nodding my head. "Say how unworthy I am and leave."
"We all know how unworthy and pathetic you are, it gives me great joy that you're accepting it," Elliot's voice came in as I tried to shut it out. "Go away."
"Young," a familiar voice called out as I slowly looked up, the need to push everything away, his grey eyes—always been pretty. I began to settle in for a minute when the figure in front of me immediately changed, "you're so pathetic, no one's coming to save you, you're just a burden, why don't you do us all a favor and die."
"Fuck you, Elliot, I won't let your words affect me, you have no power over me."
"Poor little Evelyn, how does it feel to feel so unloved by your own parents, I even think your own friends hate you because you're so pathetic."
I grabbed the edge of the table, giving myself the energy to get up as I did, pushing Elliot away as Margarita grabbed me, "not so fast Evelyn, won't you stay for your dear old friend?"
"You're not her, you're just a hallucination," I pushed back as she chuckled. "You've grown hilarious Evelyn, what you're seeing is the real me, I'm just a fragment of your own mind."
"You're not who my friend was, she was kind, and she was always loving, and she was nothing like you," I said, turning around as he stood there again, "just go away, please just leave."
"Young—"
"No please, just go," I pleaded, backing up, "please."
"Look at me," he stepped forward, nudging my chin upwards. "I know it isn't you, so say what you have to say and leave."
"What happened—I heard screams—Evelyn?" Amelia's voice came from behind as I didn't even try and move my head, they were all just hallucinations.
"I think I'm going insane, you're all just hallucinations," I move away from him, sitting on the carpeted floor, dry tears on my face. "What is she talking about Malfoy?"
"I don't know—"
"Oh my god, you're referring to each other as their actual names, I'm not that insane, Elliot just leave me the fuck alone," I felt like my heart was going to explode, "take Margarita with you."
"Elliot? Why is she talking about him?" Amelia asked, kneeling as she pushed my hair back. "You feel so real," I mumble.
He kneeled, grabbing my face to look at him as my face was tear-stained, my hair was in a complete mess, and his eyes have almost softened, "I can feel him," I mutter, slowly, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, "I can still feel him and his presence, his voice, lingering in my head," I choke on my words, my forehead leaning in, resting against his shoulder.
"What is she talking about? What happened, Malfoy?" Amelia questioned him again and again, but he didn't speak a word about it. "I don't know," he spoke.
"I can still feel him," I mumbled against his shoulder, the ghost of his hands lingering around my body, not knowing if he should touch me. "I hate him."
"You're safe now, Evelyn," Amelia whispered, stroking my hair, as I felt myself just breathe against him. "Why don't you take her upstairs," she spoke. There was a slight nod, he wasn't talking, he was just there. "Not to her room, your room, she's comfortable with you, I think it's best if you stay with her."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"It is," she paused, "she'll be safe with you."
My back was pressed against the soft silk covers, as I was half awake and half unconscious, still unaware of what had happened and was happening—not wanting to deal with it, I didn't open my eyes.
I don't know if it was a few minutes or a few hours, but the nightmares were swirling back in again, their voices shouting in my head. My eyes opened again, my body jolting up as I'm struggling to breathe, placing my hand around my neck, my heart beating out of my chest.
My eyes wander around the room, as my mind is overloaded with the thoughts in my head, I can't breathe.
He's getting up from the couch, then onto the bed, he's taking a hold of my face, making me look into his eyes, he's saying something, but I can't seem to understand it. I feel like I can't hear anything, a silent noise ringing in my ear as the only thing that's audible is my heart beating.
My hand taking a hold of his hand, and he's looking at me as my body is shaking terribly. He's talking, and talking, saying words. "You're okay," he whispers, "he's not here, it's just me and you."
"It's just me and you," I repeat his words, allowing my mind to process it, sitting up at my knees as he does the same thing, moving along with my body, my every move, watching where my eyes move, everything. "It's just me and you," I repeat.
Then I look at him. I always had such a thing for eyes, they spoke so much in so many ways, eyes were a whole other language that people are so unaware of, it's quite beautiful. His eyes said so much, and there was so much more I wanted to know.
