Author's Note: This one really inspired me for some reason. I've never written anything similar to this, hopefully it pays off.
Prompt: Chains Chris Collins Cover
/
He couldn't remember.
He couldn't remember why he married the woman before him. He knew he was married to her, and he could feel the remaints of some kind of feelings for her in him.
Thomas Riddle just couldn't remember why and how he came to be here though.
"Everything okay dear?" She asked.
Looking at her from the doorway to the kitchen, he cringed. The sound of her voice was like the crunch of gravel. Harsh and raspy were the two words that came to mind. Had he really once found that voice entrancing?
Then again his wife wasn't exactly a beauty. As he watched her lean over the sink to scrub the dishes, he saw just how unattractive she was. Clumps of hair fell around her, shinning with oil that showed it hadn't been washed in sometime. The tinge of yellow to her skin was hidden by the coat of hair growing from her gangly arms.
This was not the woman he imagined himself marrying.
"I'm fine," he forced himself to answer.
Though he really wasn't. He kept forcing himself to think back, think back to how he got himself in this position. Everytime he thought back to waking up beside this woman, his head hurt. There was a mist covering those memories. A mist blocking out the yellow grin that he would see each morning. A mist covering the sweaty palms he would hold.
He had been married for almost a year, and the memories were hazy. What had this woman done?
"Dinner will be exciting. I have something big to tell you," Merope turned her head to smile at him over her shoulder.
His stomach churned in disgust. With each smile he felt the restraints grow tighter on him. It was as if she was holding a rope around his neck and chains attached to her wrists pulling him towards her. He didn't want this, he didn't want her. Yet, he was married.
What had gone wrong?
"Okay," he said, running his fingers through his hair.
Merope Gaunt. He had seen her enough times before. She was the daughter of the town crazy, and everyone in town knew where she had gotten the bruises on her face. More often than not he had seen her sitting outside the town shop. Staring out at the people, watching him, and looking desperate.
She was obviously something more than that. She had to be into some kind of witch craft. Had she offered up her soul to the devil in return for their marriage? Did she go to some charms lady and planted a talisman in his coat pocket one day he passed by?
The hold she had had over him was over now. He knew it. He felt it. While something still churned within him, telling him he loved the woman now humming to herself while wiping the counters, he knew it was old. The love there tasted stale.
"I'm going to go...um...lie down," he told her, looking desperately at the bedroom door.
He froze when she looked up at him. Her skinny face seemed sucked of life, and he was terrified that she would see the love missing in his expression.
"You should dear, you look ill. I'll wake you for dinner," she grinned at him.
"Thank you," he managed a shaky smile.
His steps were stiff, and he felt the ropes and chains around his neck and arms grow tighter with each step. The feeling of eyes on him never left. She was still watching him. Once he reached the bedroom, he shut the door behind him without looking back.
The click of the door allowed him to finally breathe. The gush of air that entered him filled his lungs with relief. The tightness in his chest loosened a bit, and the rope around his neck gave way if only an inch. The door had shut out the chains around his wrists. They weren't broken...only let out.
Once everything felt as normal as possible, he looked around the room. It was large and we'll furnished. Furniture he had bought when they had been preparing to marry. Looking at it now made him ill.
What had she done?
Instantly he was at the dresser, opening the drawers at lightning speed. There had to be something. Something that would show what she had done. A crystal ball? Tarrot cards? A voodoo doll? Anything that proved that he had not married her out of love.
"Where?" He muttered to himself.
Beneath his button up shirts he found nothing. The search of Merope's skirt drawer brought up the same result. His hand skimmed the bottom of the dresser, the wood brushing against his skin. Along the edge of the drawer something poked him. The wood pricked him in a way different than the regular splinters.
Pulling the pricking piece of wood out of the drawer. He held a slim crooked piece of wood with a equally crooked handle.
A wand.
There had been tales spread around the town about the Gaunts. How they were into satanic rituals and voodoo. At the time however they had been just that, tales. He never would have imagined a million years that magic was real. The wand in his hand said otherwise. She had put him under a spell, there no way around it. What else could she have done?
He had to leave.
There was no questioning that. He needed to leave and leave tonight. Whatever spell she had used on him was worn off or something similar. He would need to leave before she noticed and put him back under it. Once he was gone, he could set about divorcing her. Then he would be free of her.
