"The date was over when we got inside the bar" He says almost to himself. His voice comes out so low that at first I'm not sure if I got that right.
He opened the door to his house and let me pass before him so I have to turn around in order to look at him. He is scratching the thin stubble on his chin and has this serious, contemplative expression in his eyes. He's not looking at me so I guess he never meant for me to hear what he just mumbled.
He has been quiet the whole drive here and I didn't mind at all because I am rather exhausted myself and I thought he was feeling the same. But every once in a while, I would sneak a glance at him and I could tell he was mulling over something in his head. I wasn't sure what it was but now I think I have a pretty good idea.
I smile quietly and I just walk inside the living room as I take off my coat and I place it carefully on the hanger by the wall. I don't say anything and I simply move around the living room, pretending to be scanning the place. The front door closes with a thud and a few seconds later he shows up by my side.
"I love your place. It's... cozy" I say absentmindedly as I loosen the bobby pins that have been holding my braids up throughout the entire evening. My roots hurt a little as my hair falls down my naked back, so I run my fingers through it and I give my soar scalp a much deserved massage. I release a sigh of relief as I do it.
"You sound surprised" He says with his mouth pressed to my neck. I jolt a little when I feel his arms twisting around my waist as he holds me from behind and rocks me softly. "What were you expecting?"
To be honest, I don't know what I was expecting. I never actually thought about how his house would look like, but now that I am here, I guess that I would have picture a much sleeker, modern house.
The place is quite the opposite of that. It is classical, almost rustic and way much warmer and welcoming than what I would've imagine. After all, he is a celebrity. And a boy.
The building is typical of London; the front door leads to a narrow and long hallway that ends with a stairwell that heads to the second floor. On the left side of that corridor, it opens up to the living room we're standing right now. There's a big, three-sided window that goes all the way to the roof and it even has what it's clearly a costume made seat bench under it.
The wall to my left is hardly a wall because it is completely covered by a bookcase that goes form the floor to the ceiling and from side to side. There is no free space in it whatsoever and it is neatly filled with books of different size, colors and topics.
The living room is rather spacey and surprisingly well furnished with classic furniture and some decorations touches that I never thought a man that lives by himself would actually care about; a few decorative pillows and a handmade woolen blanket rest randomly on the big red velvet couch that's placed against the wall opposite the window, and a wide, recycled coffee table in front of it has a couple of magazines carefully stacked with some scented candles atop of them.
Some family pictures, a floor lamp next to the couch, a few framed movie posters hanging on the other walls and two armchairs complete the décor of the living room.
"I don't know... Something more boyish?" I say with a shrug. He laughs against my hair and he spins me around to face him. "This is lovely" I add.
"Boyish? Are you saying my place is girly, love?" He says with a playful frown.
"Well... you do have those!" I giggle as I tilt my head, pointing out the lavender candles sitting on the coffee table, "That's not something you usually see in a bachelor's pad" I kiss him quickly on the lips before I squirm myself off of his grasp and I let my body fall on the big couch. My feet are screaming to get out of these heels so I slip them off. I sigh out of sheer relief when I start rubbing the arch of my left, and more damaged foot with my thumbs.
"Actually, this was my older sister's house. I bought it from her when she moved away and I haven't changed anything rather than just add a couple of things... Like the pictures or the books" He explains while taking a seat next to me and gently yanking my legs towards him and onto his lap.
He begins to rub my feet so skillfully; I just drop my head back and enjoy the moment.
"...and the candles" I add with a laugh.
He squeezes my foot a little too tight in some sort of a scold and he laughs when I whine in protest.
After that, he just keeps on massaging my soar limbs in silence. I am so close to fall asleep but I try my best to stay awake even if my eyelids feel as heavy as rocks. I gather all the will I can get and I lift my head back up, opening my eyes. He is dedicated to his task but I can see he has that look on his face: The same expression he had on the ride here. He is clearly pondering over something and my mind goes back to the words he murmured when we walked in.
"What's on your mind, Hiddleston? You look... pensive" I finally ask, giving him the perfect opportunity for him to spit out what he really wants to say.
