Chapter 32: For Better or Worse

"Well, there you go. Even a psychopath recognized your worth enough to want to kill someone else first" - Richelle Meads in: Bloodlines

Tom kept staring at Joelle with his wand aimed at her, but after a few more seconds, he changed his mind. He stared ahead absentmindedly, as if making himself see that he was about to do a great mistake. Tom cleared his throat and put his wand back, walking into the living room again.

"Joelle, my dear. We are leaving."

"Already? But it has not even been an hour," said Joelle, but seeing Tom's stern and focused gaze was enough for her to understand. She nodded and got up.

"It was so good to see you again, Bryan," Joelle smiled and offered him a hug that he returned all too gratefully. He rubbed up and down her back and his lips went to her ear. He wanted to whisper something so desperately, but, after so many years of getting used to not speaking the things out loud that he still felt for Joelle, he withdrew and merely smiled until they were out of the door.

"Why did we have to go so early?" Joelle asked when Tom shoved her ahead, then disapparated back to Riddle manor - and things suddenly exploded around Joelle. Tom threw curses at random objects, he was raging and out of his mind; she couldn't understand where this came from so suddenly. Just when she was about to turn around and run off, Tom grabbed her arm and ripped her back, pushing her against the wall so hard that it knocked the breath out of her lungs for a moment.

"YOU!" He growled, "you're the reason!"

"What did I do?!" Joelle tried to croak but Tom merely pressed her against the wall even harder. He came closer with his lips. Whatever he realized electrified his sanity.

"The Horcrux ritual didn't work. I couldn't split my soul when I killed Tarik! I thought it had worked - but it didn't. I thought, perhaps, that it was due to the fact that I had no energy left, for I have used up most of it to find you!" He growled. "But it also didn't work today...!"

"I don't understand a word!" Joelle yelled back and was shoved against the wall yet again; the back of her head bumped against the hard surface, resulting in a hiss of pain.

"When I killed Tarik that day, I used his death to create a Horcrux. But I realized that it did not work. I wondered why it hadn't worked, I had no answer on hand! So that's why...I wanted to find out today..."

"That's why! That's why you wanted to visit Bryan?! You wanted to kill him?!" Joelle yelped but Tom's eyes narrowed even more. Oh how much he hated that she cared about another man.

"Yes. I tried. And then...The killing curse didn't work. Because of you and your...purity! Your innocence! It blocks away my magic! MY POWER!" Tom ripped Joelle off of the wall and pushed her onto the couch where she just clung to the fabric, shoving herself away from Tom, who stood in the distance with that famous red gleam in his eyes whenever he was too full of wrath. Silence greeted them again, but had to move for something else. Something entirely different.

"If you dare to touch me once more, Marvolo...I promise I will make you regret it," said Joelle out of nowhere. She stood up from the couch, eyes burning with malice. She walked up in front of Tom, unamused and ready to attack with nothing on her hands but her own dignity.

"Just like I said back then when we were younger. Remember. I am making the rules here as well," she said firmly upon which Tom scoffed.

"You're in no position to make such claims," he muttered back in a harsh tone, drawing his face closer to hers. Their lips were only inches apart. "Seeing Bryan must have given you some false confidence."

"I know I cannot fight you. It's foolish to assume that I can. I lack darkness for that. But." Joelle raised her chin right now. "I want you to know that binding myself to you can go both directions. I am not your puppet, Marvolo. I am not yours to command. Nor yours to push against walls and throw onto furniture!" She suddenly yelled. "I am not your property!"

Tom laughed. And that's all he did. He stood in front of Joelle and laughed his ice cold and mocking laughter before he brushed her cheek with his knuckles, then simply walked past her like walking past a child that said something so silly that an adult did not even want to bother to explain.

Hours later, Joelle still sat in the salon and watched the flames of the fire dancing ever so gracefully. It wasn't until the flames were gone out of nowhere that she noticed the presence behind her. Joelle turned around, seeing Tom in the doorway.

"It's late. You have to sleep."

"I'll sleep here tonight," said Joelle and fluffed up the pillows on the couch. Tom merely glanced at her with a thin and sharp mouth, but he did not comment. He was gone when Joelle next took a glimpse to where he used to stand. She turned around and tried her best to fall asleep, unaware that she wouldn't manage that for at least three hours.

As expected, Tom was not to be found the next morning. He always left when something was too uncomfortable for him to be confronted with. Joelle was not very sure if Tom tried to punish her with this, maybe making her believe that he left to kill Bryan. But if Tom truly did that, then what was left to blackmail Joelle with? She should have thought of this much sooner - too often they have played chess together; she knew Tom acted upon strategy and plans. Tom had the ability to think things through, as he very well mentioned years ago, "from A to Z and back." Then again, and that was a flaw to this rule, Tom was also an exceptionally jealous companion, often acting upon emotional impulses. Quite in fact, Joelle has never even read about a person more controlling and possessive than him, although Tom tried his best to cover it up. He might be above admitting these things, but below their concealment. And Joelle was a good judge.

