If I Can't Have you

(36) Girls night

⚠️TW⚠️
Mentions of r*pe

"Tom, if you feel like you can't eat anymore, you don't have to. You've done so well, don't push yourself," Jemima says, watching him hesitate to take another mouthful of their dinner.

It was the first time in over a decade that he had been able to have three meals in a day. It was the first day he'd gone since coming home from war that he'd managed to find the irrational guilt bearable enough not to force himself to be sick.

Tommy nods appreciatively at her, placing his fork back down on his plate, and taking a sip from his glass of whiskey instead.

"You're tired," Tommy states, "go to bed, darling."

"I've got to tidy up," Jemima responds.

"I'll do it, get yourself a book, read for a bit and then go to sleep," Tommy tells her, "I'll sort it out, and I'll be up in a bit."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, you cooked, I'll clean," Tommy says, and it looks like she's internally debating before nodding, raising from her seat, leaning down to peck his lips before going up the stairs.

Tommy finishes his glass of whiskey, then clears the plates from the table, rolling his sleeves up as he turns the taps on. It didn't take too long for him to clean the utensils she'd used to make dinner, in addition to their plates.

He then grabs a tea towel, drying the crockery and placing them in their assigned cupboards and drawers.

At the end, he gets a cloth, soaking it in hot water and wringing it out, before wiping down the table and the sides. Folding it and placing it over the edge of the sink, getting the tea towel and drying the inside of the sink.

He makes his way upstairs, smiling when he gets into her room seeing her asleep on the bed with a book still in her hands.

Carefully, he removes the book from her hands, placing her book mark in the page and putting it on the bed side table, before stripping down to his underwear and climbing into bed beside her.

It was as if she could sense his presence because she rolls over, placing her arm over his torso and resting her head on his chest, his arm coming round her shoulders. She was fast asleep as he drops a kiss to her head, "I may just be falling in love with you, Jemima."

Falling was probably the understatement of the year. He had completely and unapologetically plummeted. There was no other reasoning to explain how he felt towards her.

It had been eight months since their first date, how had it gone by so fast? He could remember it as if it were yesterday.

Her hair slightly curled, the dark blue dress, the blushes that fell across her cheeks, the way the candles gently lit up her face. It was mesmerising, she is still mesmerising

-

"Max," Tommy says, and younger man follows him into his office.

"Everything alright, Tom?"

"I think I'm the one who should be asking that," Tommy responds, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, and if you feel comfortable telling me, I promise it will stay between us."

"What are you on about, Tommy?" Max asks, chuckling nervously.

"I know you didn't end it with George just because of his wife, I know something else happened - and if you don't want to tell me, I understand, I am not forcing you too," Tommy tells him, "I'm just worried about you."

"Look at you caring about me," Max teases, though Tommy could see right through his act. He could see the slight wetness that glazed over his eyes.

"It's just us in here, Max," Tommy responds, "you've known me long enough that you don't have to put an act up in front of me."