He looks at me and he seems rattled. He clearly wasn't counting with me calling him out and something in the way his eyes flicker and his mouth comes up with this crappy excuse of a smile, I know this is not about what I think it is. It is serious.
"What?" I push, a little more worried than I would dare to admit.
An unexpected and forceful wave of fear flushes over me as I try to see beyond his troubled eyes. He didn't look this concerned a few seconds ago and I start rehashing the last moments in my mind, making my best effort to recognize the moment where it all changed.
I come up with nothing.
"There's something that has been on my mind for quite some time... And I don't know how to say it without... you know" His voice comes out in a whisper. On the edge of his every word I can distinguish the doubt, the hesitation. Even the fear. He is clearly scared to say whatever it is he need to say.
"No, I don't know. Without what?" I sit up straight in the couch, pulling my feet away from his lap, as if putting some physical distance between the two of us would soften the impact of the words about to be said.
I realize, somewhere deep in my mind, that I might be overreacting. I know that I am preparing myself for the worst even when I don't really have much reason to do so, but I do it anyway. I can feel the walls coming up around me, cornering me inside this safe but lonely and suffocating place.
I don't recognize myself in this position; feeling so helplessly vulnerable and exposed, and knowing with certainty that one single word from his lips holds the power of ripping my heart right out of my chest.
"Without coming off like an absolute self-absorbed dick..." he responds.
There go his damn hands, running through the dark curls form the top of his head and sliding all the way to the back of his neck. His eyes drop to his legs as he bends himself forward, gathering the courage to speak his mind. As he does this, my own strength begins to fade away. Fear quickly turns to panic and panic becomes into something scarier and indescribable.
I feel like my heart has sunk into the pit of my stomach and I might throw up at any moment. I wrap my arms around my torso, trying to keep my emotions and symptoms at bay.
"With everything going on with Rose, I didn't want to bring this up earlier. But I don't think I can stall around it for much longer... And I don't want you to think that I'm a heartless bastard. Because I'm not" He is not looking at me and that freaks me out even more. If he can't bring himself to make eye contact with me then it must be bad.
"What are you saying?" Before I can process the line of thoughts that are running through my mind, I jump out of where I'm sitting. I pace restlessly around the coffee table, waiting for him to open his mouth.
"What do you mean with that? Of course I know you're not a heartless bastard, Tom... Why would I ever think that?" The words roll out of my mind as soon as my brain comes up with them. I feel my voice going higher by the second and they are clearly fueled by my ever growing nervousness.
"Are you... breaking up with me?" I finally ask. "That's it... isn't it? You want to end this and you think that I can't handle it because I am too fucked up by the whole Rose issue? For God's sake, Thomas... Not you too. Don't you treat me like a fucking porcelain doll that might shatter into pieces if you don't handle me with care!"
But I might. I might very easily turn to dust as soon as he says the words.
How could I have been so wrong? When did I become so convinced that I was able to anticipate each of his thoughts? Here I was, completely sure that he was trying to get me into his bed when he was actually finding the kindest, most painless way to let me go.
"That is not..." he starts. But then he looks up at me and trails off.
Every word that I articulate, every step I take away from him, adds another thick brick to the wall around me. I can see him, rising to his full height from the couch and walking slowly towards where I am standing right now.
I have distanced myself so far, that I would be pressed by the window if it wasn't for that bench. I can feel it grazing the back of my knees as I try to take another step back. I see him getting closer and I see the distress in his eyes. Or at least, I think I see that. I don't fucking now anymore.
"It's okay... really!" I stretch my arms in front of me, almost touching his chest because he is so close to me now. And I don't want him anywhere near me. It is dangerous and amazing and unfair. "You don't have to sugarcoat anything for me, Tom. If you want out, just say it. Be a fucking man and say it! But don't you dare put this on me, alright? I am a big girl and I don't need your pity or your empty promises and attentions to get me through the day!" The tears begin to sting at the back of my eyes, pushing fiercely and against my will, to break free.
I try to blink them away but they are tears filled with anger, and frustration, and sadness, and angst. These are powerful tears and they mean business.
