Twelve Red Roses (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Chapter 33- Yet Another Rose

So sorry for the wait, guys. I went to Summer camp for three days, and I've re-written this chapter maybe two or three times. Still not overly satisfied with it.

~

I remember when I first met Tom. I remember it quite well actually. I have to say, we hit it off far better than I usually do with strangers. It usually takes me a very long time to open up to people. But I suppose he's different. He acts as though he truly understands you, and wants to hear your problems. But I'll never know if he truly does want to, or if he's just doing it to be kind.

Things seemed simple back then, even though they actually weren't. But compared to now, things were simple. I usually don't like looking back at the past. I dislike to think about the stupid things I did and said, which I thought were brilliant at the time.

I can't seem to sleep. I toss and turn on the mattress. What was once so comfortable and soft now felt too soft. Like I was just going to sink to the floor.

Unable to take it any longer, I pull the duvet and some pillows off of the bed and arrange myself on the floor, just next to the bed. I can't possibly sleep on such a squishy mattress at a time like this. Not when I'm impatiently waiting for Tom to get back.

I just... I don't understand him, really. It's as if he thinks I won't get jealous. But then again, I shouldn't get jealous. It's not like Tom is all mine. I have to share him with his friends and family.

But his ex? Maybe I don't have to share him with her.

She'd be with us again tomorrow while visiting the Edgar Allen Poe Museum. But if she gets on my nerves during this like she did at the opera, I swear I will not hesitate to give her an unkind lecture.

I stare up at the ceiling for a good amount of time, the plain, white color somehow intriguing me. I suppose it was just helping me with letting my thoughts swarm in my mind, but stay in my mind. The last thing I want to do is burden Tom with my thoughts and emotions. I do it too often already.

Eventually, though, Tom does return, and he's got a brown paper bag in his hand. I can only imagine what his expression is when he sees me on the floor, staring up at the ceiling blankly. I wouldn't know exactly, though, since I'm not looking at him.

"Fuck, Cass, what are you doing on the floor?" His voice sounds overly worried. I hear him set the bag on the ground, and hurriedly kneel next to me.

"I'm just thinking," I answer.

He lets out a breath, taking my hand in his. "You worried me, love. Come on, lets rest on the bed. You're going to ruin your back."

But instead of moving to the bed, I just sit up in the pile of duvet on the floor, tightly gripping his hand so he has to stay.

"I like the floor," I say, finally meeting his blue eyes. He thinks I'm going mad, no doubt.

Tom puts his large hand to my forehead gently, then to each of my cheeks. Then he gives me a small smile. "Well, you're not sick. Just bonkers."

I laugh lightly, and Tom grins, his blue eyes lighting up and being framed by those wonderful crinkles. He leans closer to me, and I'm almost certain we're going to kiss. But we don't.

"I have a surprise for you."

"Oh?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you trying to make up for going out to town without me?"

"Sort of."

"Why so many surprises?"

"Because I love surprising you," he says with a smile. Then he stands and retrieves the brown bag before returning to me. The bag is put on my lap. So I reach in, and my hand comes in contact with something I automatically recognize.