Letters I Can't Send

10

Y/n's POV

It's Monday and it's early. I hardly slept last night—even if I was sleeping in my bed in me and the girls' dormitory, I think I slept better when I was laying in Malfoy's lap, listening to music.

And to think that that was just about 48 hours ago, that he held me. That he was worried for me and wanted to help me.

It was also hard to believe that only 48 hours ago I got hurt, I got raped, right there in Hogsmeade.

I keep secrets. I didn't tell Quinn what happened to me. Ever since mum died, I barely told anyone anything. I don't even know why—I just didn't. I keep that habit up, and still now. But at least someone knows, I guess. Even if it is Draco Malfoy, the one who keeps finding things out about me I never expected him to ever know. But, somehow, I'm not bothered by it. Somehow, it feels okay for him to know.

It's about 4:30 in the morning, so I thought I'd get up and get a shower, cover up the marks on my neck from where the ice cream stand man held me. And to check out the scrapes on my back. I can't stop thinking about the way he touched me the other night. About the way he so gently examined them and how held me and told me I'd be okay. I don't know what to think about it, but it's been consuming half my mind for the past 48 hours.

I step out into the common room, my hair soaking wet and all I have on is an oversized tee shirt and shorts (and socks). I immediately spot Draco sitting on a couch near the fireplace, where the fire had once burned, but died out hours ago.

He looks up when he notices me standing not too far off from him in a shadow of the night that had the room cloaked. "Good morning," he says nonchalantly.

"'Morning," I say back and take the spot on the couch next to him. "What are you doing up so early?" I ask.

He shrugs. He won't look at me either. "Couldn't sleep," a pause. "You?"

"Me neither," I breathe.

"How, um, how's your back?" he asks, and I can feel his eyes on me in the darkness.

I hesitate. It's not good, to be honest. It's one of the many reasons I can't sleep. "It's been better," I say.

"I'll find that bastard and I'll kill him," he growls. I look at him in the dark and see the outline of his clenched fists. "You need to get help, Ellis." He adds. "You need to see Madame Pomfrey or something to take care of your back, and...and make sure you're okay,"

"No," I say firmly. "I don't want that."

"But you need to—" he insists. "For your own good," I shake my head.

"Just stop," I say quietly and he falls silent for a while.

Then he breaks the silence and says, "Will you let me see again, then?" he asks, talking about my back. "If you won't let a nurse take care of it,"

I sigh and turn around on the sofa we sit on, so my back is facing him once again. He takes the hem of my large shirt and lifts it up half way, to expose my lower back. I hear a sharp intake of breath from behind me as Draco illuminates his wand to see better in the dark common room.

"I-it's not that bad, right?" I say in a distressed tone. His fingers trace a line down my spine, following a harsh scratch. I suppress a shiver.

"It's...not great." He pulls the hem down again, and his wand goes dark once again. I turn back around—I must be blushing, and I'm so glad it's dark, to avoid further embarrassment. "You should see Madame Pomfrey." He urges me, and it's starting to get on my nerves.

"No," I repeat myself again. "I'm not going to the hospital wing,"

He huffs in annoyance. "Why not? If you go, then you can get cleaned up and I bet you'll feel a hell of a lot better,"

I shake my head once more. "I won't go," we're both stubborn, which does not help our cause, so we go back and forth. "Can you please accept that and move on?" I say, starting to get angry.

"But why won't you go?" he asks, his voice softer than it was only moments ago.

I sigh and lean back into the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. "Because," I start, trying to find the right words to help me finish. "Because doctors don't help. Doctors bring bad news. They couldn't help my mum when she got cancer. They almost couldn't help me when I got sick. Jouge's Hospital in the states has too many bad memories. Doctors have too many bad memories. I. Don't. Want. That. Again."

Draco is quiet again. I wonder what he's thinking. Then when he talks, he's soft and gentle. "When did you get sick?" he asks.

I play with my fingers in my lap. "I was six," I say quietly.

"What was it?" he asks, meaning what sickness I had.

I huff and suddenly something comes over me. I sit up straight and face him. "Jesus, what am I doing here? And why do you care?" I stand and look at him through the darkness. "I hate you. We don't like each other. But we're acting like—like—we've known each other forever or—I don't know you, Malfoy. You can't use my first name. you can't--you're acting so--so unlike you.  We just—whatever we're doing here is not okay. We need to stop."

Malfoy's eyes narrow a bit. "And I hate you too, glad to see that the feeling is mutual. And I don't care, by the way, so go and keep hating me, as we should." He stands, towering over me, and I look up at him with angry eyes, trying not to seem intimidated by his height.

I brush past him, purposefully hitting my shoulder to his, and make my way to the stairs. He grabs my wrist and I pull back alarmed, my heart races as it did when I was in Hogsmeade. "We'll forget about this, yeah?" he says, and I nod.

"I've already forgotten, Malfoy, so I have no idea what you're talking about," smooth. I turn and trot up the steps, I can feel his eyes on me as I go up and, frankly, I don't mind. I need to start minding.

As soon as I pass through the doorway of my dorm and shut the door behind me, I go to the bathroom and slump over the sink. What just happened?

..........

As the Monday goes on, Malfoy completely ignores me. This is what I wanted right? Even Quinn is a little confused as to why he isn't trying to get my attention or teasing us.

This is the way it's supposed to be, right?

A/n: next chapter is coming 

this one was...interesting lol