[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 11 : Chapter XI - Painless
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 1|
Background: Font color:
"Thomas - " His father paused, looking uneasy. "Do answer the door, won't you, son?" With a swift nod, Tom's boots led him to the front door, his father following cautiously behind. Inching open the door and expecting to find his girlfriend, who was invited for dinner, he was faced with a small, besotten girl with a bulging stomach, someone whom he had remembered all too well.
The girl shrieked. "You ass-hole!"
"That's what you bloody well deserve!" Tears poured like bullets that had been raining from the sky, dropping to the ground and shattering in a moment's notice. Merope's disfigured face was blotched a heavy red, heat rising to her cheeks, staining her skin. A stunned hand had reached up to his smooth, young face, and upon pulling his hand back, Tom stared at it - as if to find some sort of disgusting residue from her slap. "I thought you would have loved me, you should have seen yourself with me you rotten, . . . . . rotten cretin!" Her voice was nearing breaking point, reaching so high that should Tom hold a glass in the air, it was liable to crack.
His blank eyes blinked a few times, before sighing heavily. It looked as though he were about to become physically sick on the front doorstep, and he tugged at the front of his shirt, as if to make sure that he didn't have a bulge on his stomach too. . . she did. What had he done? Produced a child? Impossible, for he couldn't remember a single thing other than what he had recalled as a kidnapping from his home. If he couldn't remember it - then he simply could not have done it. Even still - it wouldn't be his child. Not with a chance in the world could he have had. . .sex with a monster!
"You loved me!" The monster's enraged voice spilled into his perfect home and immediately his parents precenses were felt by Tom's side.
"Wha-What's going on, Thomas?" His father's shakey voice echoed through his ear, in one, out the other. A brief, haughty sniff from his uptight mother resounded at the completely devistated girl and Tom, stunned and scared shitless, stood, silently. "Thomas, Tom! Answer me! Who is this girl? Why is she crying, Thomas!" His father's voice had risen an impressive octave higher than normal as he shook his only child's shoulder.
Merope, fuming and her fists clenched, didn't care that this much anger could be horrible for her unborn child - she only cared that she was no longer wanted, and as would the child. They were outcasts together - and quite frankly, she didn't want this child! "You horrible, horrible cretin! You rotten ass! Just look at what you've done to me! You've made me as fat as a swine and I swear to Merlin and beyond that you'd love me once I took you off of that potion!" More tears until her entire face was soaked were produced and with another, satisfying slap to the boy's unblemished cheek, the girl turned and stormed off.
Tom's father grabbed his son roughly by the shoulders and yanked him before closing the door with his hind foot. "Who is she, Thomas Riddle? Answer me now!" Spittle flew from his father's kind face and Tom stared, clutching at his cheek which was an comely red.
His hand dropped. His eyes were glazed.
"She's no one, Father." Tom's head dropped.
His father patted his son on the back approvingly, and watched as the girl's figure disappeared in the wintry air before turning back to his wife and muttering, "She's a wench, I bet you anything. A crazy, derranged teenage wench."
All of those tears had made her eyes extremely dry and itchy, her skin irritable and her pancreas was going to have troubles performing correctly if the baby in her stomach kept kicking and squirming like it did so often. And her mood was not helping her out at all. How dare he, act like they had never even touched each other! Act as though, as though she were nothing but a scoundrel, a prostitute begging for money and a home! She had never asked so much from him other than devoted affection and love! That was it. And now she had been graced with solitude, something far more. . .devious. Solitude, and a life to take care of that was not her own.
Oh, how she almost wished her father was home, her father and her brother! They would curse the baby away and discard her like no other! Honestly, that was all Merope wished for more than anything right now - to be rid of herself, and the child within. Her hands found their way to her bulging stomach. "Just get out of there," She murmured, eyes covered with the lingering wetness of the last of her tears. "Get out of there right now, so I can be done with myself." Though murmuring would most certainly not cause anything to happen, or for her to go into labor, she was returned with a swift kick to the outside of the womb and she let her lower lip tremble before wandering up to bed.
Before she knew it, November passed and December arrived in a flurry of snow and twinkling lights further into the village. They were happy down there, while she was suffering of morning sickness, the inability to want to move from her bed, and aching headaches accompanied by unpredictable mood swings. Why wouldn't it just come out and relieve her of the troubles of a pregnancy at an early age?! Why? This is what he saddled her with, shouldn't he be the one suffering and she be the one in an extravagant, clean home, with magic glistening at her fingertips? The positions were clearly switched!
Unless, karma had deemed it so.
Was this her punishment for frolicing with a man who already had a beloved and was not meant for her to have and to hold? Of course not! He was the one she lusted after every Sunday morning after his church services! He was the one who was so charming, yet had a brutal side that no other muggle could possess. He was greedy and unpredictable. Not her. She had nothing to do with his . . . sulky ways! Of course not. . .
Yet, her wizened mind didn't seem so sure anymore. Nothing seemed printed in black and white anymore. Nothing.
Rolling over in her bed late December at night, a sharp pain followed, and before long, her sheets were wet. Shivering, Merope got up and felt between her legs on the sheet. What was happening? Did she pop it? Did something go horribly wrong?
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Other Similar Stories
This Is How ...
by Phoenix Quill