poison ivy; tom riddle

prologue

My heart is broken.

Not by the hands of a lover, it has always been. Two halves of one unstable organ. Delicate as a rose; one wrong touch and it will wilt to ash.

It's funny, really. You would think a Rosier would have a heart made of stone, decorated with sparkling frost.

But mine craves adoration, attention, love; like a rose, it needs it to survive, to exist.

Otherwise, as I said, it will wilt to ash and become no more.

I will become no more.

My feeble heart has thorns, they grow sharp and latch themselves to other roses, cling onto their petals for dear life until they are torn off and my heart is once again- wilted to ash.

So I pretend.

As Tom pushes himself into me I pretend that he is as in love with me as I am with him.

As he kisses my neck I pretend he is not just using me for pleasure. He is not using me, he loves me.

I can sometimes see the twinkle in his eyes. Or the way he touches the small of my back. Or kisses behind my ear.

He isn't only doing that to get back at my brother for something. He isn't just doing that to have an accessory at his side. I'm more than that to him.

He loves me.

He wouldn't fuck me the way he does if he didn't.

Look at him now: the way he's pressing kisses into my chest- so hard, so passionate that a sunset of purple and red raises through my alabaster skin.

It's like he's trying to kiss my heart, he loves it that much.

Deeper and harder he presses.

I bite my lip, electricity sparks my tongue.

I see stars.

Ivy, he says my name into my neck.

Barely a whisper, a release.

My fingers thread through his hair like thorns.

My love for you, Tom, stretches across each star.

He knows.

I've told him many times. He doesn't mind.

If anything, the first time I told him I'd fallen in my fourth year (his fifth), he seemed quite satisfied.

It made my heart blossom.

He replies something that I can't quite make out, a grunt more than a sentence.

I pretend, again, that he is saying it back.

I feel his release as he bites my neck. It hurts but it's okay.

Tom's never been one for being gentle.

I lay, sprawled out like a flower on his bed as he plucks my hands away and pulls up his boxers.

Don't fancy round two?

My fingers crawl down my stomach, his face is indifferent, spectating.

I might find you later but I have a meeting.

I stand to my knees, Am I not invited?

No.

But I'm so much more fun.

I made a deal with your brother.

When have you ever listened to Evan?

His eyes are like a knife when they shoot at me.

I smile back at him with a smile he says makes me look too sweet.

He turns to look at me, once last aching time.

And he is gone.