He Will Walk

I don't remember when the pain became so addictive, but eventually it became...all consuming.

At first it was a small slash, a cut, and a bruise, and only a drop of blood would rise to the surface of the skin. Until the blood began to blossom over the sheets, white to red and the blue pillowcase became deeply rotted purple, which will, in time, dry brown. Mum, when she is done with her tears of anguish, will be mad at me for the ruined bedding. But her pain will of her own fault.

They all thought I was better...after you left.

They were wrong.

You never left me Tom; you're still here with me in every waking moment of every waking day. My head hurts from all the tremors you create as you yell at me. Tom, you are my wrath of ruin.

The ground below me is so freakishly far, and the grass is so green. Inexperienced, vert, emerald, an indescribable innocence. I can just imagine what it will look like when I fall from this window and my red hair will clash boldly with the ground as my limp body free falls.

For I will already be dead when I leave my perch, the life streaming from my wrists to the sheets below guarantees that.

And Tom. This is all your fault.

I thought you would be my first, my one, my only, and my real true friend. You weren't though, and I had to walk through life, every year, just pretending to be. To be...normal, healthy, a brave, courageous Gryffindor.

But I'm not a Gryffindor; there is a Riddle in me.

A Slytherin.

In me.

In a Weasley.

It's kind of ironic isn't it? The twists that you threw to me, I jumped, dived, twirled, and killed all at your command. I killed because you told me to. I would have done anything for you, anything, anything, ANYTHING.

But I was young then, only twelve. That following summer, I was supposed to be better, you were supposed to be gone. I honestly thought I might go on to marry Harry and I might go on to be a rich girl from a poor family.

Then they came, all draped in long black cloaks, drawing the happiness away from this world, the Dementors. The memories came back, and with them you returned on black wings of black horses.

For a long time I could control you Tom. Until I went to sleep. Snuggled under the blankets that are now soaking blood, my blood, I heard my pleas for help, heard your cackles in my ears, and I tasted you on...in...with...me.

You surrounded me, filled me to the peak, and I was consumed by you in my dreams. So, to stop the nightmares, I stopped sleeping, quite going to bed at night.

Then...

I lost it, I lost everything I had going for me. My life, my friends, my sanity...All that mattered was the pain. It kept me feeling. In my head turmoil stood present and foremost, but the pain kept the thoughts steady.

And eventually the pain wasn't enough to keep you away.

There is just so much blood, so red, crimson, scarlet, rouge. I'm floating in a sea of red. The metallic smell used to make me gag, but now it comforts me as it flows into my lungs, it tickles my throat. Blood that has dripped from my hands down my wrists slinks down my pale skin in thin rivers. The streams do not mesh with my pale skin, instead it stands out until it flows down my sleeves under the robes heavy with the damp substance.

I have come to find that blood is sticky when it dries. It will cake the scab, and then all you have to do is tap the scar with your wand and it clears away. No scar and therefore nobody notices you need help.

Tom, I'm scared. Strange how when I'm scared I call out to you despite the fact that you have always been the one to terrify me so. The air is so thin as it enters my mouth, tastes so dry, and the blood...the blood is pulsating with life, as it empties me of that source.

Black is a comforting color. As abyss draws nearer I find that I am ready to accept that I know I have surrendered, and you have won.

*****

She was right you know. About her hair, it did clash horribly with the green grass below.

She was also right about me winning. Ginny killed herself because of a thirst for pain and a need to relieve it. No longer am I confined to the skull of a petty little girl on to path to self-destruction.

She was so young and so terribly wonderful, for a while I do believe she loved me, but then when she realized I would not go she just became pissed that I was still holding, suffocating, tearing, poisoning her from the inside.

Without her anchoring me I get to walk.