Not About Angels (A Tom Riddle Story)

Chapter 7

I love you, she said, to the monster that lived in her heart 

He smiled, and kiss her lips, knowing she will never escape his claws. 

...........................................

Abigail saw him again, the boy. She wanted to ask his name, because in her mind, they were already friends, since the night in the moonlight.  

He sat there, in the corner, his eyes quiet and his hands in his lap. He was so beautiful.  

" Hello." She said, sitting down next to him. He smiled at her. 

" Hi." He said, his eyes staring into the distance. 

" So, what do you wanna do?" She asked, hoping he would say "hide-and-seek," because she missed playing it with Miranda. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

" I mean, lets play together. The other girls........they don't want to play with me. But you're really nice." She told him earnestly, her small, freckled face beaming with happiness. 

He wished he could smile like that.  

" Alright." He said, after a long pause. Abigail half expected him to turn away, but to her joy, he agreed. 

" So, what do you want to do?" She asked him, grabbing his hand. He pulled away, uncomfortable with touch. 

"Lets go outside." He said. He preferred the sea breeze. Nothing was colder than the horrors of this place, after all.  

She walked with him, holding on to the hem of his tatter grey shirt. She clung on, not wanting to lose him, scared he would run away. 

He looked at her, the small girl, grabbing on to the hem of his shirt, looking up at him like he was a god. In her eyes were an admiration he had never seen. She looked at him like he was her idol, like he wasn't just a orphan, just a powerless boy. Her eyes were clear blue pools of awe, latching onto his darker ones. He did not brush her hand away. 

The winter breeze penetrated their bones, into their souls. A black car was parked in the distance. Few people walked the streets, with the exception of a few peddlers, peddling their carts back and forth, hoping to feed their families tonight. 

Abigail took a look at the heavy wooden door of the orphanage. Just a few months ago, she was left here. She remembered so clearly, Annie ringing the door, and her figure dimming in the snow. She remembered Annie's cold hands and the cigars-and-candy smell of the Brothel. She remembered Miranda. The warm embrace, the floral perfume, the nurses rhymes. Miranda rocked Abigail in her lap and sang the most beautiful songs to her, of  love, of the flowers, of angels.  

Abigail still firmly held the belief that one day, soon, Miranda will come back for her. She held on to it, clutched on so tightly to the idea that one day, her mother will come get her. At the time, she could not understand why her mother left her here. But she knew, clearly, that it was not because she abandoned Abigail. No. It was because she loved her, and for some absolutely nessesary reason, needed some time away.  

That hope was her life raft, the idea kept her going. It was her ray of sunshine, her beacon of hope. 

"Why are you crying?" Tom Riddle asked her, watching the tears stream down her pink cheeks. 

Abigail sniffled. She wiped her cheeks, the wind stinging them. 

"I miss my mama." She said. 

" Where is she now?" He asked. 

" She's in London. She'll come back for me. But I miss her right now." She told him. 

He understood that no one ever came back for any of them. Stupid girl. 

" She will come back, right?" She asked him. 

" Maybe." He answered. 

"I know she will." She said, wiping the tears away, only be met with a stream. 

" Don't you miss your mama?" She asked him, looking at the boy. 

" She's dead." He said, forcing a smile. It didn't bother him anymore, he told himself. 

"Oh. I'm sorry." She said, patting his arm. He flinched, as her hand touched the fabric above his wound, making it sting. 

" Are you alright?" She said, puzzled. 

" I am." He straightened himself.  

"So do you think she's up there?" Abigail asked him. 

" Up where?"

" In heaven." 

Tom Riddle laughed. Heaven never existed. Only hell. 

" No." He told her "I don't know." 

"Why wouldn't she be? I'm sure she was a nice lady."  

Tom Riddle didn't reply. The snow was starting to fall, landing on his cheeks, eyelashes, shoulders. He caught a snowflake in his palm, where it did not melt. 

"My mama is a nice lady." Abigail told him. "She sang me songs, and she told me stories." 

"Like what?"

" Like.......like about princesses and fairies and princes, and angels." She said, a glimmer of hope surfacing in her large eyes with the thought of the fantastical world Miranda had weaved for her. 

"So, about things that don't exist." He said flatly. 

" Of course they exist." 

" Only in our heads." He told her. But he didn't tell her, that in his head, there were no angels and fries, but monsters and demons. 

" I'll find them one day." Abigail smiled, hope on her red cheeks, staring at the snowflakes falling onto her eyelashes. 

" Stupid girl." He laughed, poking her round cheeks. 

"Hey! Thats not very nice!" She said, her hands at her hips, as if scolding a small child, which, he was, of course. 

He found her amusing. How could someone be so naive? So stupid? So simple? So happy? 

" I never said I was nice." He said. 

" I can tell now." She told him, a smile on her face.  

" Will you forgive me?" He asked, knowing she will say yes. Little did he know, how many times he would ask her this very question, always knowing her response. 

" Yes." She replied, picking up a small ball of snow, and placing it onto his palms. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

" Lets build a snowman." She told him. 

" Lets not." 

"C'mon. You're no fun." 

" Oh really?" He said, throwing the snow at her shoulders.  

She flinched, then laughed, thinking of a way to retaliate. She then picked up another handful and chucked it at him, missing him. 

" You'll never catch me." He told her. Which, was true.