BEHIND CLOSED DOORS | D.M

034 | the truth

The amount of times Kallista keeps telling herself she hates Draco Malfoy is becoming an incessant routine.

What she hates most about him? He is constantly invading her thoughts and no matter what she does to make them go away, he keeps coming back. As if they were magnets, persistently finding their way back to each other. As if their souls were aligned. As if Draco was meant to drive Kallista to insanity but not particularly in a bad way.

She doesn't quite understand why he couldn't bear to look into her eyes after he had fucked her relentlessly on her desk at the Ministry. Doesn't know why he uttered those words as though he only wanted to use her. Because she knows he would have begged for them to stay together after having sex. Would have wanted to stare into her eyes since they hadn't seen each other for weeks. Would have wanted to breathe in her scent for a few more minutes and maybe tease her about her flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes.

But no, he left. Didn't say a word. Didn't so much as look at her.

Thanks for the ride, Kalli, he had said.

Kallista knows she shouldn't be affected by this. Because they didn't put terms nor conditions on whatever they have. Didn't say anything except mutually agree they'd have sex more than once.

So perhaps Draco is solely using her to relieve all his pent-up stress. Perhaps everything she sees in those silvery eyes of his has been misread from the very start.

So, if he doesn't want her, then she shouldn't want him, either.

———

She can't make the uncomfortable twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach go away as she steps out of the lift and into the foyer of her penthouse.

All the lights are out, no television on, not a single noise can be heard.

Perhaps Draco is already asleep.

Fuck it. She shouldn't even be checking on him after that stunt he pulled on her, but it is out of her damn control.

Her heart hammers inside her chest as she takes rapid strides towards his bedroom, the sound of her heels clicking on the wooden floor with a rhythmic pattern.

She knocks softly upon the closed door. Once. Twice.

"Malfoy?"

Nothing.

And so, she opens the door ever so slowly, peering inside the dark room.

But his bed is untouched. There isn't a single sign of life in the room nor in the whole flat except for her own self.

Kallista frowns. Draco wouldn't dare go to Malfoy Manor without telling her. Right?

It's past ten, so where could he be?

She hates how she worries about him in a heartbeat. How the mere thought of him being away makes her crumble. How everything she feels about their situation seems as though a knife cuts right through her soul.

Turning on her heels, she tries to ignore her thundering heart and walks towards the lift.

The instant the doors open, lost in her thoughts, Kallista walks into the lift, wondering where she should go look for him first.

But air gets knocked out of her lungs when she bumps into a hard wall—or rather a hard, muscled chest.

Her mind gets sent into overdrive, her breath catching in the back of her throat when that musky and woody and intoxicating scent takes over her senses.