I knew the moment I first kissed him, that he would condemn me, that I would drag myself through broken glass for him. I just was not sure if he would stay long enough to pull the jagged pieces out.
I never imagined that instead, he would push the...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━━━━━━༻♛༺━━━━━━
If there was one thing I had learned to accommodate to my memory like a picture burnt to the back of my eyes was the sight of Tom's dark brown eyes that had twined with a splatter of red over time. There is something indescribable about them— eyes that withhold so many emotions they could outburn the eternal flames yet at the same time seem as empty as the pitless oceans. It was contradicting—just like everything about him. Maybe I had gazed into them for long enough to see into the depth of his soul. Or perhaps I had just learned his soul, in case my mind would dare forget the sight of him, and my heart would stop churning with those feelings for him. But the soul never forgets and the soul never stops feeling.
And he felt like the deep growl of the thunder during a storm that I could not help but find comfort in while the rain pounded on the window.
Perhaps under normal, simple circumstances, someone could have called this love. But nothing about Tom Riddle was simple. Or normal. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Tom had no inkling of what love was that gnawed at my heart. Or maybe it was the stammering acceptance that I had grown to care for him.
If we had met under those simple circumstances that I so yearned for, I would have run to him with a smile pulling at my lips and cheeks tinged pinged all to throw my arms around him, admitting in fervour about how much I had longed to be reunited with him. But, alas, such was not the case, much to the dismay of my softening heart. What a stupid, weak heart indeed.
A slant of moonlight danced across his face, and I heard the rustle of the leaves as a breeze passed by, lightly tousling his hair. His roving eyes seared into mine as if a similar train of thought was burdening his head just as it did mine.
"Arwen." The sound of my name falling from his lips was enough to send my heart into a stuttering mess. The sound was raw, free of any pretences. It was just him. Tom.
I did not realise my feet had moved closer to him until I felt the ghost of his touch near my fingertips. "You found me." I managed to say. I was nervous. Unsure. I did not have a clue on what page we were on. Would he pull away if I attempted to touch him? Why did he bring me back? Was I only here for his own means of gaining more power?
What was I to him?
"I told you I would. Countless times." He whispered into the air between us, and I realised with his words that my dreams of him were real. They were not wisps of my wistful imagination. My traitorous body ached to feel his skin against my own, and I almost subconsciously leaned towards him, searching his eyes for any sign of emotion that would match the sharp-edged knives dragging through my insides. However, the moment between us was shattered with a snap of a twig, and a second later, there were arms encircling me in a bone-crushing hug that had me stumbling back from the impact.
