unhinged ↠ 𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

seven

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Go away, Evelyn.
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Kitioma Hadlee

         I expect the hospital wing.

I do not expect the tall ceiling of Tom Riddle, the manipulative, son of a bitch himself. A girl can only dream to go one day without getting brutally hurt, but sometimes I don't always get what I want.

"What..." I cough, struggling to sit up. I'm on a bed, not the cold floor this time, but it is hot, way to hot. I'm sweating, yet chills still run through my body.

"Don't sit up," A voice says, and I mentally groan. It's Tom. Of course. "Kiki, I'm serious, don't sit up, you'll hurt yourself more than you already are."

"As if you care," I cough, then pull myself up. But before I can sit all the way up past the dark green covers, a hand pushes me back down.

"Kitioma Hadlee," He says in a low voice. I gulp, then shimmy back down into the covers until only the top of my head is showing. Tom sighs. "Kiki, not that far."

"But you said-"

"Kitioma."

I peek my head out of the covers to see Tom, looking both annoyed and tired. "Sir?"

"When was the last time you ate?"

I cough. Then cough again, clearing the heavy silence that falls into the room. "Uh...last night?"

"You've been asleep for four days," Tom informs.

"How was I supposed to know that?!If it was four days, then obviously, four days ago," I say, poking my head a bit more out of the covers.

"Really, now, because Madame Pomfrey says that your health vitals show that you haven't been eating weeks."

Screw Madame Pomfrey.

I frown, sitting up to where my posture is normal. "That's absurd, of course I've been eating."

Ha. No, I really haven't. And who's fault is that? Your's.

He tilts his head, a small frown playing on his lips. "Kiki, I know you're lying."

I snort. "Sure, Riddle. What do you want me to say, huh? Oh dear, haven't been eating for twelve days, to bad!"

Tom grabs my arm, making me tumble off the bed onto the floor. He quickly drags me up, and my head screams in pain, as does the rest of my body.

Tom sits me on the window seat and his grip leaves my arm as quickly as it came, then goes to the other side of the room and rummages through piles of books, each of them sporting black, worn covers. He pulls out one and turns the pages furiously, to fast, so fast I don't even know how he manages to find what he's looking for.

After seconds of page turning, he slams the book down, making me jump.

I realise I'm in one of Gabriela's old sweaters that she let me borrow what feels like ages ago and simple black leggings, something I refuse to wear very often. The outfit is not what I had been wearing when I Sam gave me the necklace.

The necklace!

I reach up to where his fingertip trails still burn, my hands trembling. I don't feel the rough chain, so I can only assume a professor or maybe Madame Pomfrey took it off of my neck.

It still feels like it is searing into my skin, tearing away my flesh and bone. I can still feel Sam's whispers into my ear, something I used to crave, for him to hug me, murmur sweet nothings into my ear, make me feel safe, away from my past, away from this life I used to so desperately want to leave.