BRUTAL

Slam! 

He kicked his white bedroom door closed with all his strength and whimpered when his foot started to ache. He could be using a spell to throw things around, taking out all his anger on magic. Instead he's inflicting pain on himself. After all, that's what he needed, that's what he deserved. He needed to feel pain. He needed to punish himself for letting this happen. It shouldn't have happened. 

The room was dark, white bed sheets and pillows being the only thing that seemed to glow as the moonlight radiated past the black curtains and into the now inky and depressing room. This room use to mean something to Draco. It use to be their room. It was the room where she had slept in, more times than once. The room where they had got in arguments and she stormed out, only to return minutes later and apologize, even though it wasn't her fault. But now it was nothing. He sat on the grey wool carpet she use to lie on when she was bored and stared at the large wardrobe she use to hide in when she wasn't allowed to be in his room. The large portrait on the black wallpaper-covered wall of him and her, dancing together in the living room of her house on the day of her 16th birthday, moved. As their bodies swayed to the song that was playing, she giggled, ocean eyes staring right into the room, while Draco admired her, his taller height causing him to look down at her, grey eyes lighter than usual, happier than usual. He was beaming when he was with her… The room use to resemble something so merry and exciting. But now, all there was, was him, Draco Malfoy, punching furiously at his door while he mourned.

It shouldn't have happened.

Smack!

I should have stopped it. 

Smack!

I'm such an idiot!

Smack!

Why wasn't I there?

Smack!

Why isn't she here?

Smack!

Why did she have to die?

Smack! 

He fell to the floor in utter weakness, his body growing frail as he let the wet moisture pour from his stormy eyes and dampen his snow white skin. His bleach hair hadn't been fixed since the fight and he was still wearing the same clothes. "She's dead." His heart broke. "He killed her." Now it felt like it was slowly tearing. "The Dark Lord killed her." Almost there... "My father killed her." Rage erupted through his body. "Why wasn't I there?" The words repeated in his head like someone yelling in a cave, painfully screaming and screeching in his ears and head. He sat there and leaned on his bedroom door for who knows how long, sobbing so hard, he could barely breath. Mind you, even if he wasn't crying, he felt like all the air was sucked out of him and hidden away so he couldn't find it. He felt like his heart had stopped working and his brain wouldn't function just quite right. She was everything to him and now she's gone. He spent their last days together pretending to hate her… He told  her he hated her. Even when she cried and begged him to stop, pleaded for him to stop, he wouldn't. But he didn't know… He didn't know she was going to die… 

All he wanted was to see her body, kiss her lips for the last time, just one time and tell her he loves her more than his own life. Just once. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was and how, if he could, he'd go back in time and run away with her, just like they planned. He'd kiss her again, so hard, so passionate, as if his love and his passion would bring her back to life. But they wouldn't let him see her. They wouldn't even let him in the room. He understood though, he did fight with the wrong side. But he had no choice… She would have understood that. She would have let him in. She would have told them that he was a good guy, that he deserved a second chance. Thanks to her, he's had more than a few second chances. More than he cared to admit. He told them she wouldn't want them to keep him away from her, but they didn't listen...