Desired | Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott, 18+

52

This chapter contains some soft mature content and hurtful inner conflict that may be triggering. Please read with caution.

_____

Isla fled that night. She fled. She always fled.

She escaped the trapping loop of her feelings before it got the better of her because it would. She knew it would. It would ever so get the better of her. It always did. Especially now.

It would have her screaming and shouting and cursing him for doing this to her. It would have her fighting and battling him more, and she couldn't go through that again. She didn't want to.

Pansy.

He was still in love with Pansy.

He said he wasn't. He promised her that he wasn't. Yet he was.

He lied. Draco lied. He told her that she was it. That it was her now. That she was his and that they could finally try and be something more — Isla didn't want to be anything more now.

He hurt her when she least expected him to do so, and she couldn't be mad at him for it. She couldn't blame him. She didn't want to be that type of person who blamed him for feeling something for someone else, for still being in love with his first love.

Yet she did. She blamed him, and it ripped her to pieces.

Standing in her room, she shook. Her body shaking. Her insides aching. She didn't know where to go or what to do. She was meant to stay there, to attend her classes and support Leo and Mila with everything they tried to work through — but she couldn't do that, not when she was breaking herself.

Her room echoed in complete silence. It was too quiet. It felt suffocating, drowning almost. She hated it. She hated the emptiness mirroring inside. The hollowness he left her with. It took over. It became overwhelming as she paced back and forth over the floor in her room. It was dark. Too dark.

Isla traced the tips of her fingers up to her lips, trying to scrub the feeling of Draco off. Trying to take away how it felt when he kissed her, thinking she was someone else.

It didn't work.

He was still there. She felt him. She felt him inside her. She felt his touch on her. His kisses. His hands. Him. He was everywhere. On her skin. In her hair. On her lips.

The image of him was haunting her. It drowned her.

She stormed into the bathroom, turning the shower on. His scent still lingered. Her scent mixed with his. Panicking. She was panicking as she stepped into the scolding hot water. Her nightdress was still smeared to her body.

The water crashed to the ground. The sound of it scoring around her was nothing compared to the heavy breaths she was taking. Scratching at her neck, her jaw, down her arms. Gone.

Isla just needed him gone. She just needed all of him, the smell, the touch, the words, all of him gone. She began scrubbing at the initials he carved into her chest, clawing with her nails over it to make it go away.

She didn't want it. She couldn't breathe. She didn't want to breathe.

Stop hurting. Stop hurting. Stop hurting.

Blood fused with the drops of water, her skin burning. It stung. It didn't stop hurting.

No matter what she did, it didn't stop hurting. Everything hurt.

And her mind escaped to the one person who could numb it. To the one person that, no matter what, caused her to feel safe.

Her eyes flickered to the sink and her wand resting on it. She shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't. So foolish. So stupid. She knew it was.