Title: A Room Without Me

Rating: PG

Song: 'Down and Out of Time' Sixpence None the Richer

Character(s): Tom Riddle, Ginny Weasley

Relationship(s): Ginny/Tom

Summary: "In your room I doubt you see me. Far away, but I know you're there."

Words: 516

Note: Ginny's POV, spoken about her love with Tom Riddle, supposing he had escaped the wrath of Harry in her first year. She is in her mid-thirties.

Disclaimer: None of it's mine.


Five red plastic cups strewn about my feet. You wouldn't understand and I don't dare you to. My pain strikes you funny; your face is conceiving looks I had no clue you could muster. Your eyes, how they open and close to shield me from the tears. You have to be strong, but I doubt you are. The look, I have mastered the deception, the art of the intricacies of placing my face in a harmless position.

Your eyes do not see through the green bottle that shakes at your lips. Alone in the room I dream you are, in this dream that has become real over the years. No more time you have for me, you spend it before the fire, waiting for it to burn out. Waiting for your bottles to drain, liquids percolating inside your throat like the blood that forms in my mouth. Seething anger bubbles before my eyes, you suspect me of another lover.

No, I have no other lover and you betray me yourself. I see your eyes, they fall upon the old photographs, each black and white in their own respect; the still fading principle etched in your heart. Do you not know of the pain that you cause me when false accusations play the ax and come down upon me? Nay, I have no one else I'd rather spend eternity with than you. Within the folds of your nicest white blouse, the linen is stained with salty brine, tears from my eyes.

In your room I doubt you see me. Far away, but I know you're there. I hear your car up the drive, your 9 to 5 complete for the day. I hear your footsteps and the door opening; shut behind you. I hear your heartbeat and your pain. It emits from your body like sound from your mouth. From the icebox you pull three glass bottles. One to drink and rid you of your worries. The second to drink while the fire challenges your fears. The third to sulk in your misery and to become drunk, it never took much. The fire is dead as you drain the last drops from the last bottle.

You come into my room, your eyes glazed over and I will, as always, refuse to speak to you. Why I do not love you puzzles you. Yet I do. In my own way I am fascinated by the power you have over me; the power I have over you. Your hand will press against my locks of deep red and pull on them, twist them. The pain in my scalp will remain sore into the night. We speak not; words are no barrier, there is no need for vocalized love.

I deny a love affair I do not have. I do not call you on your own. She is dead as you drain the last liquid from a bottle late in the night. Another red cup makes six as my back presses towards the wall and I deny the love I have for you, the love that has ruined me.

Fin.