Breakdown - Tom Petty

Crawling Back to You

"You were right. It isn't my fault. But it's not yours, either." Tom smiled. "Come here."

Ayla walked up to him, over the prairie grass that was beneath their bare feet. Wherever they were, it certainly wasn't Florida. That much was all they knew. Her feet crossed through the grass and dirt, but remained clean when she stood face to face with him. Her jeans were worn out at the knees, as were Tom's. Her shirt had come untucked and blew around her in puffy strands of material. Beneath her feet, flowers were crushed. She stood on the remains of weeds when Tom embraced her.

His arms were strong but also weak. They trembled against her shoulders, and Ayla gently placed her hands on them to steady. He relaxed. Ayla shifted her hands to Tom's own shoulders. She was not shaking, and he was glad for that. One of them had to be strong.

He smiled at her. She reflected the expression. And the truth hit him like a torpedo. He was breathing alright, and feeling fine. His pupils expanded a bit when he met her eyes. He realized in that moment that he truly felt something for her.

His lips met hers. Hesitation was not present. Neither of them faltered, but persisted. It was nice, sweet, lovely. Love was a drug, the best kind of all. Her hands fumbled and replaced themselves back onto his shoulders. His hands had somehow found their path to her waist. They were relaxed. The outside world ceased to exist. They were all they had. It was out of desperation that Tom persisted to kiss her, even when she took a few steps back.

She said what she had to say. "I love you, Tom."

It was difficult for him to find the words. He could hear them quite well in his mind, but, somewhere along the path, the words got lost heading from his brain to his lips. He tried to say something - anything - but all that came out was the light wind of breathing.

"I'm sorry," he blurted. He was amazed he could still speak, but if that was all he was going to say, he could not face her. "I - As do I."

It wasn't the message he was looking for, but it was close, close enough, perhaps.

"Thank you," Ayla breathed. She reached up to touch his hair, brush it away from his face. "It means a lot, Tom."

There was something off in her voice. Not a falter or a crack or a break. Just a lie. Honestly, he wasn't surprised.

"You're welcome," he said right back to her. It was what he deserved. A lie for a lie.

She kissed him again, and he could suddenly feel the desperation and tension that had been with them for a while. He didn't know how long, but it had been long enough for him to realize what he felt was the truth. And how Ayla had paid him back, that was a lie. It was no different than the past. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. Especially not the world he lived in.

~

Tom woke up, slightly startled to find the telephone a good few inches away from his face. The dream was still lingering in his mind. A prairie, and a couple of kisses from Ayla. And the burning sense that there were lies.

He shook his head. It was a hopeless fantasy, something he was used to. He loved Ayla, he knew, but she wasn't coming back anytime soon. She could have well lied on the telephone. She could not be coming back.

It was a strange thing to think. He had survived half of a month without her. And he was fine, yes, he was. He had survived off of distractions, but he did not need distractions to steer him away from what he really wanted. He needed the true thing.

He dialed Ayla's number, which he had memorized quickly. The monotone dial tone drifted into his ear. He waited and waited. He kept at it for a good fifteen minutes, muttering, "Please. Ayla, you're alright, aren't you? You're alright, please."