Clutching the wand in his hand, he walked into the bathroom to splash water on himself. Everything was beating him down at once. It was a miracle that he hadn't broken down already. Once he was in the bathroom, he opened the faucet so only a trickle came out. Merope still thought he was asleep, and the sound of the faucet would say that he was lying. While his cupped hands slowly filled with water he rolled his head around to pop his neck. As he did that something shimmered in the waste bin catching his attention.
All thoughts of water left his mind, and he left the faucet running as he crouched beside the waste bin. His father would be rolling over in his grave if he could see him now. Thomas was moving aside the wads of toilet paper on the top to see what was shimmering below. Surely enough he found a small labeled vial below the toilet paper. Picking it out of the bin, he held it to the bathroom light. Inside the vial the remains of liquid swished from side to side. The color caught the light and the thin layer of liquid gleamed with a mother of pearl sheen.
Oh god.
Someone had attempted to rip off the label, but the edges had stuck leaving the paper hanging from the vial. Pushing the torn piece back up against the glass he could make out the three words that weaved ice into his veins.
Amortentia
Love Potion
His shaking hands dropped the vial back into the trash. This was worse than he had imagined. Not only did his wife practice with witchcraft, but she had used a love potion on him. With the new information his mind worked back to before their marriage when she had just been the lowly girl on the steps. He had seen her once away from those steps. He had been in a pub with his colleagues, as he had been walking to the bar to pick up the drink he ordered. He had only seen her hasty departure out of the corner of his eye.
That had been a day before their so called courting began.
She had drugged him with a potion.
What was he going to do?
Looking back into their bedroom he realized there was only one thing that could be done. He would leave tonight just like he had decided. The rope around his neck would be shut off and the chains around his wrists would be broken. She would no longer have a hold over him.
Now to pack.
The knock on the bedroom door scared him. It was as if a bullet had gone through his heart. This was it.
"Dinner is ready dear," the door muffled the raspy tone of her voice.
"Coming!" He called back.
He stood up from the bed, pulling the comforter down to cover the space between the bed and the floor. It was there that his packed bags were hidden. In the middle of the night he would pull them out and make his leave. The past two hours had been spent packing everything of importance. He wouldn't risk leaving paperwork that was important. Once he left, he wouldn't be coming back.
Despite the weight on his mind he was able to leave the bedroom relatively calm. Everything would be fixed, and he would be free. Dinner had not crossed his mind in the slightest since he first had left for his nap. Only thoughts of magic and escape swirled around his mind. Which was why he was surprised when he saw the dinner table made up in the dining room.
Merope stood beside it dressed in a red cocktail gown that only highlighted the yellowness of her skin. How she had managed to change into it without going into the bedroom he didn't know. The greasy hair he wanted to grimace about had been pulled up into a bun. It was meant to be elegant only its execution left it limp and hanging. She stood with a grin of crooked teeth with bright red lips beside the table. The white linen cloth on it had been covered in the best china in the house. While the whole set up was enough to make him falter, it was the single wine glass on the table that made his blood run cold.
"What do you think?" she asked eagerly.
He looked at the table back to her face. There was something in her eyes that worried him. The eagerness in them was walking the line between that and rabid.
"It looks wonderful sweetie. What's the occasion?" he complimented her.
The eager for approval grin on her face changed to an almost evil smirk. The imaginary rope around his neck and chains around his wrists were suddenly pulled tighter than ever. It was as if she knew he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.
"You'll see," she answered coyly.
She motioned to the seat with the wine glass in front of it and sat down on the opposite end. The loss of a wine glass on her side spoke to him in volumes. She was going to drug him again. There was no doubting that there was love potion in that drink, ready to tighten the hold on him she held. Despite knowing that, he sat down at the table.
Once he was seated, she grinned at him again. The nausea he had felt earlier came to him again. He did not trust this woman.
"Well, I can see that you are on edge. I won't leave you in worry anymore," she announced.
She picked up her glass of water and held it up to him. The two of them both looked at his full wine glass. Trying to hide the shaking of his hand, he picked it up. He would fake a sip. Holding it up, he waited for her to continue. She only smiled at him, enjoying the torture he was going through no doubt. Not that it would last long. In a matter of hours she would be left alone, and the chains holding him would be broken.
"I'm pregnant!" She said after a moment.
The wine glass fell from his hand.
"Isn't it wonderful? We're going to be a family! You, me, and Tom Riddle Jr," she continued, ignoring the wine spilling onto the floor.
"Tryin'a break the chains but the chains only break me"
/
Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this. It was intense to write, and I would love to hear what you thought