I lose the battle and they begin to stream down my face, burning the skin they touch, like lava. I wipe them off with the back of my hand as they roll away but I can't manage to catch them all.
"Are you done?" He is not at my reach anymore. He took a step back when I put my hands out so now he's just standing there, watching me like I am some kind of dangerous but wounded animal, ready to lash out its final strike before dropping irrevocably dead.
I respond with silence because I don't know what else to say. I don't think I'm done but I am sure that the giant knot that's settled in my throat won't let me speak.
"Alright, then. I get to talk now" he says terrifyingly calm.
The steadiness he exudes is not only frightening but also infuriating.
"Where were you tonight?" he asks while crossing his arms in front of his chest. He shifts his entire weight onto his left foot and he looks like he is a little mad, disappointed even. And slightly amused.
My mind spirals down with confusion and I don't understand where he is going with his question. I don't respond to it because, besides of my physical inability to form any kind of word, I don't think he actually wants an answer.
"Where, in the bloody hell, were you?!" he asks again. His brow furrows deeply as he leans himself forward, demanding an answer from me.
"I don't... Here, I was here. What's your point?!" I reply. I feel lightheaded and I'm afraid my legs are about to fail on me so I take a seat in the bench, my hands tightly grasped to the edges.
I look down at my knees and I can't stop shaking them, up and down, like an anxious basket case. My heart is racing one minute and the next, it's threating to stop altogether.
"Were you? Really? Were you here when I told you how beautiful you looked as soon as you opened the door? Were you there, in the car, when I could barely keep my hands off of you? Were you in that bloody restaurant, where you knocked the air out of my lungs with that wicked dress of yours?" He is barely pausing to catch a breath. His cheeks are bright red with irritation and his hands accompany each word he says, batting around him, dramatically. It is almost like he's reciting a monologue. This living room is his stage and I am his audience. "Were you there when we were dancing and I was practically telling you that I want to spend the rest of my life dancing with you? I don't think so, Clementine. If you had been there for all of those things, you would've never, even for a second, entertained the thought of me breaking up with you!"
The silence in the room is deafening. It pierces my eardrums to the point of hurting them and I want to break it, say something. But I can't come up with anything.
I feel relieved, of course I do. He doesn't want to end us and that's a really good thing, but I can't help but feeling like a world-class idiot as well.
What have I done? I made a fool out of myself by jumping into a conclusion that I knew, a few minutes ago, it was extreme, to say the least. And here I am, trying with all of my strength, to knock down the wall I have so stupidly secluded myself behind.
All I can do is stare at him across the blur that are my tears. He doesn't move and I don't think he has anything else to say. He said it all and now is my turn to reply. It's so incredibly hard to unsay what I have said earlier, even if I know I didn't mean any of it.
Oh, God! I hope he knows that too.
I called him a coward; I accused him of being a little man who didn't have the balls to be honest with me. All that, in the span of ten miserable minutes.
I have possibly wrecked one of the best things that ever happened to me in the same time it takes me to make a grilled cheese sandwich.
Well done, paranoid! Let's see how you get out of this. I can almost see her, at the back of my mind, arm-crossed and tapping her foot against the floor. She is challenging me.
"I was there, believe me! I was there for all of that. But..." I wipe off the water from my face, mostly to buy me some time to come up with something to say. Something to explain him, and myself, such hasty reaction from my part. What comes up next is ridiculous and childish, believe me, I get that. "...Where were you, when you said you had something to say to me but you didn't know how to say it without coming off like... a heartless bastard?!" I say making speech marks with my fingers, quoting on his own words.
To be quite honest, I don't think I overreacted. He did said those things and he was being cryptic and dramatic about it. What else was I supposed to think?
Yeah... that is not an apology. Try again. Seriously, when is she going to take my fucking side?
"I can't believe you!" He sighs.
He turns away from me and disappears into the kitchen which is next to the living room, separated by a counter. A few seconds later, I see him on the other side of the breakfast bar and I follow his every move as he turns on the stove and puts the kettle on the fire.
