Tom seemed very happy when we talked about dreams. Even though he had accomplished his dream of acting, he still had many more. Whenever he was successful with one, he'd think of another.
"So what's your current dream, then, Mr. Hiddleston?" I ask with a smile. I now felt happier as well. Talking about dreams actually helped me with thinking of a few for myself. I became hopeful for my future. I looked forward to my future.
"I'd like to be a dad."
Well I wasn't expecting that.
"Don't you have to get married first?" I ask with a laugh.
He laughs. "I know that. I guess getting married is a dream of mine, too. Meeting the right girl. But I really want to be a dad."
Reason #249 why Tom and I aren't meant for each other. I feel as if I've just started my life, and here Tom is, ready to settle down. He's done so much more in his life, though, and has so much to show for it.
"You'll be a wonderful dad," I answer with a smile.
He grins. "I hope so." I feel His gaze on me, so I look back at him. "What's your dream, then, have you decided?"
"I think so. I'd like to travel more. And I'd like to write all of it down. Perhaps post it somewhere. I write articles for a living right now." I sigh lightly, realizing I'm saying a little more than I'd like to. But I'm not finished yet. "And I want to get a boyfriend. I don't even care if I like him or not. I just want to meet someone exciting and not dull, and someone who would rather read than play football, and I want to take them home. I want to take them home to my mother and prove to her that I can meet someone out of my small town who is nice. And then I'll probably dump them, I don't know."
He lets out a small laugh. "Well that was unexpected."
"I tend to be that way."
"So I've noticed." We stop at another painting. We still examined them as we walked from each one to the next, we just didn't really talk about them like we were in the beginning. "I have yet to figure you out, Cass," he remarks. "You're just... a puzzle."
I purse my lips lightly. "I don't mean to be. I try to be as simple as possible."
"It's not a bad thing. See, here's a good example. I've told you you're simple before, mostly in the way that you strive to just make the best out of life. That's all you seem to truly wish for, and I admire that. But there's also so much about you that I haven't learned yet. No one can just figure you out immediately. It takes time. And there's just no fun in figuring out someone so quickly. The fun part about becoming closer is slowly peeling back all of their layers until they're just exposed to you, and trust you no matter what."
"And then what, you use their secrets against them?" I grin. "No, I'm kidding. But God, I'm way behind on figuring you out. Do you read from index cards or something? You just... You speak beautifully, to be honest."
He smiles lightly. "It's just years of experience, I guess. Acting has its perks."
I watch Tom as his smile grows wider in my direction, then he looks back to the painting in front of us. I wonder how many layers of Tom I've peeled away? If any? And how many layers have I allowed him to peel off from me? How deep can the both of us get before we part?
"Can I write about you?" I ask.
Tom's attention is turned back to me, and he looks surprised.
"Not you exactly, but... You with a different name. If I wrote about this."
"It depends..." He murmurs, his hand going to his chin. His index finger traced over his bottom lip lightly.
Oh, here we go. Will he list off terms and conditions? Tell me I'll have to ask his manager, Luke? Will he just say no completely?
"How handsome will you write me?"
I laugh suddenly at his question, the weight of worry being immediately lifted off of my shoulders. "Incredibly handsome," I answer with a smirk.
"Then yes, you can write me." He has a light grin on his face, and I can already imagine the different ways I could write him. Perfect on the outside. But secretly flawed. Because isn't he? At first I just thought of him as the perfect gentleman, but now that I know him a bit better, I know more about his flaws. I know he sometimes gets distracted. I know he can get upset. He can even get mad. I know he's not always graceful. I know he doesn't always keep his promises (though he tries so very hard, and I admire him for that. A for effort, Thomas).
"I'll read it," he then says with a smile. "I'll read anything you've got."
"How do you even know my writing is good?" I ask, cocking a brow.
"Because you speak beautifully as well. Especially when you don't think. When you just say what's on your mind."
I snort lightly. "When I don't think, my words are usually rude..."
"I've gotten used to it," he replies.
My lips tug up into a light smile. But I don't say anything back as we move on to the next exhibit.
~
The next day, Tom woke me up rather early and forced me to get ready so we could finish up our time in Indiana. Today we were going to visit the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument.
We both chose rather simple clothing, and had a small bit of tea before leaving. It wasn't a very long drive, and we soon found ourselves just a few minutes away. We chose to walk the remaining way.
