Princess - A Tom Riddle Fan Fiction

Chapter 8

He hurts me, cutting at my already broken skin, and yet I remain by his side.

--

His face is still, similar to a way a child stills when being yelled at for an accident they're claiming they never took part in. I definitely wasn't yelling. But I wasn't promising peace either.

He steadily breaks out of his sudden pause, "you mentioned it once. When I guessed you weren't from America."

I blink and shake my head. "no, I don't think so."

He laughs, but the sound comes out a little forced. "You did. You were just too wasted to remember."

I count how many drinks I had... only two. He stands there, waiting for an answer to his not-so-direct question.

"I only had 2. Even if I had more it wouldn't matter because it's only been 10 minutes."

"You had 2 cups of beer in 10 minutes. It's going to speed up the process. Either that or you have memory loss," he says. I can't pinpoint his tone but I can tell it's not friendly.

"I'm not losing my memory. I can still remember the time when I was five and my father gave me a storybook. That was the most wonderful present in the universe. It had Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, oh, oh, oh, and my favorite, Cinderella," I giggle and hiccup. I chalk it up to how fast I've been downing the drinks but that doesn't stop me from pouring another one.

He rolls his eyes, "that's because it's a special memory. You won't remember something as basic as giving information about yourself." He's starting to sound like he's trying to convince a child to behave so Santa will come Christmas Eve Night.

I respond anyways, unaware of his attitude, "special? Of course not. He used to give me presents all the time before I got my," hiccup, "letter."

He squints, trying  to make sense of what I'm saying before it clicks together. He doesn't seem at all fazed by his realization, more... irritated?? no, maybe... some dark form of happy?? I don't know and I just finished the third drink so I doubt I'll be thinking any more clear any time soon.

"Riddle?" I slur, "you look pleased with that."

He nods, lost in his own thought, "I guess I am."

I drop my cup, a group of boys near me yelping and cursing at me before walking away. I don't say anything. I try to put my thoughts together to form words but I just can't. It's like an inch sized creature is squeezing my vocal cords in the most painful way possible. I stair at the beer on the carpet, which is already sinking to the base. The multicolored lights flash and turn the dark stain to different shades of blue, red, purple, pink, then repeat. My lips are parted and my eyes get teary. I'm not sure if the glassy effect is from what's happened in the past, or what's happening to me now. Either way, I feel like vomiting. 

"You see? You're totally wasted,"  beseeched Tom, and he pours himself a a few drinks into different canteens he's brought. "I'd like to do the same now, so if you don't mind, I'll be leaving."

He pats my shoulder in a barely respectable attempt to reassure me and walks out of the Gryffindor common room.

I try to take a few deep breaths but my breath catches in my throat. I look up but as I do so, I get dizzy and shut my eyes. Music blasts in my ears and I cover them, but then the ringing starts. I can't win. I walk towards the room and as I do Ember grabs my wrist.

"Where are you going?" She tilts her head, slightly worried.

"To sleep. I'm dying in here," I sigh, my breathing still erratic.