Bleed Me An Ocean

Draco awoke the next morning with a groan at the pounding in his head. He lay there quietly, trying not to move at all. He knew doing that would set his stomach to roiling and he really did not feel like throwing up first thing. He was afraid to open his eyes and let in the light, but he knew he had to do it eventually. Holding his breath and steeling his nerves he warily cracked first one eye and then the other open, wincing at the bright sunlight that stung his already burning orbs.

He stood slowly and stiffly, his back and neck aching from the night he had spent on the cold stone floor. Oh please no, he thought as his stomach lurched at the movement. "I will not puke. I will not puke. I will NOT puke", he repeated over and over to himself as he felt his gorge rise. He waited patiently, willing his stomach to settle, which it did (much to his relief) a moment or two later. Looking to his left and glancing out the window he surmised that it was well after noon and groaned again. He was never one to miss class and the last thing he needed, or wanted, was more attention drawn to him.

Sighing heavily he looked down at the half empty bottle between his feet, the sunlight glittering on the glass enticingly. Settling back down on his robes he decided he wasn't even going to bother with trying to go to a class just yet. He needed time to recover. He tried to sit quietly and relax, waiting for the throb in his temples to ease. Yet, his clear grey eyes kept drifting to the bottle that sat there, as though it was waiting as well. Waiting for him to pick it up, to drink from it. To feed his addiction and dull his pain. Jerking his head quickly away from it, he looked at the dust on the other side of where he was sitting.

He began tracing words in the filth, not really caring at all. He wrote carefully and as neatly as possible and when he finished he nodded his satisfaction. "I taste the wreckage of crumbling faces" was now etched in the decades of grime on the floor. It was one of his favorite lines from a song and it reminded him of his exquisite dream in a way.

He tried to recall the sensations as best he could and felt himself growing hard at the thoughts, though the memory was nowhere near as good as the dream had been. That had been simply amazing, surrealism wrapped in a dream even. It had been pure feeling, no sights to distract him from his pleasure. No sights that was until the end, when he had finally seen Harry for a split second. He had been standing in the corner near the door, looking at him with naked lust and something he could almost call tenderness. Then, before his very eyes, Harry had disappeared. Pleased to have been able to see him even that long he had once more drifted off into the dark and dreamless sleep of the truly shitfaced.

Draco sighed once more – something he seemed to do a lot of when Harry was concerned – and glanced back at the bottle on the floor. How had he come to this? He really wasn’t sure anymore. At the time when this whole tirade had begun, the warmth of the liquid burning his throat and the crisp pain of a blade against his skin had been the only thing that could comfort him. As memories of the dream from last night resurfaced, his stare shifted and he was now glowering at the bottle, as though it had personally offended him. Parts of the dream were far too hazy for his liking and he knew the alcohol was to blame. Never before had remembering his fantasies of Harry in clear detail been a problem. In fact, he relied on those details to make it through his life; along with his booze and dagger. He looked away sulkily, making a sound that very much resembled a frustrated whine.

Fidgeting a bit and growing more bored by the second, his attention again strayed to the whiskey beside him. He really did want a drink. You don't need it, he chided himself, just as quickly retorting out loud, "Yes I do." His voice, even though hushed had sounded defensive and edged with panic. He felt like a trapped animal. Ignoring the siren song of the liquid he knew would ease the ache in his head and calm his stomach, he picked at his already chewed nails. They had once been beautifully manicured, but he had taken to biting them over the summer, chewing them savagely to the quick. Sometimes biting them off so far they'd begin to bleed and would stay sore for days.

Gnawing nervously on what was left of his right thumb nail, he tried hard to entertain himself, his roving eyes always settling on the one thing he was trying the hardest not to look at. I really need to get a handle on my drinking, he told himself, the inner voice sounding confident and reassuring even as he grasped the smooth glass neck and brought the whiskey to his lips, noting the way the bottle trembled in his hand as he did so. A tentative first sip assured him that his stomach wouldn't revolt and make him throw it up, so he raised the bottle again and took a longer swallow. It felt good. Just like always. Draco fancied that he could feel the alcohol rushing through his veins, soothing the raw edges of his nerves and all the hurt places inside of him. It wrapped him a warm shroud of comfort, a hazy alternative to his unhappy reality.

He took one last swig and exhaled heavily as his mind began to grow fuzzy. Always a good thing in his book. He figured it had been an hour or longer since he'd woken up and decided to try and make it to Potions on time. It was still his favorite class . . . and Harry was in it. Not to mention - bonus! - the last class of the day as well. Rising to his feet he gathered his robes and shook them vigorously, dust flying everywhere and making him cough a bit. Putting them on he walked to the door as he fumbled to put his Walkman and booze back into his pockets. Reaching the door with his belongings safely hidden away, he paused and listened closely for any sign there was someone out there. Thankfully he heard nothing. Opening the door a crack he peeked out just to be doubly sure. Finding that the corridor did indeed appear empty he stepped outside, pulling the door closed with a quiet snick.

If only he had looked more closely while his eyes had roved the room in his quiet struggle, he would've noticed the footprints in the thick dust. Footprints that he would've known did not belong to him.

A/N: I know this is uber short and I am planning on adding more to it, I just wanted to give you guys something to chew on while I finished it up. Reviews are, as always, greatly loved and appreciated. Thanks to all of you and by all means, give me more! lol