But we weren't all giggles and smiles while we walked. My arms were tightly crossed under my chest, and his hands casually rested in his pants pockets. I found this monument to be quite sad, really. There had been a lot of members of my family who had been in wars, and some had even died.
I stop abruptly in front of the monument, still a little ways away so we could see the whole thing. I had read it was about 284 ft tall, and it certainly did look it. I move a bit closer to Tom, my hand sliding around the small of his back, searching for a small hug. He happily obliged, his body moving behind mine and hugging me tightly. And I liked it that way. I felt safer, like nothing could hurt me. Not that I thought anything here was going to hurt me, anyways.
"Did you have family in the wars?" I ask softly.
"Some, yes. Mostly the Revolutionary War."
I frown lightly at the thought of my family fighting against Tom's family. "Me, too," I answer. "I'm sorry."
"It's the past," he replies lightly, shrugging it off. "Are you okay?"
I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... sad. Sad to think of how many people have died just because we can't get along."
"I know," he responds. His grip seems to tighten around me, and I turn my head so my cheek is resting against the fabric of his shirt. He wore a dark blue T-shirt today, with dark, almost black, jeans. He also had on more comfortable shoes than normal. I like his casual look.
"I'm okay," I repeat softly, sort of as a way to assure both him and myself. I pull away from him gently, sending him a small smile as a 'thank you'. "What do you think it would be like to live during the Revolutionary War?"
"Well for you, you'd probably be married by now to a wonderful man. But that man would most likely have to go to War. And for myself, I would probably have to fight as well," he says.
"You'd be married. And you'd have children."
"Which makes it so much worse to have to fight," he says lightly. "We never would have met, I bet, if we lived back then."
"Unless you shot me."
"Cass," he warns lightly, frowning at me.
I sigh. "I'm sorry. I guess you wouldn't shoot a woman. But it's possible and you know it."
"I just don't want to think about it," he admits. "I'm very thankful to live right now, where I can freely travel to America and meet beautiful American women. One specifically whom I've grown a liking to."
I let out a laugh. "Well, who's this beautiful American you're speaking of?" I joke. "I'd very much like to meet her. And you'd better invite me to the wedding, Hiddleston. I'd better be the best man, or nothing."
He laughs with me, finally having a smile on his face. "You're something, Cass," he remarks, shaking his head. "I'm going to miss you."
I nod lightly. "Yeah. I'm going to miss you, too, Thomas."
We stare up at the monument one last time before both agreeing that we've had enough.
It was still early in the day when Tom and I returned to our rooms, so I decided to lay on my bed and go on my phone for a bit. Not much on Facebook. A few messages, which I dont care to reply to. I think another young, unfortunate couple who has lived in that town their whole lives are getting married. Hooray for them.
Tom and I planned to leave Indiana a little after noon, and start for Ohio, where we would visit the Rock N' Roll Hall of Fame, and the Cedar Point Amusement Park. I was pretty thrilled for the amusement park, but Tom was even more thrilled. Like a giant kid, as always.
So, I take a nap, which lasts quite a few hours, and then I decide to take a quick shower and then force myself to speak to my few friends and family back home.
The shower felt wonderful. I mean, it was just an ordinary shower in an ordinary hotel room, but it seemed to have the power to clear my thoughts completely and just relax under the steamy hot water. And as my thoughts were cleared, I began to just focus on my plans, letting nothing else come in my way.
I have the money to travel. I was saving for a new car, but I feel as though I could just man-up and deal with the car I have. I would go everywhere and anywhere that interested me. Italy, Russia, the U.K, Paris. Sure, I didn't expect this to turn into some incredible, life-changing adventure. It would be far from that. But it would be fun.
When I get my thoughts together and get myself clean, I hastily turn off the shower and dry myself off. I had left on the air conditioner, so my room was freezing.
My hair had dried within fifteen minutes of me chatting with some friends on Facebook, though I was too lazy to put anything else on besides a bra, underwear, and robe. I regretted that decision, though, when I heard a soft knock at my door. But, come on, who cares if I answer in my robe? I'll most likely not know the person.
So I jump up from my bed and prance to the door, opening it widely. And instead of someone who works at the hotel, like I'd expected, there stood Tom with a pizza box in his hand, and two red roses gently sitting on top.
