Whew. This chapter is a little longer. Hope you all enjoy it:) Also, I was keeping a mental note on who all I wanted to dedicate these new chapters to, but I'm starting to lose track! So from here on out, I will start writing down the user names of those who vote and give feedback:) Not that voting or feedback is necessary, because it's not, but it's certainly nice, haha. So I hope you all enjoy!
You, know, it's funny. When I first woke up that morning, I thought everything was okay. My mind felt clear, sunlight was flooding into the room, and I felt comfortable in my bed.
But all too soon, realization came over me. Pain shot through my head, and I didn't dare open my eyes. And I felt strong arms around my waist.
My eyes shot open, taking a moment to adjust to the light. I didn't move. I didn't need to. I knew who was sleeping behind me, spooning me like there would be no tomorrow. And I knew it wasn't his fault. Not after how drunk we were last night. It was his fault, though, that he chose this morning of all mornings to not wake up before me.
I wanted to wake him. I wanted to just slip out of his grasp to go get some sort of pain killers for my killer headache, but I didn't. The strange feeling of being so close to a man again was enough for me to deal with the pain in my head. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I liked just sitting there, thinking about the small details. The way his (bare) stomach rose and fell against my back. The way his strong, lean arms were against my stomach. The way I could feel his warm breath against my neck. It seemed that he was burying his face in the back of my T-shirt. I liked the way he did that. It made him seem smaller and more vulnerable. Like he's not always smiling, and not always standing tall.
"Tom," I whisper after quite a long time, my voice hoarse.
I'm guessing it's not loud enough to wake him, though, because although he stirs, he doesn't say anything or lift his head. His legs are sort of tangled with mine, making it even more impossible for me to just leave. I turn my head, almost desperate to just see his assuring face, but I can't.
"Thomas." I pinch his arm lightly, and I hear a light groan-like sound escape his mouth as his body shifts.
"Oh, fuck..." He mutters. He pulls his arms away from me, and he puts distance between our bodies. I take that opportunity to sit up on the bed, looking over at him. His short hair has turned curly at the top, and he rubs his blue eyes, obviously still waking up. The bed sheet stops at his mid-chest, and I can easily see his lean body with his runner's muscles. "I'm so sorry.."
That's it? That's all he has to say, is 'I'm sorry'? I guess I just expected him to apologize five million times and ask what happened and how we managed to fall asleep on the same bed. Because those were the questions going through my mind.
"It's okay," I say.
"How long were you awake?" He asks, sitting up.
Ten minutes. "Not even a minute."
"I'm honestly surprised you're not mad at me for cuddling you in my sleep," Tom admits, shrugging lightly.
"It's called spooning, Thomas. And the only reason I'm not mad is because you were asleep. And you fell asleep drunk."
He grins then. A cheeky, smug grin. "If it makes you feel any better, I slept wonderfully."
"Well I feel like hell."
He laughs. "That, too. I have the worst headache."
"Then how are you smiling and laughing?" I ask, groaning. My head hits the pillows again as I lie back down, cringing. Oh, frack. Today I'm supposed to start my period. But it usually doesn't start until a little later in the day.
Tom doesn't answer, but instead lies down next to me, careful to keep his distance. I want him close to me. I like pretending that I have someone to lie next to in bed, when, in reality, when I go home again, it'll just be me sleeping in my bed, as always. Just me.
"What do we have to do today?" I whisper.
"Hm.. Ocean Journey and Botanic Gardens, I believe."
"Can we just skip?"
"We could."
"Let me guess, you don't want to skip?"
"I want to see little ocean creatures."
I laugh. It's sort of a short scoff, really. "They're not that great, I promise you."
"Will you please just come to Ocean Journey with me? We can skip the gardens. Gardens are boring."
"Why must I?" I ask, frowning as I look over at him.
"Because if you don't, I'll give you a huge kiss with my alcohol-puke mouth." Tom leans closer to me and shuts his eyes, doing an exaggerated kissy-face.
"You're disgusting," I say, smiling as I push him away. "Fine, fine! Go brush your teeth, Mr. PukeMouth."
He smirks and gets out of bed, sending me a wink as he goes to the bathroom. That man really handles hangovers well.
~
The next day, Tom and I were in Kansas. It was sort of late in the day, but we made it, nonetheless.
"I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," I say in a high-pitched voice, mocking The Wizard of Oz.
"But we are in Kansas," Tom says with a smile. "You can only say that after we reach Missouri."
"Shut up." My tone was mean, but my light smile told Tom I didn't mean it. So he, of course, didn't shut up.
"You do realize we're almost halfway done with our trip, right?" Tom then asks.
And that makes me stop what I was doing. I mean, I wasn't doing much in the first place, just sipping at my coffee in the cafe we were in before we went to S.P Dinsmoor's Garden of Eden. But his comment makes me stop and think. I feel as if Tom is still sort of a stranger to me, yet our time together is almost over. I guess it was bound to happen, though. We live in different worlds.
"Cass? You okay?" He asks after a bit since I haven't responded, but instead have just been staring at my cup of coffee.
