unhinged ↠ 𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

twenty four

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Some of you guys are coming at me for the last chapter 'not being realistic'. Honey. Stfu. I'm getting there. It's called mtfking character development. Just wait until you read this chapter, you'll be begging for soft Tom. Now chill your ass and read.

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Pure need

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Kitioma Hadlee

          "What..." I groan, waking up, my head throbbing. My throat is dry, my lips chapped. I'm laying in a bed I have never laid in before, in the corner of Tom's room. Tom is absent, but his usual negative energy is hanging around the room like a heavy blanket. I look around me, searching for my trunk. I find it under my bed, and quickly rummage through it, looking for one thing in particular that i never got the chance to look at.

The black book.

I glance across the room. Could Tom have hexed it to where it watched me? I mean, that seems a bit childish but Tom would do that. Or maybe I'm just paranoid after Kane's watchful glare on every move I do.

I take in a breath and open the book.

Nothing.

The pages are blank.

I frown and bring out my wand. "Aparecium." Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, he must had charmed it, right? He wouldn't go through all of the trouble threatening me and looking through his book for thirty minutes if it wasn't important. So how do I work this thing?

I toss it back into my trunk and pull out an oversized t-shirt I bought a while ago and some white jeans. Then I look around for a door. It is by what looks to be a closet, so I open it. It leads to a huge bathroom, smaller than the already-big room, but still big. The marble is polished black with green drapes hanging over a tiled window, the texture making sure no one can see from the outside. A mirror the size of a chalkboard hangs over a black marble sink, and yellow lights hang from the ceiling.

"Slytherins. Always so dramatic, even with a bathroom," I mutter, and then a slow smile spreads across my face. "I was...I was sarcastic! I was sarcastic!" I do a mini hop, celebrating this small victory. Maybe a little part of myself is coming back? I glance around the room until I spot the shower, which is in a closed off space in the corner. I throw my clothes onto the counter, make sure the door is locked tightly and turn on the shower water.

Soon, the room is filled with steamy fog, the shower water so hot it could melt metal. Just how I like it.

I step into the shower, letting my straightened, fried hair that spent the last three months being tortured by Kane's expectations, run under the steaming water. I exhale a breath I have been holding for what seems like the past years, Kane's touch melting off with the burning water.

I stay like this for a long time, standing under the water, trying to feel clean from Kane's hands. After many minutes, I look on the shelves for soap, because being the dumbass I am, I didn't grab any. There's a few bottles, and I pick up a green one. I open it, and the scent of pine needles floods into my nose.

It smells like him.

Like Tom.

After what seems like hours, I step out of the shower, reaching for a towel that is hanging over a rack. I run my hands through my hair, brushing it out with my fingers while I dry the rest of my body. Finally, finally, I feel somewhat clean from Kane's touch. I don't know why I want to be clean from him, it just seems like the right thing to do.