The Healer II- The Patient (Draco Malfoy Fanfiction)

Chapter 14- The Hole in the Wall

Tw: hints of domestic violence.

The door to my apartment slammed. Hard.

"Len?" I called from the kitchen.

My husband poked his head into the kitchen. "Oh. You're home." He sounded very surprised. He peeled off his work jacket that reeked of his sweat and metalshop fumes and threw it onto the coat rack, which grabbed it with animated hands.

I stirred a pot of pasta a few times. "The 8th floor had an infestation of pixies. They told everyone to go home for the day while they deal with it," I replied. "I thought I would make something for dinner."

Len scoffed and leaned against the kitchen counter. "You're cooking? Shit, who are you and what have you done with Erica?"

I turned around, slightly annoyed that he was giving me such an attitude. "I know I haven't been home very much lately-"

"You've barely been home at all," He countered. "I'm used to you working all day at the hospital, but this new patient of yours in France has you gone all night, too. This is the first time I've gotten to talk to you all week."

My shoulders slumped. "I know. I'm sorry, but, listen, they pay well-"

Len exhaled sharply from his nose. "We don't need money, Erica. I don't want money. I want a wife that isn't gone all the time."

My throat tightened. "Well, you knew what you were getting into when you married me."

"Bullshit," Len swore, smacking his palm upon the counter and making the dishes rattle. "I could understand that when you were just starting out, but it's been years, and you still spend ungodly hours working. You have assistants and shit now to pick up your slack. Sometimes... sometimes I think you like being at the hospital more than you like being at home."

My mouth widened at that accusation. I realized that the water was boiling over, so I hastened to lower the heat on the stove. "I spend my time at work because there are people that need me to live, Len. If I don't heal them, they die." I flusteredly tried to manage the bubbles cascading over the pot and sizzling on the stovetop.

"Then let them die!" Len yelled. Out of the corner of my eye, a jar of tomato preserves crashed to the floor. It appeared that Len had knocked it off the counter. But it happened too fast for me to be sure.

I stared down at the splattered mess of tomatoes and glass, and then looked up at Len, who was panting and staring at me with wide eyes.

"...It's the full moon tonight, isn't it?" I muttered.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Len yelled, clutching his hair. "You always do this when it's a full moon!"

"Do what?" I demanded.

"You treat me like I'm your patient! You always find something wrong with me, and I'm tired of it. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be constantly judged by you?"

I grabbed a rag and knelt to the floor to gather up the glass pieces. "You seem to be doing a fair bit of judging right now, Len."

"FUCK!" Len cried out, and I heard the sound of an impact that rattled the dishes in the cabinets. My head shot up, and my eyes landed on a freshly formed hole in the wall. Len stood beside it, his hand balled into a fist.

I inhaled sharply. In the commotion, I had accidentally cut my palm open on a shard of glass.

Len noticed the cut and finally cooled down a little. "Shit..." he sighed. He grabbed some paper towels and knelt down beside me, but I didn't want his help.

"I'm fine," I said, pulling my hand away from his as soon as he touched me. My heart was still pounding from seeing him wreck our kitchen.

Maybe Len was right. I did like being at work more than at home. When I was at work, I was safe from nights like these.

"Erica, I... I'm sorry," Len said in a hurt voice. "These things... they aren't me. I got sensitive earlier because you were right. The full moon gets me riled up."

I listened to his apology as I clutched a rag to my bleeding palm.

"I...I think I need to go to the sanctuary," Len said. He rose from the floor. "I'll fix the hole tomorrow."

"They may transform once a month, but a wolf lives inside of them at all times."

I wanted so badly for Draco to be wrong. But if Draco was wrong, then that meant that the wall punching, smashing jars, and arguing was all actually Len.

"You could be killed in your own home."

I shook Draco's voice from my head, and continued picking up glass shards from my kitchen floor.