"Yeah," I say softly. "I'm okay. Are you okay?"
"I'm grand," he answers. "I'm in a coffee shop in Kansas with Cassidy Evans. What more could I wish for?"
I raise an eyebrow. "What about to be in a coffee shop in Paris with Scarlett Johansson? I've heard she's quite the actress."
"Why Scarlett?" Tom asks with a light frown.
"Because she's drop-dead gorgeous, and I'm saying that as a straight woman." I raise an eyebrow at Tom, wondering what his problem is. Then my jaw drops. "Don't tell me you know Scarlett Johansson personally."
"We may have done a film together..." He murmurs.
I nod, frowning. "Right. I won't ask." My eyes go down to my coffee again, and I stir it with my spoon, just staring at the liquid going round and round in circles.
"But for the record, I'd take being here with you any day," Tom says, a warm smile on his face. And I know he's just saying that to make me feel better, but part of me wants to pretend he's telling the truth.
I just smile. "Thanks, Tom."
"What's your middle name?" He suddenly asks.
"None of your business."
He lets out a laugh. "Come on, I'm serious. I want to know. I'll even tell you mine."
"No, you won't."
"I will, I promise."
"No, because I won't let you," I say. "Your name is your personal little secret, remember?"
"It's okay, Cass," he says with a warm smile. "What on earth are you going to do with my middle name? There's nothing that could go wrong."
My lips purse into a thin line as I think about his words.
"Rae," I finally say. "R-a-e."
"Rae," he repeats, a smile on his face. "I like it. Cassidy Rae Evans."
I nod, sighing. "It's a sucky name, if you ask me."
"Mine's William."
"Thomas William. TW. Can I call you TW?"
Tom laughs. "That works for me."
"Perfect. I feel as though I use 'Thomas' too often. And 'Tom' is just no fun. Everyone calls you 'Tom'."
"Well that's my name, so..."
I shrug. "Still. I want to be the different friend. The one who calls you names no one else calls you. How about 'Mr. Sorry'?"
"I've actually been given that nickname before," he says with another light laugh.
"Hm. Damn. Well, TW will work for now, along with Thomas. Possibly William, too.." Then my eyes light up. "Woah. Thomas William, William Shakespeare. What a damn coincidence."
He grins. "Yes... I'm quite fond of my middle name. Mostly for that reason."
"That's cool. I finished Othello, by the way."
"How did you like it?"
"Even better than the last time I read it. I started Coriolanus."
He smiles even wider. "Can I tell you something about the play Coriolanus?"
"No, you may not, since I have a strong feeling it has to do with your career."
"Come on, please?"
"Tom, you're trusting me too much. Just... Follow Luke's advice. Don't trust me."
"He said not to fall in love with you, not don't trust you," Tom points out.
"Well.. Don't do that, either."
He purses his lips, his blue eyes staring at me. I'm not sure if he's purposely doing it, but he's giving me sad, begging eyes. And it makes my heart break. I just want to hug him tightly. And I might, if we weren't in public.
"Don't look at me like that," I say softly.
"What do you mean?" He asks in return.
"That look you're giving me. It just makes me want to hug the crap outta you."
He grins. "Then do it."
I smile and roll my eyes.
"Hm... Do you want to go for a walk?" He asks. "Just around the block?"
I nod. I love how he always knows what to say and do at just the right time. So we pay for our coffees, stand up, and walk out onto the warm streets.
And then I hug him. It's sort of a half hug using only one arm while we walk. And he returns the hug.
"I don't always listen to Luke, you know. Especially when he tells me not to trust or fall in love with such a wonderful woman like yourself," Tom adds suddenly.
I smile and let out a breathy laugh, hugging him tighter. I just feel awfully emotional all of a sudden (I wonder why..), and I don't want to even think about when our trip is over. "I've had so much fun with you, TW. You don't even know."
"Hey, don't talk like that, love," he scolds gently. "We still have time. There's still time."
"Right. You're absolutely right." I take a deep breath and pull a smile onto my face, the warm sun beating down on our bodies somewhat comfortingly.
Tom just grins, taking large, confident strides. I pursed my lips at that moment, thinking of Tom. (Wow, actually thinking of someone other than myself? I'm so proud.) He was so strong. No, not physically strong. I mean, he was that, too. But emotionally strong. Why does he never vent to me like I do to him? He did vent about his ex girlfriend once, but I think that may have been only because he thought I expected him to. I mean, I'm sure he has friends back in London he vents to, but it would just make me more comfortable if I knew he knew he could trust me. Surely a man who's constantly smiling, laughing, and joking has sorrowful moments?
I'm so deep in my thoughts, I hardly notice when Tom stops, and is talking to someone. Focusing on their conversation, and where we are, Tom is buying a flower at a small fresh flower shop on the sidewalk. He hands the woman the money, and she, in return, gives him a rose.
I smile lightly as we continue to walk, feeling my stomach do weird flips. I suppose that's normal, though, when a man is about to give you something, and you just know it's for you, and you're flattered, but you can't act flattered until you receive the item.
