'Until Death Do Us Apart' (Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

'*I Don't Care - Charlotte Sands*'

FRIDAY - 08.10.2021

My father kissed me one last time, a tear hiding in the corner of his eye. He pulled back and looked at me tenderly while caressing my long arms. He seemed sad and full of regret, feelings that I could read daily on his face

"Take care of yourself Emily," he said with a shrug.

He took me in his arms to offer me a simple and long hug. I could feel his hands shaking slightly against my back, either from the alcohol or from fear. I couldn't remember the last time my dad had hugged me.

I looked at him briefly before slipping through the long column of airport security. A slight feeling of freedom and liberty shook my body, which made me shiver. I followed the footsteps of the people clumped in front of me, my eyes glued to the ground.

In the column, I watched a mother prepare the materials to be deposited in the bins before going through the security gate. She held her two young boys by the hand while her husband, lost in thought, trailed behind them.

I wasn't a big fan of crowds and was really looking forward to getting on the plane. I had social anxiety and panic attacks, not a good mix when I was squeezed between hundreds of people.

With my headphones in my ears, I watched the clouds roll by quickly. My seatmate was sound asleep and his head rested steadily on my shoulder. I was tapping the notes to "I Don't Care - Charlotte Sands" on my shaky knees, still full of anxiety.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've hated airplanes. They are always too cold, too crowded, and too small. In 2011, when we left South Africa for Switzerland, I had caught a bad cold on the plane that followed me for two weeks.

I should have finished my second year of medical school in July. The sudden death of my mother in February had deeply disturbed me. I didn't go to class and didn't take my final exams. I stayed in bed for six whole days after her funeral, crying my eyes out. From the sixth day on, I went out clubbing, every night without exception. I smoked, drank and took all kinds of drugs before waking up naked next to strangers.

My father was depressed and started drinking too much. Sometimes he would disappear for several days before coming home exhausted. In April, I sent him to a rehab center but could only afford to pay 2 months of fees. In June, he came home weak, skinny and still addicted to alcohol.

We had no money at all and the "widow and orphan" pension we received each month barely covered our food expenses. I had found a job as a waitress in a bar in my town and we were able to survive on that income. My father was now doing better and at 21 years old it was time for me to go my own way.

I felt bad about leaving my dad to go through this alone, but, on the other hand, he hadn't been there when I needed him either. Besides, he had found a new job as a painter and was only home a little. He worked all day and I worked all night. I was alone most of the time, which was fine with me, but as soon as I walked into our house, I couldn't think of anything but my mother.

"Miss, would you like something to drink?" the hostess asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I looked at her briefly before answering "no" with a nod. She had a large bun pulled up on top of her head. Her made-up face emphasized the softness of her eyes. She was quite beautiful.

I don't know why I decided to go to London, I had made this decision on a whim. I had hesitated for a long time to return to Cape Town, where I had grown up. It would have allowed me to reconnect with my roots, to see old friends. With the price of a plane ticket being more expensive than flying and my first month's rent in London, the choice was quickly made. I was completely broke.

Outside the Heathrow airport, dozens of cabs were waiting to transport someone to the center of the city. Most of the cab drivers were smoking a cigarette while leaning against the door of their car.

"Where to miss?" the driver exclaimed.

"Belsize Park," I replied quickly.

After almost an hour's ride, the cab dropped me off in front of the Tavistock and Portman NHS Foundation Trust. I could have given him my exact address but I wanted to get some fresh air and walk around.

Luggage in hand, I walked leisurely through the main streets of the city in search of the building where I rented a small studio apartment. I had never been to London before and knew nothing about the city. As a child, I had traveled a lot in Europe but had never been to the UK.

The studio wasn't very big but it was all I could afford. The kitchen was clean and empty, the dining table well decorated and the bed was made. The brick walls were covered with a thin coat of white paint. Overall, the studio had a certain charm. 

I threw my bags on the floor before jumping on the bed. With my hands crossed under my head, I took a moment to think about what I could do here. Right now, I was totally passionate about writing. I had started writing after my mother's death, but I had quickly run out of inspiration. In a way, I was hoping that London would give me a new perspective on my book.

More tired than ever, I left my soft bed and put on thicker clothes before leaving my studio. It was the beginning of October and already the temperatures had dropped. A light wind made the leaves dance as they tried to cling to the branches. Passers-by seemed to be in a hurry to cross the city, everything was going so fast. My long blond hair was flying in all directions.

With my hands deep in my coat pockets, I took out a cigarette and smoked it in a few short minutes. I had been smoking regularly for over 3 years and had neither the desire nor the motivation to stop.

It was cold but the city was absolutely beautiful. I was located outside the center, wanting to be in a fairly quiet place. I didn't like the quiet but didn't like the noise either.

Back in the warmth of my studio, I cooked some rice that I had just bought in a small pot before stepping into the hot water of my Italian shower. Wrapped in a towel, my hair tips dripped onto the floor as I placed the rice on my plate. It was already after 8 p.m. when I finished cleaning the kitchen and drying my hair.

Phone in hand, I called my best friend in Switzerland to tell her that I had settled in and that, so far, everything was going pretty well. After 20 minutes, I hung up and lay down on the bed. My bed was so comfortable that it's seemed impossible to leave it.

Slowly, I opened my eyes and was surprised to find that I had fallen asleep. I was a little groggy, my head was spinning slightly and my body was a little weak.

I could hear music in the distance, probably from a bar or a nightclub. Even though I was very tired, I really wanted to go party and drink some alcohol.

In Switzerland, I didn't go to a bar until I was 18 years old because my parents wouldn't let me. The first time I went out, my mother picked me up at 4 a.m. when I couldn't stand up, totally drunk and drugged.

I enjoyed the feeling of freedom that invaded my body every time I drank, smoked or kissed strangers in the dark corners of bars. I was always in a euphoric state when I went out, I wasn't thinking about anything, I just wanted to have fun.

Excited to get that feeling back, I dressed warmly while trying to stay sexy. I was, in and of myself, a naturally beautiful person and had to make little effort to be sexy. Cigarette pack in pocket, cash in purse, I left my studio and followed the sound of the music.