I stare at him for a moment, confused.
"Pizza... and Roses?"
"Yeah." He seemed to stare into my eyes, and nothing else, and I realized what his problem was quite quickly. Especially when I noticed his eyes wander when I looked away for just a second.
"I have undergarments on," I explain softly. "I wasn't exactly expecting anyone."
"I guess i should have called..." Some extra color appears in his cheeks as he looks away. Holy crap. He's blushing.
"No, it's okay. Come on in." I smile at him and allow him to enter, shutting the door behind him. I follow him into the small kitchen (which is mostly just a counter and a microwave) where he sets the pizza down, and gets a cup for the roses. "Thank you so much. I've been pressing them all," I tell him. "They're all in my favorite book, in between wax paper."
He seemed happy and honored that I was saving them all. Or that's what his grin made it seem like. He was proud of himself for being able to give me small flowers that I enjoyed so much, and it was good of him to be proud. "You're welcome," he answers. "So I hope it's okay that I brought dinner. I just assumed it was okay for us to eat together. Perhaps watch a film or something."
"That sounds wonderful," I reply, getting some plastic plates out that were offered from the hotel. "What do you want to drink, then?"
"Anything will do."
"In that case, go get us some alcohol."
Tom raises a brow. "You expect me to get drunk before I take us to Ohio?"
"I know you're really looking forward to going to the park tomorrow, but can't it just wait one more day?" I ask with a frown. "I mean, I'm trying my best not to seem pathetic and beg, but can't we just leave for Ohio tomorrow?" I lean against the counter lightly. "You can say no if you want to."
He purses his lips as he looks at me. And then he gives in. "Yeah, okay. No harm in that."
"Are you sure you don't mind?" I ask.
"I'm sure," he says with a smile. "I'll go get us some."
~
Tom had returned five minutes after he left, picking up quite a variety of alcohol from a nearby store. It had surprised me when he came back with that much. I guess he wanted to get drunk more than I did.
We gathered up our pizza, opened some beer and chose a movie on the T.V. And by the time the movie was over, I felt completely satisfied with the effect the alcohol had on my mind. I was sprawled out on the floor, still just in a robe, while Tom took up the entire couch.
"Let's get married!" Tom announces loudly, raising his glass into the air.
"In Paris," I add, though with much less enthusiasm.
"In that cafè of theirs. You know, those... Those writers."
"Is that in Paris?"
"I think so."
"Okay," I say. "When?"
"Next weekend. I'll invite my mum."
"Let's only invite your mum."
"Okay."
"Do I have to kiss you, though?" I ask, scrunching up my face lightly.
"You've kissed me before," he points out. He opens yet another beer.
"I don't want to kiss you again, though. Sheesh. You ask for too many kissies."
"I love kissies."
"No, you love 'kisses'. You're a grown-up, Twiddle-Dee."
"Shut up, Tweedle-Dum. And it's Tweedle-Dee, not Twiddle-Dee."
"Twiddle works better for you, T. W. Hiddle, don't argue. And I don't want to be Tweedle-Dum!" I pout, sitting up and glaring at him.
"Then who do you want to be?" He asks, his eyes meeting mine.
And I didn't know. A new show had started in the background by now, but neither one of us were paying attention. Conversation between us seemed easier when we were drunk. and there seemed to be no tension. Why can't I just be permanently drunk 24/7?
"Me, I guess," I mutter. "I want to be me."
Tom sits up, staring at me. All humor seems to have disappeared as he gives me a gentle smile. "You are yourself. And I love that self."
I close my eyes, sighing gently. And then I smile. "Alright, future husband of mine. I want to crash for the night. So that means get out of my room."
He puts on a gentle pouting face, sliding down to the floor with me, his face just inches away. "But I thought were were gonna spoon, and knife, and fork, and kiss, and marry."
I only knew what half of those things meant, so I just shake my head. "Not today, my darling." I grab his arm and lightly tug him up, both of us stumbling a bit before successfully standing and walking to the door. "Don't get lost on your way back, genius."
"I won't," he says. "Goodnight, Cass. I'm glad we did this."
"I'm glad we got drunk and ate cheap pizza and watched terrible re-runs of old shows, too, Tom." I grin and him, and he grins back before finally leaving for his own room, only needing to use the wall to steady himself once.