Not About Angels (A Tom Riddle Story)

Chapter 11

You said you like roses

So I picked them for you

They stung me

They hurt me   

I bled

But then you smiled 

So for you, I will pick all the roses in the world. 

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

He began to accept her. 

She showed him what he has never seen: compassion.  

She shared everything with him, toys, food, secrets. 

After that day in the hall, he saw something else in that little girl. She was just like him.  

The world was against her, yet she held herself with a sense of unwavering dignity and pride. She has so little in material, but so much in substance. She was the only person who ever made him smile, and that was priceless. 

At the same time, he was jealous. She was so carefree, as if a butterfly dancing between wild ferns. Nothing in the world seemed to taint on her unbridled optimism. She still waited each and every day, for her mother to arrive on the doorsteps of the orphanage and rescue her from this misery. 

"Come find me!" She yelled, her light, high-pitched voice ringing in the halls. 

Of course he knew where she was. He always knew. But he chose to stumble around in the curtains and pretend not to see her, so she can smile and say, "I won, Tom Riddle!"  

"Stupid." He would say, smiling. 

" If I'm so stupid, why couldn't you find me?" She said, waving her small arms in victory.  

And when she became too obnoxious, he would flick her nose and tell her to shut up. but she never did. She would poke him in the cheek and ask him to forgive her, and say that next time, she won't hide that well, that next time, she would let him win. Abigail's laughter lit up the room, as her chimes and giggles bounced like fresh silver bells off the cold walls of the orphanage. Her joy was infectious, touching Tom Riddle's calloused, scarred heart.  

She came so close. But not close enough. 

 The world was still very much a hostile place. Its every corner lined with villains and tigers, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. Overtime he tried to forget, to forgive, the darkness in his heart stopped him.  

Spring came, and the snow melted. 

He would watch the waves crash, each time hitting the shore, cutting and unfolding itself on the jagged green rocks. Black, blue, then white, the ocean was relentless in its efforts. But slowly, the waves would erode the sharp rock, and soften its edges, and in the process, tear itself apart. 

They sat by the seaside, soft breeze lifting strands of hair from their heads and onto their faces. Abigail tried make a flower crown, while Tom Riddle watched in amusement.  

"Why are you laughing?" She asked him, pretending to be cross.  

" At your inability to make such a simple object." He said. 

" If it's so easy, why don't you do it?" 

" Hand it over." He said, grabbing the mess of flowers in his hands.

She watched him, while he laid down every branch, and weaved the delicate stems into a small ring. With a smile, he made the flowers bigger and brighter. 

" How did you do that?" She asked in awe. 

" Magic." He told her, gently placing the ring onto her hair.  

She giggled, feeling the soft stroke of his fingers in her hair. 

"Watch." he said, almost a whisper. 

He closed his eyes, and focused. 

He could do it, he knew. Somehow, by some force he did not yet know, the flowers bloomed. The ones that were shy and hid away opened themselves, petal by petal. The hillside was lit up by the blooms, in all their beauty, embroidering the seaside with wild symphonies of yellow, pink, and green. An orchestra of colors, the hillside played the most vivid and enjoyable orchestra for the eyes. 

She gasped, her eyes wide in awe. It was so  beautiful. But not as beautiful as Tom Riddle. 

It was a scene to remember, a moment to forever imprint in her memory. She closed her eyes, and opened them again, to see if it was all real. Maybe this was just a fantastical dream. 

Maybe it was just an illusion, and when she wakes up, she'll be cold and alone again.    

She grabbed his hand, and reluctantly, he held on. Instead of pulling away like she expected, he tightened his fingers around hers. 

Maybe this was the last time he ever felt truly happy－that is, if he could feel it at all.   

She looked at him, and fell. She was too young to know love. She had so little in this world, yet she had enough. She was happy, because she once knew a boy named Tom Riddle.  

He was her everything. 

.................. 

Billy Stubbs shoved him into another wall. The cold concrete touched Tom Riddle's skin, piercing it, taunting it. 

"Fight back, ya little bitch." Bill yelled. 

Through bloodied teeth and a black eye, Tom Riddle smiled. 

"Fuck you, Billy." Penny yelled, stepping out from the crowd. 

"Oh, another one? Where's little Abigail? Shouldn't she be here to save you now?" Billy taunted. 

Penny shoved Billy aside. 

............... 

Good things never last. Before the snow could completely  thaw, Thomas Lind came back.  He came back with more boxes, more equipment. As the ever-dreaded figure walked silently into the orphanage, Tom Riddle's white knuckles gripped the edge of his door. 

The sight of this man infuriated him. He wanted to kill Thomas Lind a thousand times over, to grip his throat, to slash his skin, to put a bullet through his skull. Thomas Lind lightly knocked on the door, a crooked smiled on his unshaven face, hidden beneath the tangled mass of beard. 

"Oh-Tommy?" He laughed, lightly tapping the door. 

Tom Riddle stared at him, the most cutting hatred in his eyes, one that a child of his age should not be capable of.  

"Miss me?" Thomas Lind asked, bending down to look the boy in the eye. 

Even he took a step back. Those eyes burned a hole through his skin. But he brushed it off. Madness never sacred a madman. 

Thomas Lind stroked the boy's cheek, watching the boy hold his head high, indifferent. 

"Bring your little friend, won't you?" Thomas Lind asked, with the subtle hint of threat underneath. 

"I expect you both at 10:00 tonight." Thomas Lind's words landed on the cold concrete like unpleasant bid droppings, splat, at ones feet.   

Tom Riddle sighed. He did not want to drag her into this. This was between Thomas Lind and him. But it appears as if there was no choice.