fear disaster; tom riddle

2;

you caught me that night,

do you remember?

the sky was inky with luminaries shooting its way past the orb of night and dawning clouds.

your eyes were refulgent and alluring and you were graceful as you stepped into the lambency of moon rays, where your skin looked warm in dissimilitude to the argent spilling through the curves of glass and cracking wood— but i went cold.

you asked me what i was doing and i told you i was playing—

a tune on ivory keys in darkness where i let my thoughts roam. where i fell victim to the monsters that lurk in the corners of my cerebrum, in the closets of my bones and beneath the beds of my transgressions.

and i braced myself for your lashing, tom, for you had a history of nasty retributions, and i, vexations— i say we were a perfect fit. so, i waited, recoiled, for venom to punish me whole but it didn't, no, instead you gifted me with something far worse.

a twinkle in those eyes of precariousness, of curiosity and ambitions and i suppose at the time i thought it enticing— after all i was a fantasizer and you were a boy past curfew lingering by my side.

i was a fool.

and you told me to play.

play for me

pardon?

but you never reiterated and instead inferred to glide beside me. the bench was small and the wood creaky and my hands shook as they pressed to the keys for your scent intoxicated me and your gaze desiccated my skin.

play for me play for me play for me...

your words knitted in fine cloth over my psyche and clouded my judgment— blinding me from all those flags of rouge, of alarms that rang in atrocities.

while i prepared to play for you— you prepared to play me.

i wished my end would be painless and quick— but my wishes never come true, and you were never one for mercy.

too bad.

little did i know, as the echo of a melody rippled from wall to wall of a silver moon fresco that you had deemed to make it a habit.

little did i know tom, that you'd make me— though after a while i craved the feeling of your breath on my skin and your demands a song to my playing fingers— play for you. every night, till twilight hooded your eyes, till my head dipped to the valleys of your shoulders.

little did i know the plans that swam, that treaded in tumbling black waters till they drowned in that devilment of a mind—of your mind.

i knew nothing.

but then tom, that one night,

do you remember?

you asked me once more to play— and i refused, and you scowled and spat and declared me useless. i, too frightened to utter a word could only feel the way you gripped to me with such intensity— and you were toxic.

you were venomous and cruel and i felt— well, i felt numb.

but you saw that, didn't you? that terror behind my irises of tar, of drying concrete where you stepped in— i was sure that the grooves of your intrusion would forever be engraved in my eyes— how was i to forget such a enigma like you?

but i digress.

for, as i shuttered and you grimaced a recognition flashed over you, a snapshot of perhaps guilt? no, such a proprietary was not in your vocabulary— though i'd settle for...pity.

you slackened, gliding those hands i fantasized about down my figure and to my waist and pulled— taught, stealing my breath like you did my soul and— ecstasy.

i believed it was— heaven.

but i realize now— when your lips touched mine, and the warmth of your hands began to burn my skin that maybe, just maybe, i was purgatory and you had forced my hand.

i realize now, i signed a deal with the devil,

and i want out.