The Lost Potter || Draco Malfoy [BOOK 1]

Chapter 25

<<TRIGGER WARNING>>

When Draco and I got back to Hogwarts, I dragged him up to the Gryffindor Common room. I said the password and walked in. Harry and Ariel were sprawled out on the floor playing Monopoly.

"Is this really what you people do when I'm gone?" I asked.

"Yep." Harry and Ariel said at the same time.

"How was Hogsmeade?" Harry asked. I didn't say anything.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Well, all I have to say is that Cedric Diggory is going to be dead by tomorrow morning." Draco spat.

I jogged up to my dorm, without saying a word to them.

"Worthless. Ugly. No wonder Cedric cheated. You're so stupid. Why did he date you in the first place? He probably got bored with you." My conscience kept saying.

I sat on my bed pulling my knees up to my chest and started crying. I clutched my head as violent sobs racked my body. I didn't even know why I was crying, considering it was only six weeks. But I'd had issues with trust, abandonment, and anxiety in the past, so it really wasn't a surprise. I felt my scars on my wrists and legs tingle. Not the ones that Lester made, but the ones that I made myself.

"Everyone fucking leaves you. No one likes you at all," Said the voice in the back of my head, as I began to hyperventilate. I felt a searing pain in my heart that I just couldn't get rid of, and my throat felt like it was closing. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think straight—all I could think about was the stupid look on Cedric's face.

Finally, it got to me, so I stood up and walked to the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it. I opened the drawer and stared at what could be my best friend and my worst enemy.

A nice, perfectly sharp, orange razor. Still stained red because of the blood the last time I used it. Yes, I'd cut. I had since I was eleven. I made an oath to myself not to do it at Hogwarts, but at that point, I was so sad that I didn't know what else to do. I picked up the blade with trembling fingers, crying.

I sat on the floor, rolling up my pant legs, and sat on the floor. I ran the blade across my already scarred thigh. I winced a little in pain, not really hurting. I sighed in relief, watching in satisfaction as the blood flowed and dripped down the sides of my leg.

I looked down at my unscarred wrist. I had never cut my wrists, afraid that people would see.

But at that moment I didn't care. I just wanted everything to go away; life to go away.

I slashed the blade against my wrist, again, again, and again.

As I did it, I felt my wrist sting, since there were still bruises there.

I decided to cut once more, near the heel of my hand.

Suddenly, pain exploded up my arm, as if someone had lit it on fire.

"FUCK!" I screamed, holding my wrist, which was now gushing blood. It was spraying all over my clothes, the floor, and even a bit on the walls.

I quickly clamped my hand over my wrist in an attempt to stop the bleeding but to no avail. I'd hit something, and it was clear that if I didn't scream for help within the next five minutes, I would not be alive.

"It's finally your time," taunted my conscience, as I hyperventilated. "How does it feel?"

I gasped as pain racked my arm, and let out a loud sob. "I don't want to die, not yet," I thought. "I was just sad and anxious and—"

"You got what you wished for," said my conscience. "You're not going to call for help, are you? We don't need your friends knowing how much of a suicidal wimp you are."

"I'm not suicidal, and I don't want to die," I thought. The bloodless was getting so intense that I slumped against the cabinets, and my eyes began to feel heavier and heavier.

"You're not going to die," said a voice in my head; a voice that I completely didn't recognize.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Hello? Maya? We heard you scream and we want to know if you're okay."

"Help!" I gasped out loudly.

"Alohamora!" said the voice from the door.

I heard a loud scream, but before I could recognize who it was, I was out cold.

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WORD COUNT: 766