The Art of Concealment

I was drowning, I was drowning and you didn't notice, and it killed me. I thought you knew; I thought that you could see the way I looked at you. I thought you could tell that I was dying inside when you weren't thinking of me. But you saw what everyone else saw: nothing.

You saw nothing, you see, because I'm skilled in hiding. But not in the way you'd think. People don't see me, what they see is a confident young man walking the halls. They see a handsome face and exquisitely done blonde hair. That is who I am, to the world...just another Malfoy. Of course, I'd like to think that I could care less what anybody thinks of me. I'd like to think that no matter what anyone said to me, I'd be able to brush it off without a scratch. I'd like to think that nobody's opinion mattered to me, but it does. It matters so much. If I act like I don't care, it's so that people will think that I'm cold and heartless, so that they never see what's inside. But I thought you knew.

*

Your entire being was suffocating to me. The way you smelled, the way you looked, and the way you made me feel. I had never loved before. As a child, I wasn't loved, I was disciplined; I didn't get praised when I had done right, I got beaten when I had done wrong.You changed my outlook. It sounds melodramatic in my mind, to think that you changed the way I viewed life, but it's true. I would be long gone if you hadn't been there to hold me back with your sweet smiles, although they were never for me.

*

The way you made me fly was nothing compared to the way you let me fall. I saw the revulsion in your eyes when I touched you. I had had enough longing, quietly pining away, and I forced myself to tell you, to cradle your face in my hand and let my heart bleed to you. The way you recoiled was like an icy dagger in my gut.

I felt so damn sorry for myself. I distanced myself from everything I knew. Secretly, I think I wanted someone to notice. I pitied myself like the stinking ferret everyone thought I was, and it's disgusting. It's always about me; it always was, and always will be.

*

I saw how you looked at him. I saw how no matter where you were, he was with you. Your hand in his had made me wretch. You were happy, but that's not what mattered to me. You belonged with me, not with that disgusting prat. He didn't deserve you, I could tell that much. You thought you were in love.

*

But it's not love, Gin. I'm pretty sure you knew that. You think you're in love, but you're not. It's quite a depressing subject for me when I think about it. I mean, you like someone, and when you're away from them you feel empty. You always want to be with them, and you feel like you could live by them forever; that you'd die for them, but then... you know it's fake. You know that it's just a damn infatuation and it'll blow over, you know that no matter how much you think you love that person, you know it's not going to last. You think you'll never get over it, but you do. And it's so god damn easy. Then you feel completely and utterly foolish to have ever thought that you loved them in the first place.

*

From where I was, I could see you in the grounds below. You were sitting under a tree with your face in your hands, your smile towards the sky, disgustingly watching him fly around on his broom, showing off. You looked so happy, but I knew it was only temporary. He would break your heart in an instant; maybe you had it coming. I put my hand up to the window and stroked your red hair from so far away. I looked down and smiled as the warm blood from my wrist flowed freely, beautifully, down the cool glass. I was through with hiding.