Hazy
“What do you mean, what the hell?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You’re the one who very rudely interrupted a very pleasant party.
Malfoy scoffed. “I wouldn’t call whoring around a pleasant party. What, do you just attach yourself to any guy who will give you attention?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business. You’ve made it very clear that you wouldn’t want to be caught dead with me, so why does it matter to you who I spend my time with?”
“It doesn’t.”
But the apprehension and disgust in Malfoy’s eyes told a different story. He clearly had some sort of objection to Dean and I kissing; his reaction had been incredibly indicative of that.
Or maybe you just want to think that.
Shut up.
In any case, I was rapidly becoming tired of his erratic behavior towards me. One moment he behaves as if simply being near me is enough to make him sick and the next he's causing a scene and staking a possessive claim! In public no less!
“Clearly, Malfoy, it does. What other reason could you have to drag me away in front of everybody? Not very subtle of you,” I retorted, glaring at him. “Why do you have to ruin everything? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Malfoy let out an unkind laugh. “You can’t tell me you actually wanted to kiss that idiot? He’s about as interesting as that Weasley git.”
“At least he’s actually nice to me! At least he's actually willing to be seen with me in public!” I snapped.
“Why would I want to be seen with you? Don’t be fucking stupid, Adler,” Malfoy shot back. “I’ve made it very clear just how much you repulse me. It’s not my fault Dean has shitty taste in girls.”
That made me laugh, an actual, humorous laugh. “No asshole, you haven’t. You claim that I "repulse" you,” I said, mocking him, “that you hate me, but for some reason you insist on sticking your damn nose into my business and it seems to me like you can't get me out of your head. Or did the jealous episode you just had not happen?"
Gesturing to myself, I added, “And if Dean supposedly has shitty taste in girls what does that say about you, Malfoy? You think that anyone who isn’t a Pureblood isn’t worth shit, yet you were so eager to kiss me that night in the Room of Requirement that you could barely contain yourself.”
The words left my mouth as embarrassment knotted in my stomach. To imply Malfoy always thought about me made it seem like I thought quite highly of myself, but I didn’t, not really. I just had so much frustration, anger and hurt pent up from all the times that Malfoy had hurled insults at me. Then it struck me. I finally had an excuse to let out all the things that had been flying around my mind since we had come back from Christmas.
Who hasn’t said things they didn’t mean while they were drunk?
Everything I did tonight was because of the alcohol, nothing else.
Liar liar liar.
“You better watch your damn mouth,” Malfoy threatened, taking a step towards me. “Or-”
“Or what?” I challenged, swaying slightly as I stepped back from his approach. “Or fucking what, Malfoy? I am so fucking sick of you thinking you’ve got some sort of leverage over me. Don’t you see that I don’t care what you do to me? I’ve got so much shit on you that I could ruin your oh so precious reputation in two seconds. What would dear Daddy think of you then?”
Standing up as straight as I could to at least try and look somewhat intimidating, I spoke again. “You’re so full of shit. I hate you.”
No you don't.
Shut up!
How's that denial working for you?
Anger flashed in Malfoy’s eyes, and his jaw tensed as my words hit him. “No, you don’t.”
I huffed indignantly. “Yes I do. I hate you more than anything in this entire world.” I knew my words sounded childish and immature, but it was so hard to think, to speak correctly.
Because of the alcohol, obviously.
Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you'll start believing it.
Malfoy shook his head. “And I’m the one full of shit?” He stared at me for a moment, silvery eyes scanning my face. “You don’t hate me, Adler.”
“Why are you trying to convince me that I don’t? It’s not as if me hating you isn’t the most reasonable reaction to the awful things you’ve said and done to me. What, can your stupid pride not take the fact that someone is rejecting you?” I was stumbling slightly over my words, and it made me more flustered than even Malfoy's proximity.
I took a breath, trying to clear my mind of the drunken fog that was doing its best to suffocate me; but all that came was the smell of his unfairly intoxicating cologne.
“You vapid, self-obsessed, prideful man. Dealing with you is the most frustrating, confusing and contradictory thing I’ve ever experienced.”
