Merely Misunderstood

Chapter Forty-Eight

The sad boy that Myrtle had mentioned before... it was Draco. Draco was the boy who visited Myrtle since first year.

He'd been coming here ever since first year?

Did he cry like this every time he came? I hoped not; seeing him like this — his entire body shaking from heavy sobs, his clothes hanging loosely and unkempt over him, his fingers clutching his hair with a death grip, his face hidden on his knees.... It shattered me to bits to see him so broken.

I felt myself shaking at the sight of him like this, and I knew I should probably leave — I mean, I wouldn't want anyone to catch me in the middle of a breakdown this awful. But I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe.

I had already been crying before, but new tears streamed down my cheeks, rolling off my face and soaking into my shirt. I thought I'd known what suffering felt like, but seeing Draco in so much pain... it hurt.

And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, he spoke.

"I can't take this," he repeated, over and over, his fingers clutching his hair more tightly, "I can't get away from it."

His breathing was quick and labored, and I noticed his hands were shaking. He was in the middle of a panic attack, and from the looks of it, it was just as terrible as mine had been.

He had his left sleeve rolled up, and when my eyes caught the skin of his arm, my heart stopped.

There, on the inside of his left forearm, was a tattoo that looked like a snake encircling a skull — the Dark Mark.

However, that's not what fazed me the most.

His forearm was half-covered in dark red scabs, the other half raw and bleeding with recent self-infliction. It looked as though he'd tried to scrub the Dark Mark off, but it still showed clear as day, as though the scabbing was beneath it rather than on top.

The blood from his wounds dripped down his arm and onto the floor, but he didn't move to clean it up or stop the bleeding.

I watched the blood with my heart in my throat, my stomach lurching at the sight of his self-inflicted injuries. He was in so much pain, and I hadn't even known. His agony was heart-wrenching. I couldn't take it.

I let out a small sob, and I realized a second too late that I shouldn't have made a sound — he wouldn't want anyone to see him like this.

He turned to face me in shock, his eyes bright red and his face drenched in tears. His eyes widened as he recognized me, and he suddenly glanced down at his forearm, moving to pull down his sleeve and hide it from me.

I hurried forward, catching his hand and pushing it away, rolling the sleeve up once more. Without thinking twice, I pulled off my pajama shirt, revealing my spaghetti-strap top underneath.

Using my shirt, I soaked up the blood, careful not to press too hard in case it inflicted more pain. Once I'd dabbed most of it off, I stood and rinsed the shirt off in the sink, soaking it with cool water. I returned to his side and wrapped it carefully around his arm.

Draco's body relaxed as the cool water soothed the pain, and he let his head drop, pressing his hand to his face as his shoulders shook with the effort to hold back his tears.

I stared at him, my heart torn, and without a moment's hesitation, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him against my chest. He leaned into me, embracing me back tightly and burying his face in the crook of my neck.

We sat like this for a long time, neither of us speaking, but both of us crying. His pain was so strong that I felt it too, and I cried for him, cursing the world for putting him through it.