First I must apologize for my sudden disappearance. Honestly I feel horrible for just abandoning all my projects, especially this one. I've been going through a very bad time these past months and I've been unable to produce any decent piece of writing. This is the first thing I've been able to get out of my mind in months. One night I just couldn't sleep and I was enjoying how dark everything was. So I wrote this. I know it's not much but it took me a loooonnnnggg time to write it. I'm really trying to write more but I'm having a hard time producing anything that isn't crap. So please be patient.

Now go read! Sorry for the long A.N! I needed to get that out of my system!

October 15th 2011

Oh God… what have I gotten myself into?

This…this is sick. I've heard of people doing this, of people doing this for pleasure and release. We have a word for those types of people in my world: freaks. People with no money for anti-depressants or (and?) scotch. People who cannot deal with the real world. Why must I lower myself to their level?

Oh God, help me. I'm afraid. This is horrible. I can barely stop my hand from trembling. There's blood on the page. It's running down my fingertips. It's so warm yet it feels so wrong. I don't like it. I don't like how it weighs down on my body. I don't like this...

I could stop. I could tell him I think he is mad and get a restraining order put on him. I could… but I won't.

Out there, I can only speak lies. The least I can do is speak the truth to myself. I will not lie in this journal. I refuse to. The truth is: I could stop this madness. Even Tom Riddle wouldn't be crazy enough to harass me if I threaten him with my father's power. But I won't.

I'm in pain. I'm scared. I'm alone. But I won't.

I can't.

I don't know why…

I just can't.

And that scares more than the actions I am taking tonight.

xxxx

It was cold. It seeped into her body, under her thin layer of skin and into her bones, where it rested, aching. Bellatrix must have pulled on five layers of clothing and still she felt it. She shivered, unable to bear the touch of the frozen lifeless surfaces on her skin. Everything, even the air around her, was chilled. But it didn't feel calm and soothing like the outdoor autumn air had felt that afternoon. This air felt stagnant and dead, it surrounded her, infiltrated every corner of her house, even between the sheets of her bed. She could not get rid of the frost gathering under her flesh.

Standing in her bedroom, Bellatrix remained still, staring at the many objects surrounding her. She had heard of people hoarding objects in order to feel secure. Looking around at the many useless trinkets that sat upon her shelves, she wondered why she still felt alone.

Bellatrix owned three little porcelain dolls that sat on the top of her book shelf, in one neat row. They had sweet little rose petal smiles painted onto white lifeless faces. Their eyes, large and black, looked down at her. They stared. They knew…

They were laughing at her, as if they knew an upcoming fate she did not. It took all Bellatrix had not to throw those little dolls out the window. She did not think she could bear the thought of sleeping in that bed, imagining them lying on the sidewalk bellow, their cracked little faces watching her through the window, still smiling…

Bellatrix had rushed home after her talk with Tom Riddle on the Hogwarts campus. It had taken all her strength to mutter an explanation for the four witnesses before leaving; something about Tom being a cooking amateur who would not tolerate unsharpened knifes. It had been the best Bellatrix had been able to come up with.

And now she stood in her bedroom, impending darkness surrounding her. She could not bear to turn on the lights. Somehow, the thought of seeing everything clearly scared her all the more than the inability to see what lurked within the shadows. Because once her world was bright, she would be forced to accept everything as true. In the dark, she could pretend it was but a bad dream.

"Have some nice sharp knifes ready, won't you?"

Those words echoed in her mind, over and over again until each vibration struck her mind like daggers. There was malice in those words. She could feel it even now, alone in her house. It was rushing in and out of her thoughts. It was cutting through all reasoning.

"Don't think about it, Bellatrix. Don't think about it."

But she couldn't help but relive those words, project them into the future where they hovered over her bloody corpse, stab wounds red and beautiful under the full moon's white light. Bellatrix was afraid of what Tom Riddle would do with those knifes. Assisted suicide? Murder? Or perhaps he didn't really mean it. Perhaps he just wanted to frighten her. The thought was, surprisingly, not as soothing as she would have thought. As afraid as she was, she could not deny the trembling of her heart, the quickness of her breathing and the gruesome yet stunning pictures in her mind. As afraid as she was, she was feeling something – something terrifying yet thrilling.

The images in her mind, they were so beautiful. She was horrified by how enthralled she was with them. Flashes of red, the glimmer of silver, the paleness of skin speckled with blood, the white of eyes as they rolled back in their head.

She was definitely feeling something now…

Sitting there on the edge of her bed, Bellatrix listened attentively to the familiar silence that resounded within the house. How was it that silence had a sound, sometimes more present than the voices around her? Silence was a soft ringing, quite like a little fly or the humming of neon lights. She listened to it now as if she hoped to only hear it for the rest of her life. It was peaceful and void of emotion. She could have just sat there and think of nothing for as long as she liked. But, she felt it crawling under her skin, she would not stay seated. The silver flash of sharp metal constantly appeared behind her eyelids until she finally stood, intent on finding the sharpest knife her parents owned.

Her bare feet patted across the frozen polished floors, onto the soft Persian carpet in the hallway and down onto the steps. Descending the stairs into total darkness was like descending into an endless abyss where any horror could become a reality. There was something oddly limitless about the shadows that surrounded her legs, the penumbra that fell upon her like a chilling mist. The darkness around her was filled with so much uncertainty; it was so open and limitless. Bellatrix could not help but picture someone following silently behind, just out of reach in the shadows of the vast empty house.

Bellatrix did not know what she intended to do with the knives once she found them. It felt too naïve and frightening to keep them out and ready for Tom; yet it seemed somehow futile and foolish to hide them. None of that mattered to her. For the first time, she was not thinking ahead. All she saw was the pointed edges, the cold black handles, and the smoothness against her fingers. At that moment, all she knew was that she wanted to hold the knives within her own hands.

Her pace slowed as she drew near the kitchen's entrance. Her feet came in contact with the frozen tiled floor and her hand rested on the edge of the cool granite counter. It was at that moment that she saw it; a motionless figure, standing with a large butcher's knife in hand, holding it up to the dim light of the lamp.

"Good evening, Bellatrix."