"Tea? You're making tea right now? Seriously?" I don't know why I'm acting this way but it may have something to do with the fact that I feel so mortified about the whole showdown I just starred at; this is just a defense mechanism. A lousy one, I may add.
Apparently, I have recovered my capability of putting one foot in front of the other because I have walked across the room and I am now standing under the kitchen threshold, leaning against the door frame.
I don't recognize me at all. This whiny, stubborn and proud creature I have seemed to become is far from the person I have always though I was. This is not mature. This behavior is not worthy of an adult, well-adjusted woman.
Say that again!
"Ugh, fine!" I sigh to myself as I grab my head with both hands, trying to shun her out, but judging by the way he is staring at me, all confused and outraged, I know I said it out loud. "I'm sorry, okay?!" I say in defeat. I figure I might as well pretend that I was talking to him because I can't tell him that I was shutting off the voice inside my head.
Whiny, stubborn, proud and crazy.. Keep adding such charming characteristics to your personality and you will definitely have him running for the hills!
"Aw! That is the most heart-felt apology I have ever heard!" He is mocking me and I really appreciate it. That can only mean he is beginning to soften up and we are one step closer to putting this ignominious episode behind us.
The kettle begins to whistle softly as the water reaches the proper temperature and he turns his back on me to retrieve it form the stove. I move away from the doorway and into the kitchen, which is a little too narrow for the two of us to move around without bumping into each other, and I like it. He turns around again, with the kettle in his hand and he nearly crushes against me.
"Careful, now!" he quarrels me while shifting to his side to dodge me. I dedicate him an exaggerated pout when he squints at me and I can tell he's fighting against the smile that's trying to make its way across his hardened features.
"You are going to make me pay for this, aren't you?" I whimper as I jump to seat on the counter next to where he's standing. I follow his every move while he grabs two mugs from the cabinets and throws the tea bags in them. "Come on! I already said I'm sorry, babe!"
He suddenly stops what he's doing, loudly placing the kettle on the granite and pressing his palms against the cold surface. His head is tilted down, eyes closed and jaw clenched in what's clearly a sign of frustration. Evidently, I have just stepped back several boxes.
All this ups and downs are going to make me sick in the stomach again.
"Actually, you haven't" he says without moving a muscle.
"I know..." I admit. I'm aware of the fact that I haven't apologized. Not in a way that truly counts, anyways. I know that he doesn't want an apology for the things that I said. He needs an apology for doubting his feelings, once again. "I don't know how to do it, though"
"You better figure it out soon, then" He says in an annoyed hiss.
My hand reaches for his belt and I slowly hook my index finger on the loop of his pants, pulling him towards me. Of course, I'm not strong enough to make him move against his will so I smile when he does. That means he is doing his part, by offering no resistance.
When I finally get him close enough, I let my legs do the rest as they trap him by the waist, pulling him against my hips. He grunts in a false, empty objection and he indolently tries to pull away but my body reacts and fights.
My legs, crossed by the ankles against his ass, squeeze him tighter and hold him captive between them. My hands grasp the side of his torso, grabbing a fistful of his T-shirt so snugly; I can feel my fingernails digging into the palm of my hands.
"I am sorry..." I whisper to his ear just before I graze his lobe with my teeth. "For letting my fears get the best of me..." My lips roll down to the side of neck. "For being an insecure, stubborn brat who can't just simply own her screw ups..." The tip of my tongue pushes through my parted lips, caressing the thin skin where his pulse beats, faster by the second. "For all the things I said to you, even if I only said them out of spite and I could never mean any of them..." My hands unclasp his side once I know for sure he's not going anywhere and they find their way along his chest, to his collarbone and up his throat and his jawline. I cease all care for his neck as I cradle his face with my hands, steadying his head to face me. His eyes are open and cautious. "I am honestly, deeply sorry for all of those things. Bust most of all, I am sorry for ever doubting you and your love for me... Because God knows, you have done nothing but prove to me, over and over again, that you are mine" My mouth collides with his and they snap together into perfection.
