To my dearest little Tom/Faith (Faitom – can I call it that? It sounds kind of weird) followers…THANK YOU. I know I've been taking the piss with my belated updates. My only excuse? A levels are a cold son of bitch, man. I'm starting this chapter in a free period. You guys deserve so much more and such a better author, really you do. Your comments are like single rays of sunlight in a world shrouded with darkness, even if you are just telling me to hurry my ass along.
I suppose, what I'm trying to say is that every single comment so far is so special to me and they are the reason why I'm continuing. Finally, thank you to my nameless motivator – really, since I got your comment, I've been planning this chapter out and wanting to write again. Oh and please, never be afraid to tell me that I owe you guys a chapter.
All my love xxx
Lisa.
Chapter Ten:
January 9th, 1944
Memories stirred at the fringe of Faith Summers' consciousness, teasing and fragmented, blurred until she struggled to piece them together, to make sense of what was merely a dream and what was reality. She didn't want to wake; she wanted to bask in the warmth that surrounded her, the feel of silken sheets beneath her, and the soft lull of fingers gently combing her hair. She turned, seeking out more of the feel, the gentle touch of her tresses being caressed. Faith immerse herself with heat, sighing contently when solid arms encircled her, the rhythmic thuds of a heart sounded under the chest she rested her head on, rising and falling softly with each intake of breath.
"You stun me," she muttered softly, nuzzling her head closer to the strong chest, seeking out a spot of comfort. "And then you whisk me away. I never pegged you to be a romantic, Thomas Riddle." The body that surrounded her stiffened, before a low rumble of laughter made the chest on which Faith lay hum, a soft smile curving her lips at the sound, despite herself. With closes eyes, she toyed with the buttons of Tom's crumpled shirt, mildly surprised that the pair had slept in their uniform. The world around them was silent, still, but she could smell the soft burn of scented candles, the cloying scent that fragranced the air. It was a hypnotic atmosphere, seeming to steal away your thoughts, making you want to not think at all. Dimly, Faith knew that she should have been angry, fearful, of Tom. But she wasn't.
How could she be? Not when he held her so.
"I'm many things Faith," Tom answered, still playing with copper-wire strands of hair, watching the vivid colour burn against the orange glow of the flickering candles. "I suppose romantic could be one of them." To Tom, the sight of Faith's hair, running through his fingers like red silk, left him in a trance. The way soft curls coiled around long pale fingers, yielding to his will, yet somehow, fiercely in control of him. He wasn't sure if he was playing with Faith's hair because he wanted to, or because she was willing it so. But then, that was always the case with them, neither knowing who was truly pulling the strings, which of them was the puppet complying.
Silence settled between the two, leaving Tom to watch as his fingers idly toyed with the locks of Faith's hair whilst she lay there, content to hear their gentle breaths and the strong beat of his heart. Finally, Faith managed to peak one eye open, watching Tom through the narrow slit, green glowing against the dim lighting. "Where are we?" she asked, watching an amused smile etch itself onto Tom's lips. "Our new broom closet," he mumbled, his grin widening as both of Faith's eyes opened, flitting with surprise. "The Room of Requirements," He explained, then catching note of her blank expression, he sighed. "You really don't pay any attention to the history of this school, do you?"
Raising a brow, Faith smirked, lifting her head slightly to look at Tom. "No," she drawled, lazily running her fingers up and down the length of his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath jump and clench under her touch. "I have better things to be doing with my free time." She began to draw small patterns, intricate little designs, using Tom's shirt as her canvas, her green gaze flicking back up to meet his, the rich colour bleeding dark olive. The look seemed to pin Tom, the intensity, the power behind it made the smile slip from his lips, his hand stilling in the tumbling mass of her red hair.
