HER

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

For years I fooled myself into thinking that I was not a foolish, reckless girl. I believed that despite my thoughtlessness and inability to keep my emotions in check I had learned not to overstep the boundaries.

Boundaries. Interesting and variable concept, you cannot create a fixed rule and if there is no rule how can I follow it? I cannot sit and wonder for each individual how much they can take. Will he be able to take another punch? Can I continue to laugh at her? How many more envious and rotten words can I say before they burst into tears? It becomes tiring to keep up with the needs of others.

And yet... I really believed it. I wondered how far Tom Riddle would let me go. I wondered why he wasn't stopping me and at some point his limits had disappeared and new ones emerged and in a storm of confusion everything ceased.

The late November cold does not help me cool down. My cheeks are hot. I am burning up and I can delude myself that it is the fever. I'm getting sick, that's it.

And the untreated fever makes me delirious, that explains my reckless actions and the nausea I feel now.

I am sick and I need to be cured. Only a madwoman would overstep non-existent limits.

I would like to go to the infirmary and take one medicine, maybe two or countless. Lying on the bed and letting someone take care of me seems nice, a childish dream destined to remain so. If I am sick it is the nurse's duty to treat me. Mum had no such duty, she only had sacrifices. Was that what I was to her? A sacrifice? Maybe that's why she did what she did. To sleep and rest and dream before returning to reality, that's all I want. An enchanted realm where the red-nailed harpy loves me and the red on her hands is strawberry jam and not lifeblood.

But I do not get what I want and it is my fault? The swallow could have kept quiet, could have stopped flying by the window, and here comes the little boy who threw the stone at her again. Will he hit her again? Will the nice one come back to take her to her mother?

No, the nice boy is terrified. (1)

"Riddle"

A small nod and he passes me without a word, maybe I should follow him? I follow him (what other choice do I have?) and he leads me towards a small room. The idea of being in the slightest proximity to him brings my fever back. He closes the door and I lean against it. And now? I am tall but he towers over me all the same.

"You're not sick and you don't need treatment." (2)

How sweet the bitter smile tastes on my lips. I wish it were that simple. Now he believes I am healthy that spiritual sickness is better than mental or physical sickness but Riddle is blinded by his own fear.

"I told you everything you wanted, why didn't you indulge me on my only request?" Harmless and genuine question. Maybe if he had really listened to me he would have understood. I can't fault him too much, I wasn't crystal clear but I thought he was sharper.

"Why did you lie to me" Yes, I can fault him. For being so academically intelligent he is not able to get out of his own head. (3)

"I omitted the irrelevant details"

"If you allow I am the one to choose what is irrelevant or not"

The pressure on my eyelids is so painful and a stinging sensation tingles the skin at the base of my neck. The tingling sensation becomes pressure and the pain radiates all along my skull to find apex in my temples and the bridge of my nose. I know I cannot cry, the tears are fresh and full of salt, and my hot cheeks covered with tiny scratches would welcome them like acid. I know that if I do not cry, perhaps, he will force me to look at his face. Long, slender fingers enclose my chin and then, gently almost as if his touch did not exist, guide me upwards...

"I've told you everything Tom, I swear," and my voice is heartbreaking, choked, broken and asking me -it pleads- to cry, it needs to.

The same expression comes back on Tom's face as that morning, that first meeting. Almost comforting and sincere, shouting at me to believe him and that he only wants my good. An expression of sorrow and of something I do not fully recognise, one of those emotions that do not have a precise colour but are like a slight shade darker than the original, stained black but almost impossible to distinguish unless you have the eye. I have it but I have decided to close it. And I lie to myself and believe him. He wraps his arms around my body like a snake with its prey, cradling my head as I plunge my face into his chest.

Why is it cruelty that feels like home to me?

He cradles me so gently that it is impossible for me to resist him, impossible to lie to him. I take a breath and then another and again and again until my heart beats back to normal (as normal as it can be while Tom Riddle hugs you)

"This talent of yours..."

"Damn it Tom, it's a curse don't change its name to soften me up"

"It could become one if you use it correctly. If only-"

In an awkward sequence of movements I untangle myself from his suddenly slimy grip. How can he say such a thing? After all the care that is used to conceal this secret...doesn't he have the slightest I-don't-know-anything to realise that I don't care? That I am disgusted and frightened by it? I carry it like a burden every day, trying not to annoy the red harpy and the gold belt, and he has the audacity to suggest that I see this as something positive?

I can't hide my astonishment, I'm flabbergasted. Why is Tom Riddle like this? Because I believe it. Even now, when his sweet mask has melted away like boiled sugar to make way for the attentive, calculating, studying you I can't...God...I can't...I can't...I can't...I can't...I can't

I can't remember? (4)

"See? If you knew how to use this...curse of yours. You could take revenge on those who put you in this state. Aren't you tired? Tired of being suppressed when you start to feel emotions? Real emotions?"

Oh, he's good. He knows the keys to press to create the right melody of lies. I can hardly identify it between the angelic notes and the low tones, a symphony of corrupted angels weeping blood and coughing up shards of glass. I feel every tear they cause.

"Tom"

"Yes?"