A small smirk tilted the corner of his mouth. “Confusing?”
I had half a mind to slap that annoying smirk off his face, but I restrained myself. “Yes, confusing. Are you deaf?”
The smug look on his face only grew as I confirmed his question. I hated how perfect he looked as his expression changed. He never seemed to look bad. Even during the two times I had saved his life. How fucking annoying.
“Why would any of this be confusing?” He asked, as if he wasn’t the one making that way.
I huffed, increasingly annoyed and shook my head slightly, which made my vision swim slightly. “Because, you prick, you say these awful, hurtful things to me and you make me feel like shit. You make me seem stupid and even when I’m saving your life, you still don't let up! But somehow that doesn't seem to change anything! It doesn't change the fact that I-"
I clamped my lips shut, the words finally catching up to me. Horribly aware even in my drunken state what I had nearly confessed. Judging by the smugness in Malfoy’s eyes, he was just as aware.
“That you what?” He asked. His voice made a shiver ripple down my back.
I shook my head, refusing to answer. As much bravado as the alcohol had given me, I would never, ever tell Malfoy how he made me feel. Not only would it give him immeasurable satisfaction, but if I admitted it out loud, that would make it real.
And it couldn’t be real. This couldn’t happen. None of it. I had already sunk so low, and everytime he was around, I somehow did something even more shameful and reckless. Admitting that he made me feel any kind of positive feeling would be the most shameful thing I could ever do.
“That you what? ” Malfoy asked again, impatience seeping into his voice. I merely gazed at him, taking in his pale, elegant face. I'd never truly looked so close. Or, really, I’d never let myself look so close. I hadn’t let myself notice the way his pale eyelashes curled slightly, or the way he had the faintest spattering of freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose. Or even the way that, even with all his denial, the look in his eyes as he took me in was full of anything but hatred. Perhaps the alcohol allowed me to appreciate it. There was a slight color to his cheeks, and I wondered absently why he was blushing.
“That nothing,” I stated, but even in my inhibited state the lie sounded pitiful. "I'm drunk. It doesn't matter anyway."
“I don’t believe you,” He murmured, once again moving forward and forcing me back into the wall.
Why am I not moving?
You know why.
“I don’t care.”
“I know I make you feel something. You kissed me first. You have no room to talk,” Malfoy pointed out, and I couldn’t stop myself from turning away.
“Well-”
“Well what, Adler? What half-assed lie are you going to make up to try and tell yourself that you don’t want me just as much as--” He hesitated, then spoke again. “That you don’t want me?”
“Like you’re not doing the same thing right now,” I accused, glaring at him. “It is so obvious you have a crush on me.”
Idiot. You fucking idiot.
Malfoy stared at me in disbelief. “You actually think I like you ? Either you’re drunker than I thought, or you’re really that fucking daft. How could I ever like you?” He sneered, but it was forced, the usual mocking lilt lacking its venom.
Perhaps it was the drinks, perhaps it was stupidity or recklessness, but I couldn't stop myself from leaning forward, so close to Malfoy that I could feel his body heat radiating from him.
“You don’t like me? Then prove it. Walk away right now and I’ll never bring any of this up again. Walk away right now, and I’ll forget everything you’ve ever said to me. I’ll forget how you feel about me, how you told me you felt, and I’ll-I’ll forget that we both have saved each other’s lives. I’ll forget all of it.”
I hated that I wanted him to stay. Hated him. Hated myself. Hated the dusty pink on the milky skin of his cheeks. Hated that my hands were itching to run through his silky hair, that I longed to feel his hot, angry kiss once more.
And I hated that I didn’t want to forget any of it. Not even the sharp insults that he had thrown against me. I didn’t...I didn’t want to forget that maybe, just maybe, Draco Malfoy had some semblance of humanity in him.
“It’s quite funny that you think me walking away from you wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world,” Malfoy snapped, but still, he made no move to turn away nor step back from the wall where he'd trapped me.
“Then why aren’t you?” I challenged, clasping my hands behind me in a meager attempt to keep myself from touching him like my drunken brain so desperately wanted to.
