Wonderfully Random One Shots - A Bleaker Existence

Your Kind of Love - Tom Hiddleston One Shot

Just the sound of her voice made Krista's eyes well with tears she swore she'd never shed. "Hey, Lydia. I need a favor."

Three Hours Later

Five years worth of her life and it only took about two and half hours pack most of her belongings into boxes left over from the recent move. It was the house that had only existed in her imagination until recently when Tom brought to life as an anniversary present—an expensive one, meant to distract her from the perfume she'd smell in his clothes, the business trips that became more frequent and spontaneous.

It felt right to leave the house this way, carved out, emptied.

The books that he complained were cluttering up his shelves were gone. The pictures of the two of them had been shredded, the empty frames placed on his bed with care. Most of her clothes had been packed away, but they still carried the faint musk of his cologne, and she made a mental note donate them if the smell didn't leave on the first wash. The scruffy teddy bear she'd had since she was a little girl was gone from its usual place on the armchair in the bedroom. Her various lotions and perfumes were gone from their shared en-suite as were the rest of her toiletries and accessories.

Krista double and triple checked. The only things that still lingered were a few trunks that she would need to come back for.

Later. But, right now she just needed to get out of this house.

She filled a fresh glass with a vodka and tonic and sat down on the sofa to wait for his return. The alcohol had numbed her logic, and stoked the subdued emotions that now threatened to overwhelm her. She was buzzing, her fingers trembling as she lifted the rim to her lips and took a hearty drink. The tears that she had so successfully held back until now bubbled up as soon as she was still with no more distractions to keep her mind and hands occupied. She sipped angrily at the drink, her tears feeling like battery acid on her cheeks.

Surely she didn't still love him? How could she still want him back after everything he'd done? All the lying, the betrayal. And yet she still wanted to be his and his alone.

She'd found out about the woman almost a year ago. It had been their first real fight, the kind with words that stung because you did say what you meant and what was said had left invisible scars she knew wouldn't heal. Krista thought she'd never hit anyone in her life, but that day, she'd slapped him so hard she awoke the next morning to a bruise on her palm. A week at her friend's secluded place in Napa and a few hundred texts and phone calls later, and she'd taken him back on the condition that he'd never stray again. He told her he would never hurt her again, and she'd really believed him. She still believed him when she found lipstick stains on the inside of his collar, his crisp white dress shirts thoroughly rumpled and wrinkled when he was supposed to have been in press conferences all day.

A year's worth of of toxic emotions pent up inside her now found their release in the hot, frustrated tears cascading down her face. Her head fell into her hands as she gripped the sides of her skull, willing it not to burst. Krista's elbows rested on her knees while her shoulders shook, a visceral cacophony of howling and wailing filling the bare space as she began the process of letting go of their relationship.

Then, as suddenly as they had started, the tears and screaming had stopped. And all that remained was indifference. She felt strange, like she could feel her bleeding heart scarring and disappearing all at the same time.

She looked to the watch on her wrist. 4:00AM. Still nothing on her phone from him. No apologetic texts for missing dinner, no missed calls or voicemails explaining why he would be arriving home so late. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself, knowing the only way she'd be able to keep a clear head was if she kept herself busy. Distracted.

So she got up, swung her overnight bag onto her shoulder and took it outside to load it into the tightly packed van her sister had lent her a few hours before. Then she went back and grabbed her prized collection of first edition novels, the reason she'd gone into publishing in the first place, a quirk Tom had never understood. After that, she cleaned—sweeping, mopping and scrubbing every surface free of her existence in his life. She wanted him to smell the disinfectant when he walked in.

By the time she had finished vacuuming, Krista could honestly say she felt a little better.

Another look at her watch. 5:00AM.

Knowing him, she would have ample time to drive to her sister's house and drop her things off before he arrived. So she did. And when she drove back, she drove with the windows down, letting the cool air warm her hot skin. She slowed her pace on the road because, for once, she wanted him to beat her home. She daydreamed about the way his jaw would drop, his eyes wide with horror and alarm as  he realized that she'd finally got up the nerve to leave him. He'd flounder around the apartment in bewilderment, tripping over his long legs until he understood that ending their relationship had be much more than an idle threat. The image of him going red in the face as he screamed her name was comical. Almost comforting.

Almost.

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