My body leaned forward as our chests pressed against each other, my arms around him, and then I'm hugged him, as comfort. I'm hugging him as he's stroking the back of my head, playing with the strands of my hair.
He's pushing my hair out of my face, I can feel him breathing against my neck, he's real, he's not a hallucination, this isn't a hallucination. His hands are on me and for a moment I believe he read my thoughts, almost backing up as I stopped him.
Keep it there.
Please.
And he does.
A few minutes passed, my breathing normalizing as I pushed my hands to his shoulders, leaning my head back—looking up at him. His hand tangled up in my hair, the other resting on my lower back, his body pressed up against mine, my eyes flickering down to his lips—studying the curve of them as I looked back at him.
My thoughts rationalize as I'm aware of my surroundings, of everything happening, and of him. My eyes look back down at his lips, I lean in, just a little, a hesitance in my movement, not sure of what was right.
His chest rose heavily up and down, I could feel his heart beating faster when I leaned in, even more, our lips almost brushing against each other, I wasn't sure of what to do, I wanted to.
My eyes looked up at him, as I looked back down, filling the distance between us, the gap closed between us that had been something both of us were chasing after the past few weeks, a moment that would allow us to steal something like this from each other.
His lips moved against mine, soft as ever—the minty taste, his engulfing cologne, my hand moving as my fingers tangled up in his hair. His hand pressing against my back, so I'm moving closer to him, as he tilts his head—deepening the kiss, a soft moan escaping my lips as his tongue swipes my lower lip.
He pulls away, his forehead pressed up against mine, as we're breathing heavily, my hand on his face—stroking his cheek as I'm processing this moment in my head.
The tip of his nose brushed against mine, our heads tilting to lean in to continue, but I pause.
"You think I care about what happens to you?"
The room was silent, his breathing was the only thing I could feel, against my neck.
"There is no deal, Jackson was being a dickhead and I just happened to be there at the right time."
His touch was like an addiction, could never get enough of it.
"You mean absolutely nothing to me, you were just there when I needed someone, pathetic that you think it's anything more."
Then I pulled away.
"We can't," my voice broke out, leaning backward, pushing him away from myself as he's confused—lost even. "I can't—we can't do this," I backed away, getting off the silk sheets of the bed.
"Wait—just wait," he calls out.
"No, you don't understand—we can't do this," I point back and forth at the both of us. "It never ends well, it's like a never-ending loop, don't you see?"
"Let me explain, Young—"
"I don't need your pity explanation, it's the same thing all over again," I pause, "you kiss me, you whisper in my ear, pretend like I'm the best thing you've ever seen, and then treat me like I'm nothing after like I'm unworthy of it."
"That's not true, just let me talk—"
"No you don't get to talk right now," I stepped forward as he's on the opposite side of me, "everything I'm saying right now is true, is it not? Your own words, coming out from your own mouth of how you could've given any less shit about me, and you know what that's fine, you don't have to feel obligated to care for me but using me is something I'm not going to stand for."
"You think I'm using you?" He questioned, "if I wanted to fuck someone, I would've just picked someone else, and if I wanted to fuck you, I would've and not walked away every time."
"This has got to be some sick game of yours because let me tell you, I don't want to be a part of it," I spoke, "if you just want a quick fuck and treat them like shit, there's a handful of girls out this door that will oblige to you, but I'm not going to be one of them."
He doesn't talk.
"I'm not saying that you have to care for me," I spoke stepping forward, "because we can do as many quick fucks you want," my hand taking a hold of his jaw to make him look at me, "but I won't stand here being treated like a piece of trash like I'm some object."
He grabbed my arm, jerking me forward, his face close to mine, "look at me," he whispers, as my eyes drag to his, "I was never using you, but I can't stand being next to you," he steps forward, "because I hate you," he steps forward again as I'm backing up, "I hate that you make me feel, is that what you want to hear?"
I don't remember when he stopped speaking as my eyes stayed glued to his, I couldn't properly breathe, my throat was tightening as I'm at a loss for words, "you hate me, don't you?" He questions, "say it then," he leans in, "say it."
"I hate you," I whisper, he lets go of my arm, dragging his hand up, "I hate you," I whisper again, "I hate you—"
Then he kisses me.
—