The Lost Princess (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction) Wattpad Featured

Better be Home Soon

TOM threw himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling – another hotel in another strange city. Another empty bed, another lonely night.

The press tour had been gruelling and while he'd had friends around him, while he'd had co-stars to talk to – it still came down to this. Lying on a strange bed, looking at a strange ceiling. It was his life but it was no life.

He wondered where Tory was – what she was doing.

He should be flying high, it was a great night. The launch of a movie, performances on stage – it had been thrilling, fun, exciting.

He'd made a dork of himself yes and he'd been nervous, if she'd been there he'd have calmed quickly. But she wasn't – he didn't know where she was.

Tom had thought of picking up – there were plenty of willing volunteers but in the end they weren't her.

He hadn't.

Not since they'd broken up.

He told himself he was too busy.

But it wasn't the truth.

She'd ruined him for other women, at least for a while. He'd be back but not yet.

They couldn't be together, he couldn't live her life, have to watch who he played, what he did, who he was seen with. He couldn't be responsible to the whole fucking nation for his actions. He knew that – he lived in a fishtank – she lived in a fish bowl half the size and with more eyes peering in.

But living without her wasn't a picnic either.

He was taking his time to adjust back. There was a "before Tory' but it didn't seem much like it at the moment.

Reaching for the remote he flipped on the television – mindless distraction – his best friend.

Channel surfing was preferable to running through a large supply of women, of willing bodies. He remembered every inch of hers, could map it in his mind, he could feel her in the tips of his fingers, against his skin. And yet he could hardly remember what city he was in today, yesterday, tomorrow – it felt like his was channel surfing the world.

He was waiting – waiting for the side of his life that wasn't work to resurface or maybe not thinking about that any more.

Another drink was needed, he hadn't had enough tonight. He was too busy and now he wasn't numb, he needed numb - he needed another drink but he didn't want to start, frightened he wouldn't stop. He had to fly out in a few hours, he had to be on a set somewhere in the world in two days.

He flipped on, relentlessly through the channels – that was his life now – the next channel, the next country and eventually the next woman.

Then it caught his eye.

He'd forgotten.

How could he have forgotten it was on?

A pang of guilt flowed through him.

Another reason to feel sorry for himself.

The Rugby World Cup.

Who'd have thought that could be a reason to hate himself?

And yet he'd promised his dad, they would go, at least to one match. That they'd be there to see their beloved Scotland play, share that moment. And here they were – the last hope of the British Isle – in a quarter final and he was in a hotel room on the other side of the world and he hadn't even caught a game on the television.