There was no gentleness in the kiss that they shared next, Tom's hands fisting into red curls, seeking strength, purchase as small white teeth bit down on his bottom lip. Tom groaned, roughly cupping her cheek, soft pliable skin beneath his fingertips yielding to his strength. He forced her forward, had it so Faith body nestled between his, her back arching, body dipping low, straddling him. Tom's hand that lay clenched in Faith's hair left the crimson locks, running down her curved spine, bidding a delectable shiver from her body, raking her length, trembling against him. His hand rested against her bare thigh, his thumb lightly brushing at the exposed inner skin, feeling the muscles beneath supple white flesh tense.
"Tom," Faith's voice was soft, breathy in Tom's ear, the light exhale tickling. Faith nuzzled against his neck, her eyes closed a she breathed in the scent of him, the clean, sharp scent with the underlay tang of chemicals from the Potions Lab…it was all him. All Tom. Placing a kiss against the sharp line of his haughty jaw, Faith whispered against his skin. "Tell me why you killed that muggleborn." Underneath her, Faith felt Tom's body still, the weight of his hands against her bare skin was suddenly immense, the heightened awareness of herself, of him. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, steady and solid, so far to the fluttering, almost hummingbird-like rhythm of her own.
Moments, minutes, centuries passed them by, the silence seeming to both consume the time and savour it. Finally, Faith willed herself to look up, to meet the burning depths of Tom's eyes, of molten brown that seemed to burn with cold fury. "You can't just leave it be, can you, Faith?" The voice was tight, controlled, suppressed with his anger. It sent fear crawling down Faith's throat, like bile, burning painfully, thick and heavy with unease. "You always have to push," Tom continued, staring at her with that same, level, heated expression. "You won't leave anything well alone – always demanding, always wanting answers. Never satisfied."
Faith started to move away, her body chilled with her disbelief, her lips parting, her face paling. But Tom was quicker, faster as shi hands snaked around her wrists, tug at the frail-feeling bones, his body moving with almost feline grace, movements smooth as he twisted her body, turning so that it was he who now lay suspended over her. Tom glared at the pale face and bejewelled green eyes that gazed up at him, watched as the fine, delicate features twisted, just as nails bit into the skin just above his own wrists. "Get. Off. Me." Each word was hissed out with assiduousness, full lips forming each syllable with a sensuous nature that Thomas Riddle found himself falling, his mind losing itself to Faith's siren ways.
"No." Tom had to forcefully bear down upon her, squeezing against the fine boning of her wrists, watching with satisfaction as pain clouded her eyes. "You want to know all my secrets, Faith. Yet you are unwilling to part with your own." Tom sneered, loathing twisting his features, distorting and marring his boyishly handsome face. "You conniving whore. Do you believe me to be a fool, Faith? Do you?" Tom leaned close, his face millimetres from the witch that lay trapped beneath him, watching as lips parted, then closed, stubbornly set as emerald eyes burned with their own fire.
Faith's silence only seemed to fuel Tom's anger; a fierce sense of elation overcame him, coursing through him the molten. "Where do you go after classes, Faith?" It was more jeering than anything else, like Tom would rather flaunt the fact that he knew she had secrets than actually discerning them. "With who? Who are you seeing?" He watched as Faith blinked, dark lashes that framed green eyes with small flecks of silver, watched as the fire flickered within those depths like a wind was stirring at the flames. Tom watched as Faith watched him, saw the silent understanding in her eyes, the way her anger and fear fled, replaced by a weary look, one that was far beyond her years.
"Faith?" Tom gazed down at her, for a moment, forgetting himself. Forgetting everything. It was a look he had never seen before, one so unfamiliar, it made him uneasy. It was like looking at a familiar stranger, the same face, the same littering if amber freckles and emerald-silver eyes. She was still Faith, yet Tom couldn't quite fathom what made her so different. His hand twitched, a small, involuntary movement, but one that was easily suppressed. A part of him wanted to taker her in his arms, to find some way to rid that look from her face. He could see it, see that she saw the urge, for her eyes pleaded for it, even if Faith's pride would never have her utter it.
