part 2
She left earlier, of course.
The day after, to be precise. It was a slow and quiet morning. She felt at peace and torn apart at the same time. Can you feel that way? Maybe like someone that felt content with the way they lived their life, though now being stuck in a tornado. Tom´s wife was sitting on the breakfast table with one leg propped up on the chair, wearing one of his jumpers and a teacup in her hand, smiling to herself and only having kissed him good morning and asked if he wanted tea. It angered him. Of course it did, she was always and every day the biggest chatterbox in the morning, excited about the day. He sometimes joked that it annoyed him. He hoped she realized the joke. He lived off her feeding him her presence. And who smiles like that, does he have a stain on his tie? Did she pack him heart shaped-sandwiches? I mean what else could´ve-
“Why aren´t you getting dressed? We`ve got to leave in-“
He checks his watch.
“exactly 13 minutes. I love you, but I know you wouldn´t make it.
She looks up from her tea, smiling again. He could sense it wasn´t the adorable type, it made his stomach turn. Something was wrong. Well of course something was wrong Riddle, you´re ignoring the fact that you weren´t able to breath after the argument last night and that, you incontrollable child threw up all over the fucking bathroom you-
“Oh Minerva took the 2nd years to Hogsmeade for the morning, got 3 free periods.”
CursiveLiar. Liar. Liar. Liar. You never lie to me, you´ve never lied to me- What did I do, please, I´m begging you to go back day before yesterday with me I can´t fucking stand thiscursive
Of course he knew what he did, though did it deserve such a reaction? From both of them?
She stands up, gets very close to him and musters a real smile, one that made her eyes really small and showed her gums. It took all of her willpower left to do so. For him, It made his before mentioned train of thought stop.
Okay, of course it´s still her. It´s his wife.
She straightens his wobbly tie, there was no need to do so on other mornings. Another look in his eyes, knowing she´s the probably the only person that will see the truth in them. The fear.
The other wobbly thing in the room were his legs when she kissed him, deeply, not hungry, but lovingly and meaningfully.
“Be nice. They´ll love you”
“Pfft, absolutely, don´t they always?”, he didn´t want to make a joke in such a moment but I guess he felt human, wanting to lift the atmosphere. In the years after, they´d both remember this moment countless of times, she grinning like a child that remembered their last cool birthday party and he as in the objectively worst choice of words he ever made.
pack
Cry
Put music on to distract
Sob
Pack
Unpack
Sob
Look forward to life
Pack
Leave her faveorite blanket. He secretly thinks it´s fluffy. He gets cold easily.
cry
Cry happy tears because how fortunate is she to have spent 3 years with such a magnificent person.
Pack
Write note
Cry but just a tad
Breathe.
Make tea. Put a lid on his cup so it stays hot.
Breathe
Smile
Leave
Tom came home early. Who fucking cares about the pre-OWLs, he knows there´s the quidditch finale tonight and no one will concentrate. 1st day after Christmas break, whose idea was that. Was she still in the school? He didn´t see her, though he didn´t particularly go look for her, he knows when to back off. She sometimes “regenerated” in her own space.
He got comfortable in his house and went into the ki- Did he forget his tea this morning? Seems unusual.
a note.
No.
In a pace an Olympic fast-walker would be jealous of, he makes his way to the library and sits down in the old, brown leather chair. His eyeballs hurt from his palms pressing into them, a strategy from the orphanage when he was first mocked for crying, it prevented the tears wonderfully. Tom sat like that for a few minutes, his left leg bouncing up and down and increasing in speed.
No.
Abruptly Tom stands up and walks over to the bookshelf with her little detective novels and big encyclopedias on algae and what not. His shaking hand pulls one out, the title doesn´t matter. He stares at it. He smells it. It doesn´t smell like her, at all. Why would it? It´s just a book. Was she real?
From his mouth comes not a growl, not a scream, what is it? He simply knows he hasn´t made that noise in a very long time and it almost accurately described his emotions. Almost. Nothing ever really will, he believes, though he´ll find a word for word description of his thoughts many years later.
The book is now in about 14 pieces, torn apart, unreadable.
Something wet runs over his hot cheeks.
The knee-part of his grey slacks is ruined by the wet grass. He thought he´d suffocate inside.
Dearest Tommy,
I think I said everything I meant last night, though my devotion to you is hard to word. You are the most precious, wonderful thing that has happened to me. I want you to accept yourself. To see yourself as I do. You´re too much of a gift to existence and love in general to reduce yourself to a cause.
I love you, my Darling.
There were a few more words in between, but the tear stains made them unreadable.
He´d get to reading it at some point. Maybe.