twisted

twenty nine

tw: self harm*, mentions of alcohol abuse

draco malfoy

I thought they were going to go away. The reoccurring dreams, I thought it was all a part of what was to come, what already came, but it was long over. What did he want? Why the fuck was he still doing this with me?

Dumbledore was dead. It wasn't me who killed him, but he was dead anyways. I didn't owe Him anything anymore. But I'd still wake up in the middle of the night, with the same dream, same place, different person. Every single fucking time.

I was sleeping in Lucille's room. Not with her, of course; there were two twin-sized beds on either side of the room. She'd usually pass out early from heavy drinking, but she'd typically wake up sober a few hours later, either with a nightmare or a fear that she'd have to face her feelings. Either way, she'd start to cry, and I'd be up anyways so I'd go to comfort her.

I did my best. I knew it was never enough. But it was better for both me and her to help her feel like this could be any better.

I never realized how much Lucille truly loved Lorenzo until after he was gone. I'd known him my whole life, I'd grown up with him. We knew everything about each other, we'd gone through nearly everything together. And not even I had a worse reaction than her.

And god, did it make me feel awful. What made me feel worse was the fact that I had no justifiable reasons not to feel awful. I'd given them shit this whole time, they could barely have a peaceful moment where I wasn't in the picture. I regretted it and I deserved the guilt.

I can admit undeniably that it hurt so much to see her like this. And though I wanted her to stop hurting her body, she continued to do so. But, I couldn't even blame her because I was fighting the urge to do the same thing. It was even harder seeing her act like nothing ever happened with the alcohol in her system. It tempted me.

I cherished the few moments we had during the middle of the night. I wasn't a very expressive person. I kept my feelings locked in, but these few minutes she'd cry against me made me so comfortable in my own sadness, and I liked it. It was a few vulnerable moments between a woman who drank her problems away and a man who kept his problems locked away. I don't know if she remembered this nightly routine. If she did, she didn't speak about it.

But a few minutes after I jolted awake after a nightmare, I started to hear her breathing heavily, turning in her sleep, slow sobs leaving her mouth.

I stood up, rubbing my eyes wearily. I walked quietly over to her bed and wrapped my arm around her, causing her emotions to spill out further. She quietly sobbed in my embrace as I whispered, "Shhhh."

The truth was we were all lost without Lorenzo. He was the tie to our group--the mature, protective one, but he knew how to have a good time -- and how to provide one, too. And without him, we were falling apart. First, Lucille. And it was like a domino effect.

When her half-conscious body returned to its gentle sleeping state, I gently lie her back onto the bed. Gently, I ran a few strands of misplaced hairs behind her ear. Her pale, tear-stained skin glimmered in the dim moonlight, lips still placed uncomfortably as if even sleep couldn't give her the peace and comfort she deserved.

I quietly walked back over to my bed and climbed under the covers, my breath shaky. I was nervous about falling back asleep now, so I stared blankly at the ceiling and let my mind wander.

We had realized a few days before that people were starting to blame Lucille for Lorenzo's death. They had no evidence behind the topic other than Cedric's death. They said it was suspicious that she'd had only two boyfriends, both of which were dead now. It was complete bullshit -- rather than sympathizing with her after what she's been through, they turn around and blame it on her.