"Let me go, Tom." Faith's voice was soft, so unlike anything Tom had ever heard. This wasn't how he imagined it, imagined anything with Faith. She was supposed to yell back, to hurdle curses and spells at him. She was his fire, his scorching heat that kept the chill at bay. It was like the cold had gotten to his flame, seeping through her veins until she could only look up at him with an almost empty look of loss. Tom didn't want to let go. He swallowed, a painful action that had seemed so mundane up until now. There were words to be said, spoken out against the heavy silence between them. Three words, eight letters. She would never say it first, and yet, when Thomas Riddle felt as though he ought to say them. He couldn't.
It was like every fibre in his being was refusing for him to speak those three words. Three magic words that would make things better, to make it all go away and have it so Faith would stay with him. She could see it, Tom was sure of that. Faith could see Tom's pride warring with that unspoken word of emotion that they both seemed to feel, no, endure. For it was like a burden, a millstone around their necks, weighing them both down. He let go. Tom's hands dropped from Faith's wrists, the imprint of his grip, red against the pale gold skin, was naught but a ghost of where he had once been. There would be bruises, purple stains of him upon her.
Faith flexed her hands, easing up from the silken folds of the bed; her gaze adverted from Tom's, though there seemed to be no need. Neither could look the other in the eye. Sliding out from under him, Faith raked a hand through her mane of her hair, shaking the strands away from her face, whilst tucking her knees against her chest. "You don't trust me," It was more of a statement than anything else. "You don't tell me anything, Tom. You treat me like I'm one of those fanciful girls that fawn over you. It's like…" Faith blew out a breath, feeling her throat tighten, constricting against her. She rested her chin on top of her bare knees, regarding Tom with mournful eyes. "It's like you're only with me to keep up some pretence. That being with me is expected of you, the you that you pretend to be."
Faith Summers watched as Tom looked up, his eyes wide, startled as he stared at her, though she continued, her green eyes seeking the confirmation through those dark depths. "I don't know who you are, Tom. You smile and hold me like you might actually feel something. But then, I look at you when others, people you don't know or trust, surround you; you give them that same smile." Faith felt her eyes burn, the familiar sting of tears waiting to be shed. "I can't trust you, Tom." Faith's gaze bore into Tom's, searing green against the richness of his brown. "Not until you realise that I'm not someone you can pass off with a distracted smile and a quick kiss on the forehead. I want you to tell me everything, to stop treating me like I'm one of your little followers."
"But," Tom injected, his voice flat, his brows drawn together. "How can I trust you, when you won't trust me, Faith?" Tom could only shake his head, as if to rid this all from his mind. "You think too highly of yourself, Faith. You demand too much of me. You act as thought you are my," Tom's lips twisted in distaste. "wife." He saw something flash in Faith's eyes, so quick that he could not decipher it. "I have…" Tom struggled to find an appropriate word. "Become accustomed to you, Faith. I enjoy your company but I believe you have mistaken this for something else."
"And what is that?" There was something dangerous, ominous to Faith's voice. "What is it, Tom? What have I deluded myself into thinking that you feel for me?" She glared, the building rise of her anger felt good, felt secure and justified as she watched Tom open his mouth, though no words came out. "You can't say it, can you?" she jeered, a horridly cruel smirk curving her lips. "Oh, how stupid of me. I actually thought you were capable of it, but you can't even say it, can you?" Faith watched Tom glare at her, his lips fixed into a stubborn line. "I didn't think so," she muttered, moving around him so that her feet could brush against the cold stone flooring.
Faith avoided looking at Tom, those she could feel his presence, a persistent weight against her, the shadow of what was looming behind her, thought Faith was certain Tom had not moved. Instead, the young witch looked about her, searching the dimly lit room for her shoes and her school robe. She noticed them on a push, high arched armchair that stood almost regally beside an unlit fire. Her robes were folded, not neatly, but as though someone had tried, putting some care into the act. Faith looked over at the bed, the white gauze that curtained the four-poster bed, acting as a frame to the still form of Thomas Riddle.
