poison ivy; tom riddle

vi | geranium

It's my fucking brother.

You unclasp our lips and look at the door as if you're about to blow it to splinters.

I can practically feel his spit even through the door as he shouts.

Evan, I'm fine, go to bed.

I try to get up but a piercing pain shoots through my head like an arrow and I remember the wound currently decorating the back of my head.

I don't fucking care if you're fine now! You need to get out of this dorm right now or I'm going to break through and get you.

I look up to you but you're not looking at me.

You're thinking.

I can practically see steam blowing through your ears from the cogs running.

Why are you thinking so much?

Everything is fine, we're together again, just like it's supposed to be.

You look up at me, your eyes bleeding with intensity.

Would you care if I killed your brother?

I laugh because it's a funny joke.

You made a joke but you never make jokes.

It was a joke, wasn't it?

I continue to laugh because the joke is funny, hilarious even.

Even I would be tempted, I giggle but you're not.

Your face is a statue gazing into mine.

A smile bleeds onto your face and relief bleeds into mine. Why am I relieved when I know that you were joking?

You stand, leaving me on the floor. Where are you going? Are you leaving me? Don't leave me again, please, don't leave me again.

I don't think I'll make it out alive.

Your pace is slow as you walk to the door, blood still paints your fingers red. It drips onto the floor like a loose tap.

Your bloody hand grips the doorknob and you wait for a second, thinking. You turn to look at me, your gaze is lazy, alluring.

I'll be back in a minute, you say as I hear Evans shouting and a female voice.

Who is that? I recognise it. Soft but cold. Quiet but firm.

Who is that?

And then it all goes silent.

Did you put a silencing charm over you and my brother? Why would you do that? I want to hear what happens, I want to hear that you do not kill him-

I didn't mean that. Of course, you wouldn't kill him.

But I think I deserve to know what is said. I'm laying on your cold floor with a burning gash on my head.

Can you just give me some clarity? My eyes are still blurry and you're blinding me to my own brother.

I'm sure it's for the best, I know you only want the greatest for me but-

But nothing, I shouldn't complain, you do so much for me.

I love you, Tom.

You come back in. My blood no longer drips from your fingers. You look perfect as ever, with no cuts or bruises or wounds.

Perfect.

Is everything okay? My voice is hoarse like gravel itching down my throat.

You walk towards me and scoop me into your arms like a child. I'm suddenly aware of how weak my limbs are. I feel like my bones have been transfigured into elastic.

Your chest is hard and cold and not made for hugs but I love it.

I hope Evan is alright?

You bring me to your ensuite and turn the tap on to the bath. Steam suddenly soothes my throat, flowing into my nose like floating ribbons.

I can feel my reflection in the mirror beside me, I want to look but I don't.

I fear if I look I may start crying again. You don't seem to mind the tears that stain my cheeks, most of them were painted by you anyway.

I feel your hands move to my back, fiddling with the ribbons of my corset. Your touch is tantalisingly delicate, each brush feels like a feather.

You treat me like a china doll, break me when you're angry, look after me when you love me. I can be your doll, my love. I would be anything you wanted me to be.

You caress beneath my ear with your lips so softly I can barely feel it. Like the brush of a butterfly's wing.

My eyes catch the reflection in the mirror and they fail to move away. I look the mess I thought I had but I don't think I care at this moment.

You loosen the fabric binding my stomach and I suddenly feel as though I can breathe.

You lower my dress to the floor so I'm only decorated with a string of pearls around my neck. You study me like a piece of art, eyes curving along the slim of my waist to the subtle swell of my breast to my eyes.

Crushed blackberries and pomegranate seeds stain my skin, painted by your own hand.

You continue to kiss my neck, falling to the violet pressed within my shoulder. I feel the brush of your shirt and trousers falling to my feet. Your chest is like a blank canvas, a paradox to mine. A chest crafted by a Greek sculptor, so perfect, so untainted.

You wrap your hands around my waist making sure I don't fall as you guide me towards the steaming bath.

My toe dips into the boiling water, it stings at first but then soothes my skin like a calming embrace. You follow me in, the water rising as you place me between your legs and pull me so my back is on your chest.

Love. Love. Love.

Your hands roam my body, gliding across my skin so gently, so scared that they'll crack my porcelain skin.

Dried blood stains the clear water, falling through it like red powder.

Our legs tangle together like jasmine flowers, you kiss behind my ear.

I love you, I whisper no lighter than a feather of an angel's wing. I know you hear it through the small splashes of your hands washing away the impurities, washing away tonight.

Please say it back. My heart is ready to be sealed and whole again by your perfect words.

Love. Love. Love.

But you don't.

Instead, you trail your fingers from the peak of my breast to between my legs, so gracefully, and say, I know you do.