TITLE: Your Kind of Love
Character(s): Actor!Tom, OC named Kris and OC named Andrea
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kris has to make a decision on whether or not she should stay with Tom even though he hasn't been faithful.
Warnings: Strong and graphic language. Inspired by Beyonce's song Jealous.
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Krista clicked open the text message and looked at the picture that had been sent to her phone. It was out of focus and the pixelation made it gritty —but it was him. Unmistakable.
Hm. She thought she'd feel... something. Like she'd been punched in the throat, kicked in the gut and shoved into oncoming traffic. She thought her eyes would burn, that that she'd be angry enough to claw off her own skin. But, no. No, the parts of her that used to ache for him had long since rotted away, the withered remains only reminders of a mistake she'd never make again.
Some part of Krista did still want to scream til her voice gave o it, til her vocal chords ripped themselves apart. Part of her wanted to throw the vase on the table into the wall and watch it shatter into a million razor sharp shards. Some part of her did want to introduce Tom's best suits to the heavy-duty bleach in the laundry room. Some part of her, some minuscule voice, whispered that she should find this girl and make her hurt as much as she was hurting right now.
But the other part of her, the more sensible—the more tired—was eerily calm. Hollowed like the tree in the garden outside.
The friends and family that weren't obsessed with the money or blinded by the fame had warned her months before the wedding. "It was in the news just the other day, Kris. All's I'm saying is maybe you should reconsider what you're getting yourself into." "What about after you're married and there's kids involved, huh? You really want your kid growing up seeing his dad in these gross pictures that will be on the front page of every magazine? What kind of life is that?" "He's a nice man, honey, he is—but do you think he'll ever choose anyone other than himself? Will he ever choose you?" And when it became too painful for them to watch, most left her to her choice to stay.
Well, now was time for her to choose something else. Her own sanity or this insane life? She'd worn the right heels, waxed til she bled, went to the gym five times a week with trainers he'd used in the Avengers. She didn't eat meat, she had her own business and had learned to fill the void her estranged family left with a job she loved. She knew how to smile at all his parties, even though she could barely stand to be in those rooms where outsiders were rarely welcomed warmly and she felt like an expensive piece on display. She knew how to cope with the hate-filled letters his publicist sometimes would miss in the latest batch of fan mail, and whatever other thorns that seemed to come with her rosy Hollywood life. For five years, she'd done everything right, only now to discover that it would truly never be enough for him—or for her.
But you're not stupid, Krista reminds herself quickly when she feels her throat closing in. You're not stupid. But you are done.
She threw back the rest of the vodka in her shot glass before pouring another shot that was downed just as quickly. Then, with a sigh, she picked up her phone to a dial a number she hadn't used in almost five years.
It only rang twice before her older sister answered.
"Krista? Hey, what's going on? You in trouble? You better be dying 'cause it's three in the morning, kid."
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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Go on to the next part—->