losing game || d.m.

33: ignify

ignify: (v.) to form into fire; to ignite

"You are so bloody impossible!" Draco shouted from the other side of my packed up dorm.

I channeled my anger into my clenched fist, the sting of skin breaking barely phased me compared to the blond boy.

"Says you!" I matched his tone "You're the one who can't even accept that I'M FUCKING FINE."

"You disappear every meal, and you expect me to think you're fine? Two things, Cass. You're either shagging another guy or you're a fucking undercover spy or some shit."

"I'm literally eating in the goddamn infirmary," I bit back "I'm fine."

In his defense, he went to check if that was the truth last week, and I happened to be in the bathroom when he came by.

In my defense, I was in the bathroom, and he just poked his head in. If he had just asked Madame Pomfrey, it would've been fine.

"I'm not dealing with this shit right now." He scoffed before walking out of the dorm.

The door slammed, and I was standing in silence, staring at the empty spot Draco had been in.

Every. Single. Day. For. The. Past. Three. Weeks.

I let out a sigh before going into the bathroom to clean the blood off my hands. I turned on the tap and took a deep breath. When I relaxed my hands, four crescent shaped cuts lined my palms, and blood sat underneath my fingernails. I ran the water over the cuts and sat there until the stream ran clear.

Grabbing my wand, I cast a quick healing charm over each hand before pointing it towards my luggage in the center of the room. The packed chest disappeared, and I wouldn't have to worry about it until I got home.

I ran down to the hospital wing to eat my lunch. I rolled my eyes at the main picture of it all. How pathetic did I have to be to be forced to eat in the fucking infirmary.

When I passed out at Draco's dorm the other day, he took me to the infirmary and Promfrey said I was malnourished. Ever since, she's been making me eat in the wing with her.

"I was about to go track you down," the mediwitch joked as she handed me a plate "I really thought you were going to skip out on the last meal."

I forced a smile and thanked her before grabbing the plate. I did my best to ignore the fact that I was eating. I fixed my eyes on the window across the large room and lifted my fork to my mouth every twenty seconds. I refused to acknowledge the food in my mouth. I refused to think about the feel of it going down my throat.

"When you come back in the fall," Madame Pomfrey pulled me out of my steady routine "I'm going to do a diagnostic on you. If you're fully healthy, you can eat in the hall again. If not, you're stuck with me."

"Great," I rolled my eyes with a smile. My eyes landed on the clock, and I practically jumped out of my seat. "I need to get going, or I'll miss the train. Hope you have a great summer!" I exclaimed while running out of the infirmary.

Having freedom to eat somewhere other than a hospital wing was the number one thing I was looking forward to this summer. And that's when you know you've hit the bottom.

Although, eating in the hospital wing feels small compared to the other issues that currently swarm my life. Majority of the world population has it out for my friends and family, I'm labeled a highly dangerous individual for a reason I don't know of, and all the other fun stuff with the muggles.

Oh! And I almost forgot, Draco and I's relationship is hanging on by a string thinner than a thong!

I've continued to avoid the whole conversation regarding eating and weight because, for the hundredth time, there's no problem. He thinks otherwise though, saying that he's been up my ass about "what's wrong" "what's going on with you" this and that. No matter how many times I tell him I'm fine, he pushes harder.