"Good morning, Joelle," said a voice from behind. Joelle spun her head around and looked at Lestrange, whose curly dark locks fell nicely into his face. He walked over into the salon and pulled the curtains away so that the sun shone into the whole room. Joelle responded with the same type of avoidance she responded with for the next five mornings. She did not say a word. And she worried. What was Tom up to? Where had he gone? Did he do something stupid? Something so stupid that Joelle now had to worry about his wellbeing? Delivering a mental slap to herself, Joelle shook her head. She shouldn't be caring. But there she went. She did, didn't she? Was Tom alright? Joelle growled out of anger and frustration, she smacked the palm of her hand onto the cold floor she sat on. She had no single idea where to go with these emotions; but she knew she didn't actually want to go through them. She didn't want to care. She wasn't one of those idiotic novel protagonists, wasn't one of those hopeless girls falling for the bad guys out of nowhere. But if she were falling, was it out of nowhere? Joelle felt haunted by her own thoughts; but more so she felt haunted by the past she had with Tom Marvolo Riddle. And the effects that this past had on her.

Lestrange's weak attempts to make Joelle eat during the next days were nothing compared to those attempts of Black. Even Nott and Rosier were sometimes around the young woman, trying to trick her into a conversation, trying to get her to be actually here. Joelle had a cloudy expression to herself lately, she always seemed to be deeply in thoughts, but never voiced her mental disaster. Don't think, she told herself. Don't touch the thoughts, wrap them up, put them into a drawer and far, far away. Don't think.

Don't think.

And then a thought entered Joelle's consciousness. Did Tom leave the diary here? With her? She instantly jumped up from the couch and ran upstairs, much to Lestrange's surprise, but he did not follow. Joelle vanished behind the large bedroom. She paused for just a moment in which she wondered where Tom could have put it, and her eyes wandered over to the closet. Just for good measure, Joelle made sure that the door was closed before she opened the closet in which she saw some of Tom's elegant clothes. Now that she checked, she noticed how neatly they were organized and sorted according to color and size; without a single tiny wrinkle anywhere. Joelle had the instinctive urge to just randomly grasp into them or throw them out; breaking that mask of perfection that Tom was wearing all the time. But she didn't. She was looking for something, after all. Then again, he would surely notice that she moved his clothes by an inch. What should she do? Just when she was about to give up and close the closet's door, something shiny caught her attention.

On the topmost shelf, a copper-colored metal corner was sticking out. But Joelle was too short to reach it. Did Tom want her to see it? If yes, why didn't he make it more obvious? If not, why didn't he hide the diary somewhere else? Joelle frowned. There was no stool here to climb onto. This is real life, she thought. The unlucky protagonists in the novels would just grab a stool that was always a part of the room's furniture. But Joelle? Joelle had to go and find one - all the while knowing Tom could stand in that very doorframe any second. She wandered around, trying to think where she could find something to climb onto without having to walk downstairs where Lestrange or any other puppet would ask inconvenient questions. Joelle glanced into some of the guest rooms, almost feeling annoyed by her own mission again. But then. There. A vanity. Under the vanity was a tiny stool.

Perfect.

After Joelle carried it back into the bedroom, she decided to lock the door just for good measure. If Tom came here now, he would first try to open it like a normal person; giving her enough time to climb back down. Or wouldn't he? Just when Joelle stood on the stool, her mental slap reached her tenfold. So what if she got the diary now? What should she do with it? Writing 'Hello Marvolo, how are you?' ?

Nevertheless, Joelle grabbed the flat, black leathery book and climbed back down. Ink and quill weren't very far away. She sat on the bed and started to write down.

"Hello."

The ink sank back into the page. But no response came even after waiting for more than five minutes. Joelle tried again.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

Joelle shook her head and thought about something else. What would Tom always respond to? What has he always responded to in the past? And then an idea came to her mind.

"Marvolo. It's me."

This gave Joelle the certainty of receiving an answer. But she was wrong. No answer came.

No answer came to her for the next three days. This time, his absence felt stranger than all the others. This one felt never-ending.

No Tom came to her for the next seven days.

Not after three weeks.

Not after four.

Or even five.

Tom was gone.

AN: sorry for the short break, I was super busy! And thank you for the reviews, guys! I appreciate your words! Just a quick explanation:

I've been asked why there's no true description on Joelle's physical appearance. That was a choice. ? I felt uncomfortable giving Joelle a prescribed look; I think that this story required a person that bonds with Tom without any kind of information on what she looks like; because it's not her looks that cause Tom and Joelle to bond. I know that is a very risky decision to make - as she's one of the protagonists, and thus a very important part of the story that requires the most information. (After all, details make and break a story, right?) But I felt like Joelle could be anyone. She's your everyday girl. Anyone could be in Joelle's shoes. Even you. I hope I don't leave you guys too frustrated with this! Of course I, personally, have a picture in mind when I'm talking about her. I'm more curious about what she looks like in your heads, though. Let me know if you want!