the girl who lost it all [d.m]

thirty six: frango

frango: shatter, break, crunch

———

ELARA stared down at the box of scones in front of her, feeling like she was looking at an impassable mountain.

It shouldn't have been hard—to pick one up and pop it into her mouth. She loved scones. Not as much as cinnamon rolls and apple pie—but she still loved them.

Her parents used to bake scones for special occasions—they used to be Freya's favourite. Amelia had preferred their mother's cheesecake while Isaac had loved their father's lemon bars.

Elara didn't know how she knew the little things but they surfaced in her mind like they'd been there all along.

But no matter how much she tried, she just could not bring herself to touch any of the scones.

She didn't deserve them—didn't deserve what they represented: Draco's kindness. That kindness that he always tried to hide, that he buried deep within him for reasons she could never figure out. The kindness that he only ever showed to her.

She didn't deserve it or him—or any of them. She had left her best friend behind. She had left her to die. How could they still be kind to her?

Her heart ached so violently in her chest that for a long moment, she had to shut her eyes and focus on her breathing. The initials on her hip burned and she scratched at them, feeling a lump growing in her throat.

But the tears never came—even when she tried to force them, even when she begged herself to get it out and relieve some of her pain.

But her eyes stayed dry, her emotions tearing her apart on the inside and she shut the box of scones, placing it on her bedside table.

It was late and moonlight filtered in through her open window, letting the cool night air in.

Draco had sat by her at the stream for a good hour, a comfortable silence hanging in between them. His cheeks had been tinged pink when he'd first arrived, his appearance dishevelled—and she'd easily guessed he'd been drinking, especially when she'd seen the glint in his eye as she'd settled atop him.

She'd made him bleed—and he hadn't even flinched. Hadn't even faltered from her gaze, hadn't rushed to heal himself afterwards. He'd just smirked up at her, blood trickling from his temple and his lip and she'd been struck by the irrational realisation that he really was the most attractive man she'd ever seen—bleeding and all. And the hardness she'd felt between her thighs when she'd been on top of him...

Elara shook her head, clearing her head of those forbidden thoughts.

He hadn't left until she'd gotten to her feet and had only watched as she brushed herself off. Then, he had silently walked with her back to the safehouse, keeping a few feet of distance between them. She hadn't bothered to say goodbye, had only trudged upstairs and gotten into the bathtub, fully intent on scrubbing dirt and the feel of him off her.