Not About Angels (A Tom Riddle Story)

Chapter 73

Abigail really, really wanted to love Gabriel. 

She lied in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning. She wanted to protect him from harm, to shield him from everything that might come his way. 

But in the middle of the black night, when all the others were sound asleep, and silence surrounded her, the sadness crept in from deep inside her heart. Tom Riddle was somewhere else tonight, perhaps with another, perhaps making love, perhaps drunk. In the day, she chased off all thoughts of him. As night fell, however, the familiar dread plagued her. 

Where did she go wrong, she asked herself? Why was it that she was never worthy of his love? 

She spent her whole life going after one, single thing: him. 

He left, but also left in his wake a path of destruction. She couldn't help but wonder about her own role in Tom Riddle's life. He would be a force of nature one day, she had no doubt about that. He would rise to the very top of this world, which was so mundane and pitiful in his dark eyes. He would rise as he always has, and conquer the path to everything he had ever wanted. 

But was she only a stop along the way? 

What was she to him in the past, and what of their future? Would she even be in his future?

In his grand plan, did he ever think to leave room for her? 

He never loved me. Never. 

As those harrowing thoughts downed on her, she pulled her blanket closer and up over her head so she could cry silently.   

On the other side of the castle, that boy sat out on the balcony, looking at the moon. 

He could feel her pain. His magic had grown so powerful now that he could see her if he wanted to.  He could feel it, and it hurt him too.

He told himself again that he must let her go for good. To cut all the strings that tied them together. To do anything to prevent the dreaded prophecy.

To protect her. 

He reached his hand out and felt the pale moonlight on his skin. In a year, he knew that he would have everything. The Delacrioux fortune. The estate, the title of heir, the prestige.   

But what was all that without her? He once made a promise by the black lake that he would give her the world. 

Tom Riddle took another sip from the bottle of firewhiskey in his hand. Perhaps he should call Cheryl. Or Susana, or Micayla, or Bella. Anyone to drown out this lonely night with.   

He found a pretty blonde sitting with her friends by the fire in the Slytherin common room.  

As he walked closer, they giggled and blushed. It's Tom Riddle, they whispered. The Slytherin kingpin, the silver prince. 

He beckoned for her to come closer with his finger. 

"Me?" She asked, surprised, her cheeks suddenly flushing. He ignored her friends, as if he only had eyes for her. The intensity of his dark gaze, the faint, alcoholic flush on his chiseled cheeks, the way that his shirt was half-unbuttoned, the single strand of black hair that hanged rebelliously over his brow, all made her blush furiously and feel an instant pull closer to him. She stood up and walked to him. 

"What's your name? I've never seen you here." He whispered. His voice was so soft that she had to come closer to hear him clearly. His fire-whiskey breathe was hot on her cheeks.  

She nervously replied with her name. Of course, he didn't really care what her name was. In fact, he wouldn't even remember it the next morning. 

He took a strand of her hair between his fingers and played with it between his thumb and index finger. She giggled nervously in response. She felt the heat rising in the room as he inched just a bit closer.  The effect he had on her was creeping up all over her body.