He said nothing, and I felt a sense of triumph in my chest. Yes, he had admitted his feelings for me in the Room of Requirement just a few nights before, but he had been angry, hateful; both toward himself and me. As if he would do anything in the world to change his feelings towards me.
But now?
Now, I had given him an out. I had given him a chance to walk away from whatever messed up, backwards connection we had formed, and he wasn’t taking the chance . Just the thought of that set my heart racing.
He still hadn't spoken but was just glaring at me. I wasn't going to let this end without some definitive statement about where we stood. I brought my hand up, finger digging into his chest with each word. “Then. Why. Aren't. You. Leaving." Anxiety spiked through my drunken haze, because I knew that me touching him would do something . I just didn’t know if it would end in him hitting me or kissing me or running away entirely.
He wouldn't hit me. Right?
That seemed to break him out of whatever unresponsive state he had been in. He grabbed my wrist and slammed it against the wall behind me, effectively pinning me in place. I winced at the harshness, but did nothing to struggle against it.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Malfoy growled, his hand encircled so tightly around my wrist, I couldn’t move it even if I wanted to.
And...I didn’t want to.
Are you a masochist now?
“What makes you think you're so special? Huh, Elaine?” Malfoy demanded, his eyes fiery and his use of my first name made me suck in a shocked breath. “You’re so damn insufferable. All I fucking want is to walk away from you and your bullshit. All I want is to forget you. Forget this. Don’t flatter yourself. I want this gone . You are not someone I want in my life and I wish that-that you would just disappear.”
His words made my stomach sink with cold and wretched sadness. I didn’t want to believe his words. I didn’t want him to become another person that had gotten their use out of me and then left me behind. I didn’t want what he said to be true and maybe that’s why I pushed back.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, but my voice held notes of despair, more pleading than argumentative. “You-you don’t want this gone. You would’ve left by now if you did.”
But really, I was just trying to rationalize it to myself more than anything else.
Silver eyes met mine, and I felt as if I were plummeting towards something I would never be able to come back from. The way the corridor's light lit his eyes seemed almost ominous, though I was not afraid, but entranced. I felt a flutter in my chest at this shared contact, small as it may be. Even drunk, I knew that hoping for anything besides a dysfunctional, confusing, fatally flawed half-relationship with Draco Malfoy was horribly delusional at best. I didn’t even know if I wanted anything more than what we already had. But if those few stolen moments we shared were all I needed for him to take over my thoughts, and they had truly meant nothing like he insisted, then why couldn’t I get him out of my mind?
Why couldn’t I stop reliving the feeling of his hands running, fiery and addicting, over my skin? Why could I still feel his lips and the deep ache that it caused? Why couldn’t I stop wondering about where he was or what he was doing? Why couldn’t I make myself believe that I wanted nothing to do with him?
Questions raced through my head as Malfoy and I stared at one another. With every passing moment the air between us became thicker. More suffocating. More unbearable. I couldn’t read a single emotion on his face and I felt like I was reaching for something in the darkness. Like I was utterly lost.
His hand around my wrist remained unmoving and as much as the stone was digging into my wrist, I pushed through the temporary discomfort to savor this closeness. It felt as though my throat was choked with all the words I longed to say to him; but I had no idea whether the words that would come out would be angry, or hurt, or sad, or if I would betray myself completely and confess to him how I felt.
Because, I realized suddenly, I...hadn’t. Not really.
“M-Malfoy,” I stammered, and a muscle in his jaw twitched at the use of his name. “I-I...Are you…” I took a shuddering breath, words jumbling in my mouth as I tried to speak. “Do you really want me gone?” I asked pathetically. So fucking pathetically . My voice was small, and I couldn’t even bring myself to look him in the eye. “Because if you do, p-please just let me go and I’ll leave and-and I’ll never bother you again. I’ll even ask Slughorn to move me and-”
“No.”
The answer was so soft, so gentle that I barely heard it over my drunken, nervous stumbling. My heart was pounding so hard it was almost painful, and my hands had begun to shake with the anticipation that was racing through me.
“N-no? No what?” I breathed, not sure that I hadn’t imagined it.
“No, I don’t want you gone,” Malfoy whispered, his voice low, almost...broken. “I don’t want you gone, Elaine.”