The sight caught her breath in Faith's throat. Tom hadn't moved from where he knelt amongst the ivory sheets, his gaze lowered to the small embedment where Faith's body had lain. His hands hung loosely at his sides, his thick chestnut hair looked devilish, falling into his eyes, his tie and shirt crumpled, lips parted a fraction. He looked eerie, dangerously exquisite. The befallen, lost look upon his face made Faith's stomach twist and made her chest feel tight. It was unnerving, haunting, to see someone to whom Faith had come to regard as so determined, so driven, so strong, look so forlorn. Nothing seemed real, like the world no longer revolved around the sun. There was little to be had from knowing that Tom was just alone in this as Faith was. Just as inexperienced, scared, and blind.
Just two blind moths, drawn to the light that would undoubtedly be the end of them both.
It shouldn't be like this.
Of that, Faith Summers knew with all her heart and soul. It shouldn't be this hard, shouldn't be them both resisting and battling their own feelings with every fibre within them. It shouldn't be easy, but then, it shouldn't be this hard either. Faith turned away from Tom, unable to bear the image any longer. But even as she closed her eyes, it was like the sight was permanently engraved to the back of her eyelids. It was like her own body refused for her to escape it. With numb hands, Faith busied herself with slipping on her robe and shoes, not really feeling the fabric glide between her fingers, not really feeling anything at all.
When there was no excuse left, Faith reluctantly looked about her, her eyes flickering in her nervousness, attempting to find the door. There were just four walls, bearing no windows and no door. Her brows began to knot together, lips parting in question, but movement from the corner of her eyes made Faith pause. It was like the wall to the far side, where the bed was facing, was bleeding; only it wasn't thick crimson fluid, but a sort of solid, varnished oak. The faint flicker of the candles reflected against the well-polished wood, gleaming mutely under the semi-darkness, the door seemed like an elephant in the room. A silent taunting to them both, declaring Faith's desire to leave.
As her hand closed around the cool metal of the handle, Faith looked back, seeing the taunt, tense back of Tom. His head was still bowed to the point where he looked as if he were in prayer. The sight made Faith want to sink to the floor, for the world to stop and allow her a few moments to herself. She wanted to be alone, where no one could witness her crumble, to give in to weakness and allow the hot salty tears that burned her eyes to fall. Faith turned the handle, just as Tom's voice stopped her.
"You can't say it either, Faith."
Her hand stilled, along with every other part of Faith. He hadn't moved, hadn't even looked up, looked at her. His voice was low, careful and somehow, that hurt all the more. Faith looked down at her hand, closed around the handle in mid-turn, willing herself to finish off what she had started. Her hand shook, just as her lips parted. There word was there, a soft, almost tender feel against her tongue. But the more the witch willed the sound from her, the more the gentle touch became harsh, barbed. It cut deeply into her throat, her own body convulsing around the pain, only digging it in deeper. Struggling to breathe in a steady breath, Faith shook her head, though she knew Tom could not see the action. Finally, Faith did the only thing she could – she opened the door and with great care, left Tom alone, shutting the door gently behind her.
Urgh, these two… they're so angst-y, are they not? I had a whole plan ready for this chapter but then Faith and Tom was like "Um, no." and well, this happened. Please tell me what you think, good or bad, since reviews seem to be motivation for me. I have already begun the next chapter so hopefully you'll get it up in the next two weeks. (I would say this weekend, but it's St Patrick's day on Saturday and well…Lisa's Irish) I kind of just want to say thank you to everyone, I don't you realise just how much your comments actually mean to me. The fact that anyone reads my stories is a blessing enough, but to actually write such beautiful messages the way you guys do… fuck, I actually am about to cry. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Anyways, I'll finish this little mini essay by leaving you with one question – what do you think of Faith? I want her to be flawed, strong yet weak. That and I'm so very curious to know what you're all thinking. I have this big plot going from the star and I've only just figured out how I want to finish this. I guess I would love to know what you're thinking. What do you think is going to happen? You never know, you might inspire me. ;)
All my love,
Lisa.
xoxo