This kiss tastes different though; it is passionate like most of them are but there's an edge of rage to it. Rage that can't be contained into one single battle of the mouths and tongues. Rage that can only be born out of love and caring for the other person; caring for the fact that that person made a deep cut into your flesh, causing this bleeding, pulsating wound that would only be fully closed with that person's skin.
With this kiss, we are healing. More specifically, he is. And I am giving him my skin to do so.
*****
"See? I knew you had it in you... That was one hell of an apology!" he says under his breath and gives me a pat on the ass. "Care for some tea?"
He slides out of me and I giggle when I notice he has trouble zipping up his pants. His pulse is unsteady and his hands shake a little. I jump off the counter and fix up my dress, which Tom has pulled up above my hips, and with my breathing as compromised as his, I excuse myself to the restroom.
When I come back to the living room, he has returned to the red couch and he is sitting there, holding his cup of steaming Earl Grey. I join next to him to do the same.
My energy is cloud high right now and all the exhaustion from our night out has completely vanished from my body. Between the adrenaline rush I got when I thought he was dumping me and my fervent request for forgiveness that came after, I feel like I could spend the next week without closing my eyes.
"So, do you think we can forget everything that went down from the moment we walked through the door and start all over again?" I say timidly, hiding my mouth behind my mug.
"No. I refuse to forget how I just shagged you silly on my kitchen. I refuse to forget that I made you break that stupid rule of yours, even if I had to resort to the old trick of making you believe I was leaving you and then pretend to be offended by your proneness to jumping to wild, senseless, rash conclusions" He laughs with archness. "I got more than I was expecting, though"
"You are a mischievous monster!" I reply with an outraged tone as I kick him softly on the side. "Loki's deceptions are child's play compared to yours!"
We laugh loudly for a few seconds before we fall back into silence. There's nothing awkward or disturbing about it, but I feel the urge to break it. Suddenly, I remember the conversation that led us into our now surpassed setback.
"Anyway... What was it?" I put down the mug on the wooden table and I move closer to him. I take the cup off of his hand so we don't have a domestic accident and I snuggle to his side, sliding his arm behind my back. I play mindlessly with his hair as I stretch my neck so I can kiss his jaw. "That thing you can't seem to keep stalling around?" I quote him.
"Oh! Right! I had forgotten about that..." he says pretending to sound relaxed and casual about it.
But his heartbeat calls him out. I feel it racing against my palm which is resting on his chest and I know he is on the verge of freaking out. Of course, I have already did that earlier so I gather all my strength in order to stay as calm as possible.
"So... My birthday is next Monday... And my family has this whole party planned for me, since it's been a few years since I get to spend it in London" It is both cute and alarming how fast his heart is beating right now, so I just gently stroke his chest, trying to put him at ease.
I don't look at him because I know what it is like to feel so exposed in front of someone and, even if I don't understand why he gets so nervous about this because I think he already should know my answer, I limit myself to listen and wait for him to finish.
"Everyone will be there, even my older sister who's coming all the way from India... And I was thinking that maybe, if you're up for it... I would, you know? Perhaps we should... I mean, I'd love it if you... I don't know" He is adorably stumbling on his thoughts and words and I am trying my best to keep my cool and not giggle at his unusual and sudden lack of eloquence.
Of course I haven't forgotten about his birthday; I knew it was just around the corner but it kind of slipped away into the back of my mind. Mostly because my head has been a mess lately, but also because I wasn't sure as to what his plans were and whether or not I was included on them. I guess I am. Or at least, I think that's what he is trying to say.
Rescue him from himself, honey!
"Tom?" I finally lift up my head to meet his eyes. He looks confused and somewhat embarrassed. I let go of him just enough to properly sit straight next to him, but my hand is still on him. "Are you trying to invite me to your birthday party?" I tease him just a little. His cheeks go red again and he nods shyly but without hesitation.
"Yes. Yes I am. And I would like to introduce you to my family as my girlfriend. If that's alright with you" He confirms with a newly recovered sense of confidence.
Why did he ever lost it, is beyond me.
Maybe it is because he has a lunatic, highly volatile and inconsistent woman for a girlfriend! But I guess that's just how he likes them.