Old Habits

I can't keep doing this, Fleur thought, the disgusting taste of blended Fresca and a cucumber sandwich still in her mouth. She'd promised herself she'd stop, but the more stressful her life became, the more time she spent hunched over the toilet in the bathroom, purging herself of her life. It wasn't like her parents complained—and they knew, all right—they were just too busy staging their hostile takeover of the country to care. Money and power won over their daughter, every single time. This is the last time, she promised herself once more—do you honestly think anyone likes you this way?

She shook her head as she removed the toothbrush from her pocketbook—she carried one everywhere, just so she wouldn't have to feel guilty, reminded by that nasty vomit taste in her mouth. As she brushed away her self-disgust, she thought about Draco. "How did this happen?" she thought, seriously attacking her molars in frustration. He had been her alternative to purging, her other stress-relieving tactic—making out with Draco in empty cloakrooms, her parents' beach house, his parents' manor, knowing she wouldn't have to worry about maintaining a relationship, not thinking about her screwed-up life, if only for a few minutes. Goddamn it, didn't you read the Terms of Service? He'd agreed when she told him that she wasn't looking for a relationship—just a no strings attached chance at some fun, no feelings involved. Maybe I was kidding myself, she sighed as she rinsed her mouth, thinking that this would work.

I can't do this anymore, I can't do this anymore, I can't do this anymore, Fleur thought, repeating the mantra over and over again, so focused on it that she ran right into someone on her way out of the bathroom. "Sorry," Fleur said quickly, though it was obvious she didn't mean it—it was Draco's little redhead girlfriend. She thinks she's so hardcore, Fleur thought resentfully, scanning her outfit, just because she's dating a dark wizard—she's not as bad as she thinks she is.

As soon as Ginny Weasley was behind her, Fleur rushed outside, spotting her ride: a sleek black limousine complete with an equally sleek driver. She hurried towards it, not even letting Andre open the door for her, instead throwing herself inside, and pulling a bottle of cabernet out from under the seat. She drank it straight from the bottle, even bothering to recall the calorie count. I'm just going to throw it up anyway, she thought, cursing her stress, cursing her messed-up life. Old habits die hard.

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