You Feel Like a Dream (18+)

Frustration and Deflation

   Days went by before I finally received a message, one with a code he would use. I can't even believe my age; I have to carry on like this. It's not what I thought, but then I don't know what I was thinking, allowing him to smoke with me that night. I should have bit my tongue when he suavely, confidently, and charismatically walked outside on that patio. With his three-piece vest suit, his slicked-back hair, entirely grown, groomed beard. Adorned with sensational shoes and that British accent. Goddammit, I just should have turned on my New Yorker tough girl and said NO FUCKING WAY GUY, GET LOST. Then non of this would be happening. I'd be wondering in my life, my world. Not always pondering about Tom, Tom fucking Hardy... What a dumb damaged immature pathetic girl I have become. Like an obsessed groupie. Perhaps that is what he views me as. 

 
  When my assistant passed this cryptic message on to me, she hesitated to say that said though he sounded creepy and desperate didn't know if it was real or not. I knew it was him; I hurried her off to lunch and took my time reading every word slowly and carefully as if I was studying for an exam. Sad, so sad I became this. I'm so fucking angry with myself for allowing this person to get inside of the most intimate and bring out the most intense parts of me. The pain I am feeling is gut-wrenching. I slowly reach for my cellphone and dial in the number he left. I call it and get voicemail. I look over at the clock to see the time difference. I leave a message even said the number so he would have a voicemail of it. I wanted to give him a pass that he had trouble with his phone, and my phone number had gotten lost somehow. Was it a lame excuse, yes, but stranger things do happen. Who would have thought I'd be watching Taboo on television not too long ago. Then only in a matter of a year plus and then some, "James Delaney" was emptying his soul, his spirit, and his luscious seed into me.

When we finally did get to speak, we had the extra echo, the repeating over each other cell phone connection. It got to the point I didn't want to talk. It became just different conversation over another. Since the signal he had was just terrible and annoying. He wouldn't hear my speaking until he was already talking about something else. We tried camera that was life-changing. That you could use a cell phone now and have such a grainy unstable connection, I felt spoiled rotten. It's was like having to go to the public community pool when your own private pool is unsafe until worked on. Every time we tried to speak or cam, it ended in me feeling worse, emotionally drained, and frustrated. This goes on for weeks, now going into months 3 to be exact. Wondering if and thinking at this point, heaven forbid I got pregnant. I was saddened but relieved. I can't even have a phone conversation without it sounding like he is at sea, that he wouldn't even hear correctly if I told him I was having his child. Finally, he had gone for a few days to a city hotel. We were able to see one another for really the first time in 12 weeks. Which was too long, and we never turned off the cameras for several hours. We cried in the beginning and ending with us begging for one another to cum, and cum hard, dirty talking our way through cam sex. 2 days was all I got. Several hours yes, on the camera. Speaking on the phone, but it wasn't enough. When he went back to filming on set, I eventually stopped answering his calls. I couldn't cry anymore; having just a tease was more like the worst torture. Although my love had grown, my heart was gutting the longer time went by.

  Four months and I had enough, Tom Hardy or not! I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't feel he was working hard enough to keep us close and getting closer. I began pulling further apart. I knew it had become apparent to him when the day before, I did not respond to what he could get to send. Or voicemails he left. Yet the next day, he rings, and I receive a clear camera live rolling video chat with him. I began to tell him I was no longer enjoying this. That it was wrecking me more then it was making me feel loved or wanted or even heard for fucks sake.

  He immediately got angry. I've seen this lovely side of him. But usually, after it, we made love or fuck love. He was mad that I did not understand the grueling schedule he had and that it was complicated to make it to the nearest city. Most were living onset or INNs closest to the location. But he would be finished as soon as he could. The shoot was longer than expected due to bad weather. Could I go to see him? Or would barely see him. Yes, yes, at least I could, but it wouldn't be for long. One hour tops a day, it should have been worth it to me, but the way I felt it becoming worth not much. Not that we didn't care for each other so profoundly. I don't think I can deal with his lifestyle. I'd rather be alone. Then with someone and be lonely. I didn't want this to happen to us. But it was, he was most convincing that once he was done, he would take a break so we could work together on our "life" together. So far, it wasn't right. I was unhappy; every bit of joy was robbed anytime we spoke. Because it became longer and longer til we would even step foot on the same soil, let alone country, and be with one another.

I started to doubt that now Martone had moved out, as did Loren. Here I am all alone in my big old brownstone, with a heart full of love that was just dwindling out of light, of hope. I had become utterly hopeless and heartbroken; it was official the calls, texts, and messages stopped coming from him. We did not leave off well on our last camera call. In fact, I being the cold-hearted bitch that I am, cause I'm too afraid to let anyone in. Hung up, and he called back ten times before he gave up. I went and took a walk around the block. Spring was upon me, and so was Spring cleaning. I felt foolish and furious with myself that I believed an actor of all people that I was everything he ever wanted. I became the opposite the moment I stopped taking any form of communication with him.