What the fuck was wrong with him?
Ophelia had been pacing her room nonstop since returning from the party, her footsteps carving a restless path into the carpet. She had tried—truly tried—to come straight here the moment her body unfroze, when her limbs finally responded to her again. But, of course, nothing that night had gone the way she wanted.
The second she stepped back into the ballroom, her mother had intercepted her—smiling far too brightly and pulling her into an endless stream of introductions. She could hardly remember what was said. Names, faces, polite laughter—it all passed through her like smoke. She was certain she'd nodded at the right moments, maybe even murmured the occasional "pleasure to meet you," but the truth was, she hadn't seen a single person.
She'd floated through it, hollowed out and numb, barely holding herself together. Her only comfort was the hope she'd never cross paths with any of them again—because she wouldn't recognize a single one.
Now, alone at last, she couldn't stop moving. Her steps were frantic and uneven, carrying her from one end of the room to the other. She wasn't even aware of what direction she went anymore but frankly she didn't care. She needed to keep moving or else she would go insane.
Her hands wouldn't stay still either. They kept twisting into the fabric of her dress, fingers smoothing over the same patch of silk again and again. She could still feel the weight of his touch, like it had imprinted on her skin.
What the actual fuck was wrong with him?
Who did he think he was? Why did he think it was okay to—to kiss her like that—?
Pacing wasn't enough anymore. Her eyes landed on the pile of pillows scattered across the bed, and without thinking, she snatched one up and let out a scream into it. A raw, muffled burst of frustration. And then another. And another.
When her face was no longer pressed down on the pillow, she found that she didn't feel any better, actually, and the realisation hit her hard. There was so much anger coursing through her veins and her heart was beating so fast on her chest that she even started worrying that she was going to pass out at any moment. But, luckily for her, she remembered Anna's advise for when one feels overwhelmed and without losing any more time she started working on her breathing.
She dropped the pillow and sat on the edge of the bed, planting both feet firmly on the floor. One hand pressed to her chest as she forced herself to inhale. Slowly. Deeply.
In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth. Again. And again.
"I hate you, so much."
The memory of his last words sent a new fury through her body and she couldn't concentrate any longer on breathing. So, her breaths started to come out ragged and shallow once more and she had to stand up and continue pacing the floor.
It was a never ending loop. She was spiraling, that was for sure.
He hated her? She scoffed, bitterly. She hated him more!
She hated him, his stupid smirk, his raspy voice and the way his stupid eyes always seemed like they were half closed! What was the deal with that?
This time she screamed in frustration without the pillow to muffle it.
Stupid, arrogant, pretentious Nott. What gave him the right to go and kiss her again? Without giving any explanation after?
She was not a toy! He couldn't do with her whatever he pleased and she sure as hell was not going to allow something like this to happen again.
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Pulling Strings - Theodore Nott
Fanfiction"Do not doubt it, you're the most insufferable," she poked her finger into his chest. "Self-centred," Again. "Shallow and-" He caught her hand before she could continue, looking down at her with a crooked smile. "Aw, darling," he bopped her nose, fo...