Tom seems to notice, though, and he raises an eyebrow. "What, do you think this is for you?"
I"m taken aback by his comment, and I feel my cheeks heat up. "I- I, um... I didn't say that..."
He just laughs heartily. "I'm kidding, Cassidy."
I like hearing him say my name. He says it softly, with such ease, as if a complicated name such as mine just rolls off his tongue. He takes my hand with his free one and lifts it to his lips, giving my knuckles a light kiss. His eyes never leave mine while he does this, which makes it seem both creepy and cute. Creepy because I've never once had that happen to me in my life. But cute because his eyes were cheerful and bright. Then he gives me the rose.
I smile and sigh, looking at it carefully before smelling the sweet, heavy scent. "This is the... fifth one?"
"I believe so, yes," he replies with his signature grin. I just stare at him for a while, smiling back as we walk. He has classic good looks when he just has a natural face. But when he smiles, that's when all of the details come in. His straight, white teeth are bared, forming smile lines around his mouth. His cheeks, of course, are pushed up, causing wrinkle-like lines around the outside of his eyes. His nose always scrunches a bit, too, but that's usually only if he's laughing while he's grinning. The way his tongue sometimes rests just between his teeth when his laugh is true, and loud, and good. Not a fake laugh, but a real, amused one.
"You're staring," he point out gently, his grin now a smirk. And believe me, me staring at him with my dazed expression didn't bother him. He enjoyed it and he knows it. But perhaps he just wanted to know what was on my mind.
"I am. It's just... You're interesting. I still haven't noticed everything about your face yet. Every time you smile, or frown, or yawn, or get confused... There's always something different that I have yet to notice."
He smiles, sort of huffing a bit out of his nose, like a silent laugh that wasn't large enough for him to open his mouth for.
"I think I should be creeped out," he says, his voice low but amused. "But instead I'm sort of honoured to find that my face is interesting."
"In a good way," I quickly add.
"In a good way," he confirms, his smile widening. "And I feel the same about you. You know, people always ask me who the most beautiful woman in the world is. And you know what I think?"
"Hm?"
"I don't have an opinion on who the most beautiful woman in the world. Because even if I did say someone's name, there would be someone out there who would think some other woman is more beautiful. And hopefully, that woman would be their wife or girlfriend. I don't think there is a such thing as that, and world's prettiest girl. Everyone is beautiful to someone else."
I nod slowly, his words making sense in my mind. But I didn't exactly understand why he was telling all of this to me. Perhaps just for good conversation? "That makes sense," I say, mostly because I was afraid my silence would make him think I didn't agree with his words. "And people have different tastes in women."
He sighs, nodding. "We're gettin' deep."
I chuckle lightly.
"One more question for our little question game."
"Shoot."
"Do you believe in true love? That two people are destined to be together?" He asks.
"Ha! I wish I could still believe in that fairy tale. True love. The whole thing is stupid, Thomas. Like, with Henry. And whatever the hell your girlfriend's name was. We thought we were in love with them, didn't we? You'd be lying if you didn't think once to yourself that you'd be with that woman forever, that you were going to marry her, that she was the one. Because I know that's what I thought when it came to Henry. I thought it was 'true love'. But love isn't forever. Marriage isn't forever. Nothing is forever. Everything ends. You gain feelings for someone else as easily as you lose feelings for another. Because, if true love is so real, why all of the divorces? Why all of the cute little photos on Facebook with your husband captioned 'true love', when BAM, three months later, divorce. BAM, a year later, you've developed a crush on some other unfortunate soul. It's a cycle, Thomas. A cycle that we never get out of. You see a couple who's been married for fifty years, and you can bet your ass they've looked at someone else while they were married and developed a little crush on them. True love does not exist. Marriage and love is just what everyone is so desperate to look for their entire freaking lives, and it's pathetic."
By the end of my dramatic speech, I realize I must look quite pissed, and crazy, and out of breath. And Tom... He just looks like an innocent little cottage that had been blown down by the anger of a hurricane. He looks confused, and hurt, and a little uncomfortable. And I realize my speech may have been a little hurtful towards him and his beliefs towards 'true love'.
"Oh, God, Tom, I'm so sorry..." I mumble, pulling my hand out of his. "I didn't mean to explode like that, or offend your past by mentioning your ex. I'm sorry..."
"It's okay," he insists. "I just didn't know you felt that way. It's interesting when you do that. Speak your mind. It's interesting to hear your thoughts. Your complete thoughts, not your filtered ones."
I let out a breath, staring hopelessly into his blue eyes. They never seemed to end. I felt like I could stare into them forever and ever, and I'd forever and ever be lost in them, never able to find my way out again. Trapped. I felt amazed by his words. His strings of words that formed complete, comforting sentences that always made sense. I wondered why that was the only thing he had to say. A comment on how my thoughts were interesting to him. He didn't argue about my views, nor did he try to convince me that true love is, in fact, real, in his opinion. And I just wondered how he could be so hopeful about such a thing if he's never experienced it.