The hurt, the pain in his voice tore a small hole in my chest. He sounded so vulnerable, so anguished by his admission. I wasn’t sure if I was happy that he didn’t want to push me away, or offended that it caused him such misery to admit it.
“But you said-”
Malfoy sighed, a sorrowful, broken sound. “I know what I said. I remember everything that I’ve done and said to you. Everything, every single thing, that I have said or done to you constantly runs through my mind. I can’t figure out if I regret hurting you or if I wish I had hurt you more so that you would never even consider being this close to me.”
He caught my eyes and I felt frozen by the emotion flooding his gaze. “You are the only person who’s ever made me regret or have second thoughts about anything I’ve done.”
Oh.
Not exactly a declaration of love; no, I'd have been deranged to ever expect that from him.
But.
Someone like him, someone so prideful and arrogant. So sure of himself. Actually admitting that he regretted his actions was...was nearly enough to make me question the shame I'd been feeling.
“You are the only person who has ever had the mind to question me. I still haven’t decided if that makes you stupid or ridiculously stubborn; but it makes you different . Maybe that’s why I can’t get you out of my head. Maybe that’s why I…” Malfoy’s voice cracked, and the anticipation that coursed through me was enough to make me stop breathing. “Maybe that’s why I’m so…”
He uncurled his fingers from my wrist, making it drop to my side. My heart dropped with it as he moved back, taking away his warmth, his smell and his touch. His face, normally unreadable and cold, was twisted with conflict. Lips pressed into a sharp line. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, wouldn’t even look at me and I felt the horrible, approaching feeling of loss. Like when you know you’re about to lose something, but you can’t do a damn thing about it.
I couldn’t bear to let it end like this. Working up the courage to do what my mind had been screaming at me for, I told myself this was the last time. This was the last time I’d let him get so close. This was the last time he'd see me vulnerable.
I knew I was practically inviting him to hurt me, that none of this was real . There was no doubt that Malfoy would shatter me so completely that I might not ever come back from it. I knew he would never truly care about me, not in the way I had so desperately and shamefully longed for since the beginning; but I couldn’t find it in me to care enough to stop. There was something about Draco Malfoy that made me okay with being ruined.
I didn’t let myself think about how those words made my heart crack as I grabbed the front of his sweater, pulled him towards me, and pressed a desperate, heart-shattering kiss to his soft, addicting mouth.
There was no way I’d ever forget any detail of the events that followed. When our lips collided, it felt like I was hovering in and out of reality. In and out of Heaven. It felt as if I were coming home but entering unfamiliar, dangerous territory all the same. It felt like…
It felt like Draco .
Being slightly impaired made me braver and more impulsive than I would ever consider being sober. Even if I knew a large part of me would regret this the morning after, a much larger part thanked the stars that this was the choice I'd made. If I hadn’t been drunk, I never would’ve kissed Draco again. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I honestly couldn’t find it in myself to stop as he returned my affection.
His lips drank from me, pulling forth every secret I'd been denying. He drank like a man searching for water in a desert. I couldn't breathe, couldn't pull myself away and I didnt want to. All I wanted was-
"Hold me tighter."
The world almost seemed to halt as his hands cupped my face and tugged me in. Draco’s touch was rough and fervent, nearly overwhelming. That didn’t matter though; I felt the same sense of sheer mania raging through me as his feverish lips moved against mine in a way that made my knees weak.
The wintry feel of his hands pressing into my skin caused goosebumps to rise. I could feel every point of contact between us as if they were on fire. Draco’s hands cradling my face, his lithe chest pressing into me as it rose and fell with labored breath, his thigh that was slotted just the slightest bit between mine. All of it seemed ignited in the most perfectly addicting way possible. I couldn’t get enough of the feel of his bare skin on mine. I wanted more of it. I wanted it harder. I wanted it lower. I waited for his hands to move and for his kisses to follow, but his fingers never moved from my face.
