RIDDLE. DISCONTINUED

➹ chapter thirty four

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34 | decode

"You-what?" Tom stutters, running his hand through his jet black hair in desperation. She couldn't handle the look he had in his face - if his own basilisk petrified him, his expression wouldn't be any different. It wouldn't change from the scared and confused turmoil that was so evident in him.

"Why," she began, her voice sounding hoarse and weak, making her clear her throat and hopefully her thoughts too, "why are you so surprised. We had many talks that insinuated this . . . I just never said the word."

He ran a hand through his hair - again. "Exactly, Merope. You never said the word. You didn't have to say the word. Goddamn it why did you say it?"

Tom seemed extremely psychotic, which he usually was, but that particular day, he seemed completely out of it. As if no bone in his body was sane anymore. She should have been scared but she wouldn't, she had seen too much already to feel even the slightest scrap of fear.

No, Merope wasn't scared. She was worried - and why wouldn't she when the unbreakable man reacted to a love confession as if it had been a death threat.

"I have to leave. I can't be here." He said quickly, his eyes darting around frantically as if afraid that he was being observed. The girl blocked the door with her body as quickly as she could manage.

He didn't try to shove her, but his face froze.

"Tom. . ."

He lost it. "Stop fucking calling me that!" He yelled, and she had never been so thankful from having a room so disclosed from the rest of the house.

"Why? It's not like he's going to kill you for having his name?" Her voice was calm, so much unlike his. It unnerved him further instead of calming him down.

For a second there, he seemed to turn blind. His eyesight became fogged and he felt dizzy. The world kill echoing in his brain like a mantra.

"Let me out." His voice held such coldness that it chilled her bones, but she didn't obey.

"No. Tell me why you came here. Tell me why you didn't reply to anything I sent you. And," she had to refrain herself from reaching for his face until he showed other expression, "tell me what have you done that got you like this."

He wasn't listening. "Merope, I'll swear I'll curse you if you don't let me out."

"I'll curse you back into here." She muttered, not taking his threat seriously. He wouldn't hurt her, would he? "And also, Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875. No magic for us."

His hand gripped the bookshelf next to him for support, trying to control his emotions boiling inside of him. He didn't understand any of it, how he could be feeling so helpless and frail.

His mind couldn't grasp how he could feel so . . . human after doing something so grotesque.

After a moment of silence, he spoke again. "You can't love me," he whispered, letting his hand slip from the shiny wood, "and you know it as well as I do. You were conceived under a love potion. You are not supposed to feel."