(she hates him with a fiery passion. sometimes she wonders why she even stays at all.)
I
She wants to scratch and tear and rip his perfect bloody face off. It would be too easy to reach over and gouge deep lines into his cheeks with her manicured nails, but then she would need to run after and the heels she's wearing are just not practical for the job.
"I told you about the dinner weeks ago," she hisses, crescent moons decorating her palms.
He is unaffected by her ire and doesn't take his eyes away from his iPad. She wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't looked away the whole time she has been gone."I've met your friends before, Hermione," he tells her absently. "They do not like me and I assure you, the feeling is mutual."
She wants to scream but she doesn't. The neighbors have been kind enough to not call the police during even their most vicious rows, but it was past midnight and they had children who would be asleep. "That isn't the point, Tom," she finally snaps quietly, and perhaps it was better she didn't scream anyway. Ron has always told her she's more frightening when she's quiet.
He hums, and she waits, incredulous, because does he even care?
"What is your point then, darling?"
She calculates how quickly she could slip off her golden sandals and force the heel into his jugular. Not fast enough, she decides.
II
When he is jealous, she suffers. If it's a good day, they will only fight. He will demand she stop speaking to the person, she will refuse, and then the argument will circle back to the beginning. Only he becomes more and more cutting as they continue, and she is sometimes left in tears.
On a bad day, he plays dirty.
She hates him most then, she thinks, drinking an apple martini and tasting ash. Her hand is curled tightly around the delicate glass and she wishes it was the woman's neck instead. If they weren't at one of his business parties, morals be damned, it would be.
He would never cheat but that knowledge doesn't stop her from seething. When his long, elegant fingers brushes against the woman's collar, she swears she hears her glass begin to crack. She loosens her grip and turns away.
III
Sometimes, he is distant. His kisses are more chaste, his touches rougher. She tries to understand but it's difficult. The space between them is deafening and it hurts, but she knows if she says anything, he will leave and may not come back for days.
She wonders sometimes how much he really cares for her. She wonders if he even loves her at all.
(but then she remembers.)
I
"I'm done," she says one day, and her hands are shaking but her voice is steady.
His face is expressionless but she sees he does not yet understand. "I wasn't aware you had been doing something."
Gods, her chest aches and she feels like she may vomit, but she's determined to continue what she started. She was never one to dawdle after all. "I'm leaving, Tom," she says quietly, and she hates how vulnerable she sounds. "I can't do this anymore. I feel like I'm losing myself in this...this pernicious relationship. I just...can't anymore."
His face shifts and she can't read his expression, doesn't understand, but she feels something break inside of her all the same. "You're...leaving," he says the word as if he has never heard it before, but she knows that he could recite the definition in a heart beat without batting an eye.
"Yes," she starts, then her voice hitches and she has to clear her throat before she can continue again. "Yes, I'm leaving. I...I'm losing you, Tom. You're more and more distant and I tried but I can't anymore. Don't you see? We haven't done anything together except have sex in weeks, and I never wanted that kind of relationship."
He stares at her, uncomprehending, and she hates it. She wants him to fight for her, to protest and force her to stay, but he isn't. He isn't doing anything at all.
Her nose tickles in warning and she closes her eyes and turns her head away. She nods to herself. Bites her lip. Whispers, "I love you, Tom. I love you so much. But l'm not sure...I'm not sure if you love me, and I...I deserve more than that."
There is silence and she wants to wrap her arms around herself, stop from shattering to pieces, but she's frozen. Everything seems surreal and it's as if the air has thickened, stopping her from moving.
When she begins to think he will never speak, he does, and he is right there, so close but not touching and all she wants to do is cross that small distance and fall into his arms. But she can't. She refuses.
"Hermione," his voice is unlike anything she has ever heard, and it makes her squeeze her eyes more tightly. She does not want to cry. "Hermione, please."
She flinches away because he does not beg but he is. He is and he's right there, too close, and she wants so badly to give in but...she can't.
"I'm sorry," she breathes, still not looking at him. He has always been so tempting, from the very moment she has met him. Repeats, "I'm sorry."
"I love you, Hermione," he says desperately, and it's so out of character that she's not sure if she's dreaming. "I love you. Please."
She doesn't want to cry but a tear slips from behind her tightly closed lids and slides down her cheek. A sob that she manages to cut off shakes her body. And then fingertips are on her face and the tear is gone before she's out of his reach again, and she wonders almost hysterically if he took her heart with it.
"Look at me, Hermione. I love you, I love you. Please just look at me."
She doesn't want to but his hands are suddenly on her face and her lids fly open anyway. He's right there and his grey eyes are only inches from her own, pleading and frantic. There's an almost manic air around him, clinging to his surprisingly open face and trembling hands.
"There," he seems to whisper to himself, and when his forehead touches her own, she has to lock her knees to keep from collapsing. He says her name again quietly and this...this man is not her boyfriend. He can't be.
But he is.
"Tom," she says shakily.
"I love you," he tells her again, this time more fiercely, and she is sure that he has said the words more times tonight than he ever has before. "I do, Hermione, with my very being. It is...difficult to say, to show. But I do. And I will endeavor to prove it to you everyday if you just stay. Please, Hermione. Anything you want, just stay."
She doesn't know what she had been expecting but it wasn't this. Her mind frantically swirls as she tries to comprehend what's happening, and finally, she feels something lock into place.
"I-" her voice is thick and she swallows. Tries again, "I don't want you using other women to make me jealous."
The flash of regret in his eyes makes her believe she is doing the right thing even more than his next words. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," he says almost silently, and she suddenly remembers that this is his first real relationship. It doesn't excuse his actions but it makes her feel better anyways. "Never again."
She believes him.
"And I...I want you to talk to me instead of pushing me away. I can't stand it, Tom," she confesses in a whisper and tries to blink away her tears.
He nods sharply, immediately, and vows, "I will. I can't promise to always want to talk about it, Hermione, but I won't push you away anymore."
Is that enough? she thinks desperately, shuddering. And she then decides it is, it has to be, so she continues, beginning to feel more grounded in his vehement responses. "And don't promise to do something and then break it. If you don't want to have dinner with my friends, fine, but don't stand me up again, Tom."
She knows she's feeling better when she has to fight a smile at the revulsion he has to tamper down at the mention of her friends. He doesn't say anything this time but nods again sincerely.
"And..." her eyes narrow as a thought occurs to her. "And I swear if you make me cry again with your unjustified jealousy, I will tear your bullocks off!"
He wants to smirk, she can tell, but when he doesn't, when he seems genuinely regretful, she finally relaxes. Instantly his arms are wrapped around her and she is crushed to his chest. She sinks into his embrace with a sigh.
"You can hang them above the fireplace," he promises somberly. "We'll even get a mantel."
And it's only how she can feel his body trembling against hers that stops her from grinding her heel into his foot. He isn't perfect, and they will still fight and argue and want to tear the other's hair out, but he'll try, and for now, that's enough.
(she loves him just as fiercely as she hates him.)
So here's another Tomione oneshot. This is only my second time writing in the present tense so please tell me if there are any mistakes. And if anyone hasn't attempted to do so, let me just say, it's surprisingly difficult only using the main characters names in dialogue.
Thank you for reading, darlings.