"You think it's a talent but it's not...no no no it's disgusting scary and it makes me cringe and every time I, I, a p-part of it goes away it feeds and it hurts and I can't control it, you can't control it you're crazy crazy crazy." A flood of words and babble and maybe disconnects I don't know it's complex to explain and Tom... he doesn't want to understand he never does it's scary how much he ignores my prayers. Please, please don't make me explain.

"Anima, I can't help you if you don't explain it to me" He looks nervous and annoyed, he runs his hand through his hair again tousling it and at the sight of his falling curls on his forehead my chest tightens.

I raise a hand slowly, weighed down by the hesitation I carry, and place it (calmly, unhurriedly) nervously just above his stomach. My middle finger is pressed against the groove between his ribcage and if I spread my fingers over the surface of his body I can feel his ribs with my little finger and thumb.

He looks at me with a face devoid of any spark of life, his breathing is maniacally controlled -no one breathes in 6 perfect times- and his body is rigid under my hand. I can barely perceive his life and wonder if, perhaps, he did not expect such a move.

If he is so eager to understand... why not show him?

A step forward, our bodies brushing against each other. His face up, eyes wide open and a slight pout on his lips. My forehead reaches his chin but with my head bent so my lips graze his chin. "Would you let me touch you Tom?" Yes, I am aware of the meaning that seems to escape from my words. I'm trying to test him: is the great Tom Riddle always three steps ahead of you or is he basically just a teenager?

His breath catches and my smile widens. Teenager.

I like how he reacts to the implications, it makes me feel in control of his soul...if only I could....

"Tom?"

Are my fingers pointing upwards not downwards? Nothing about their position suggests that I will slide my hand down his shirt and then under his trousers. I point towards his heart, I'm sure I'd give him more pleasure if I showed him what he calls 'talent'.

"Do it"

"I'm already doing it Tom, listen"

In the silence of our breaths his blood flows deafeningly. Fingers caress his ribs, his muscles twitch. His wide eyes immediately fall on my hands. They are there, pale hands on neat shirt but I know and he feels... my hands he sees but he feels them under his skin beyond the veins and muscles. He feels them caressing his ribs and then I move my hand, the touch becomes lighter and I graze his lungs and when I do a laugh, genuine, loud and fat comes out of me because god...Tom has paled so much he reminds me of a corpse.

"Do you want me to go on Tom?" Saccharine tone, too much for such macabre context. Like caramel on a poisoned apple.

I just touch it now, and overcome all physical barriers, blocked and intrigued by what I feel. Souls are always different, different colours and materials with unique weights. Tom riddle is no saint but his soul is not like that of murderers and torturers... not heavy and dark like oil but delicate? Intimidated. My fingers flow like in the clear water of a mountain stream, icy but pure and so genuine that it is almost uncomfortable.

A tingling sharp tingle runs through my head and suddenly his hands clasp my wrists "Let me feel I- I want to feel" he whispers and I smile at him.

The barriers in my head fall away one by one leaving him room to delve into my mind. There are so many memories held with hate and love so many with longing, but he ignores them (for now) and goes straight into the present. Now. While I still caress his soul and play with his head.

He touches it, lightly and it is enough to detach himself completely from me, a step back is all he manages to do. Then -in a moment of madness is what possesses him- he retraces his step and his hands enclose my face. I see the spark of desire, hunger and then his lips are on mine. It is not a sweet or gentle kiss, it is not what they say in books or see in films. The kiss is like him and like me. Strong. Fierce. Cursed.

His teeth sink into my lip, catching me by surprise and it's a moment the time of a breath and it becomes even fiercer. His hands in my hair, mine gripping his wrists and my back against the door.

" Anima, anima, anima" he whispers, proclaims on my lips between kisses "You, oh you Anima are the key to success"

I don't know what that means, I don't know what he wants to do with me but the smile on his face distracts me and when he kisses me so softly, almost as if I'm too precious to risk ruining myself I... I give in.

"Show me the potential Tom, do it and I'll give you every ounce of power."

HI! i'm so sorry i wish i could say i'm going to be more consistent but i can't. I will finish this story i promise!!

Since i rarely update and my writing is confusing (the rewrite will be more clear i swear) here some help!!

the same metaphor as in chapter 3. i will add an explanation in that chapter as well. in short tom had sabotaged the game so that she was forced to go to the infirmary (he wanted talk to her in private again) and the kind child (abraxas) takes her to her mother (nurse) who takes care of her. But abraxas is now frightened of both her and tom lmao and anima knows that it will be tom who will join her

He's not reading her mind, he rarely does so she is just a very open book written in a weird language that tom undestand perfectly

Chapter 4 is very confusing. Tom is listening to anima and anima listen his thoughts basically and corrects him in real time it's weird there's a explanation for it but not yet anyway in that conversation anima tell him she has not muggle illness but someone forced that narrative on her she forgot to mention that she has an illness tho and these lie were created to hide the real one lol she's funny.

she can't rememember cuz in chapter 3 she mention how the medicine she took messed up with her mind that's it !

Hope i will manage to explain better her disease and ilness and the general situation better but for the moment i hope y'all are not too much confused!! love you