They never even tried to, and the suspense nearly made me scream. Draco’s kiss made me ache with desire, with need . Ache someplace deep down. Deep inside . I knew that he felt the same because I could feel it, his echoing lust pressing into my stomach. But aside from the desperation of his kiss, he showed no other sign of wanting anything more. It was enough to make me want to cry. Just when I thought that maybe...but maybe he was waiting for me , I told myself.
The thought alone made me overflow. That he could want me just as much filled me with one overpowering thought.
I need my clothes off. Now.
My hands flew to the buttons of my shirt, struggling, my fingers fumbling in their rush. Nothing drove me other than the need to bare my skin for him. No concern for being seen or for the supposed consequences. I didn't care about self betrayal with this act and I didnt care about Dean. I just wanted Draco.
My attention was divided between undoing my clothes and pulling Draco closer. I ran my hands through the feathery hair at his nape, needing more of him. His hands finally moved from my face. I felt the fingers of one hand grip my throat and a whining moan sounded from me, so high was my excitement, as his other arm wound around my back.
I brought my hands to his shirt, working in the little space between us. Time seemed to drag on and I just couldn't take it. I groaned with frustration, sick of waiting; I needed him, more than I’d ever needed anything. I could feel the muscles tensing and flexing beneath the thin material of his shirt as I hurried to undo the smooth buttons of his collared shirt.
This seemed to shock Draco out of his frenzy because he pulled back, causing me to freeze at his abrupt reaction. He shook his head. “You...no. We can’t.”
If I had been any less drunk, embarrassment would’ve crippled me, but instead I felt only disappointment, even with my clothes rumpled and half-undone. “What?" It was the only thing I could think to say.
Draco sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "Elaine, you’re drunk.”
“So?” I asked, furrowing my brow. Why did it suddenly matter so much?
“So,” He repeated, an edge of impatience lining his voice. “You don’t know what you’re doing. I-” Draco hesitated, squeezing his eyes shut as if he were clearing his head, trying to convince himself. “I don’t...I don’t want to be another terrible thing you associate with getting drunk like-like-”
As muddled as my brain was, I still felt bewildered at his confession. I didn’t think he could be that conscious of how I felt. “I-what?”
He looked at me, clearly uncomfortable, though I didn’t know if it was a result of the situation or the topic at hand. “I shouldn’t have even kissed you back. I’m sorry. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Disappointment drowned my previously lust-filled haze and I couldn’t stop the dismay twisting my face as he spoke.
Of course he regrets kissing you. Don’t be daft.
“Oh,” I answered lamely, suddenly feeling much more sober and oddly bare. Like I had told a massive secret and been humiliated for it. “Sorry, then.”
It was odd, the mixture of lingering arousal and self-hatred that settled like a stone in my stomach. It made me feel far sicker than any alcohol could. What made me even more nauseous was the shame in Draco’s eyes. I was trying to convince myself that it wasn’t because of me, but that nasty, ever-present voice in the back of my mind whispered that he pushed me away because he couldn’t even bear the thought of. . . . us together like that.
Suddenly, I felt as if I was going to be sick and Draco stepped back, an unusual look of concern on his face. I noticed fleetingly that the porcelain skin of his chest was exposed between the white columns of his button-up, which reminded me that I was practically half-naked. Mortification shot through me and I bent down, frantically pulling the sides of my cardigan closed and redoing what buttons hadn't broken off.
“I think you should go back to your dorm. Sleep,” Draco spoke softly, softer than I’d ever heard it. I knew that that tone would run through my mind on repeat for the next few days. I already hated myself for it.
Dismissal. Rejection.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, unable to look him in the eye.
“And, uh…” He hesitated, sounding unsure. “Drink some water, okay?”
I didn't even have the dignity to answer as I turned, leaving him behind. I hated that his words set hope loose in my stomach, making a beam of light cut through the misery of his rejection. The way that my brain had already latched onto those few kind words of his made me wince. How pathetic was I that the boy who hated me made me go weak in the knees with a few words of basic human empathy? I could see now why Draco found me so undesirable. I was entirely woefully pitiful.
What I didn’t see as I left, ashamed and still slightly intoxicated, was that his hands were clenched so tightly, his nails tore pinpricks of dark blood in his palms like it was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out and stopping me as I walked away.