Watching

Watching

Chapter 25

I felt like some sort of caged animal. This wasn't what was supposed to happen; I was a wild soul, not meant to be locked up in some dumb house like this.

Why couldn't we leave? Would the Death Eaters really care if Draco and I left the manor for a little while? Why was it that only Lucius, Harry, Hermione, and my father were allowed to leave? After all, both Lucius and my father were betrayers of the Dark Lord.

I found myself longing for the fight. Longing for the feel of the power a person had over those who feared them. No one feared me anymore. No one needed to. I wasn't a threat anymore.

At least, not to the ones who found themselves on my side.

I was a threat to myself, however. I was afraid of myself.

I think that's why I've locked myself up in the bathroom and I'm holding one of Draco's knifes in my hand (it was already in here when I entered).

Maybe that's why I've got blood on my arm again.

I could feel tears falling down my face. I could feel myself crumbling from the inside.

In a fit of furry, I slammed the knife into the wall, driving the tip deep into the wood.

That's when the door slammed open.

"Why?" Draco demanded.

I didn't answer him. I couldn't.

I saw his eyes flicker up to the knife in the wall and then back at me. "You will never do this again," he ordered.

"I will do as I please," I spat.

He slapped me. I stared in shock, the pain in my cheek not reaching me.

I saw the shock on his face as well. He hadn't realized what he had done until after the act was completed.

I didn't care. I was so mad at him that I pushed him out of my way and walked out of the bathroom. I distantly heard his footsteps on the marble floor and was stunned when I found my self being slammed into the wall.

"DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!" he bellowed.

"LET ME GO!" I yelled, feeling the furry wash over me.

"Damnit, Athena!" he yelled. I saw tears in his eyes and he looked down at the floor. He looked back up at me and I saw those tears fall. "Don't you understand?" he whispered.

I shook my head slightly. "Don't you?" I whispered, trying to make him see. I needed an escape, I needed to get away, and I needed him to back off. It didn't matter to me that he was crying--I didn't care for the first time in a long time. The emotions weren't there. The anger was there, the anger would never leave me. I needed him to...just for a moment.

It felt so good to feel nothing but the rage. It felt so good not to care about something as heart-wrenching as seeing him cry. I let that feeling was over me, strengthening me.

"I don't know what's going on with you," he confessed, "but--I'm sorry..."