entanglements | d.m.

62.bitch

March '99 | H E R

The good days never last long.

For a long while, ever since '95 to be specific, life has been a collection of bad days with good ones sprinkled in, when before, as a naive child, it had been, or at least felt like, the other way around.

Today, on this random Tuesday evening, Devyn wants the world to stop turning and just give her a moment to breathe. To get enough oxygyn past the pressure in her lungs and allow her eyes to calm the fuck down.

I do not cry, damnit.

Taking a calming breath feels like she is about to die. Pass out. It's horrendous.

How much bad luck can a person get?

"The fuck happened to you, Wood?"

Of course life would bring him along the way.

He sniffs, slowing his steps toward where she is slumped on the floor in a vacant hall, completely defeated. "And what is that—" he sniffs again, coming to a full stop "—that smell."

"I can't do this anymore," she mutters, letting her head fall against the wall behind her. The cold stone does nothing to ease the burn behind her closed eyelids.

"What have you done, Wood?"

The revulsion in his voice awakens the fire inside her, head snapping back up. "I didn't do a fucking thing, Zabini. I minded my own fucking business, alright? My own fucking—" she stops, voice catching in her throat.

His eyes widen, no doubt alarmed that she may break out in tears. She wouldn't. Not in front of him, anyway. "Get up."

"No."

"Get up, Wood."

"You're not the boss of me!"

"Should I go get Draco then?"

Her eyes narrow at the sly implication, which can only be taken as an insult.

"No," she grits out through clenched teeth.

"I'm not getting Malone if that's what you're saying." Because of the ever-brewing feud over a girl, even when Blaise doesn't seem that interested in Pansy anymore.

God, the ego.

"I don't need anyone."

Rolling his eyes, Blaise gestures for her to stand up. "C'mon. I don't have time for that emo shit."

Devyn huffs, flinging a hand out to where he came from. "Then, please—go!"

"I can't," he squeezes out, grimacing like it pains him to admit it. His hand stretches farther out in offering, urging. "Now get up already. Self-pity doesn't get you anywhere. A shower does, though."

Felling called out, Devyn climbs to her feet, repressing a gag as she does. She really does need a shower, right this second.

"And keep five feet distance, at least."

She glares, hand tightening around the grip she has on the bag strap hung on her shoulder. "I don't need an escort."

"Too bad you're getting one anyway," he replies nonchalantly, eyeing her reddened face, the hair she has gripped in order to regain control before. "You're a little too unstable for my liking."

Devyn clenches her jaw, restraining the attitude that wants to burst out. Blaise has perfected the art of pushing peoples buttons, or maybe this is the one instance he is being genuinely concerned. Still, with everything that happened today, it takes little to rattle her cage.