Tom Holland is a Liar: T.H x Reader

Chapter 3

I couldn't ever believe I would be talking to Tom again, not in detest or even resentment but like this in more curiosity even fascination. If he were so good I needed to know how, or why he even decide to tell me this now. I hope that meant change but it couldn't mean it, it couldn't.

Tom and I didn't talk that day that was until I finally reached home. That was when Tom had given me his biggest surprise yet, I picked up my phone and their lied a couple texts from the Holland. I never deleted his number, I couldn't even block him. I thought that if I ever rid the number from my cell I'd never get to see his slip up, never gather his late night message-when he was desperate and lonely but he never messed up. He never texted, never called-he was better than I was in this way. I always thought of him, always.

The first thing I did as I saw his name light the screen of my phone was try to summon any sense of willpower not to open it. Not to let him know how desperate I was for his notification. My mind skipped to conclusions wondering what the boy could have possibly sent but I didn't dare look, if I looked I'd have to answer and if I answer then he'd get the satisfaction of my attention-that I wasn't ready to give just yet. I tried not to look, I truly did. Bobbing my knees up and down as I sit at the edge of my bed counting the moments until it be best to answer. I counted to ten slowly, then again I counted ten more-my phone across from me to limit my temptation to peek.

Another buzz. Was it him? The suspense was immeasurable but I couldn't let him win. As if this was one big game of who'd succumb first and in my mind it was and there was only one loser. It couldn't be me.

I counted down from 50 this time, slowly, carefully making sure I had enough time to show I was a busy person with more important things going on then to answer a measly text. Much less time for a text from Tom, maybe I was trying to prove that I didn't care for him or his words anymore but truth be told even I knew it was a lie. More accurately I was probably scared, terrified more like-to see his 'proof' perhaps I didn't want to hear about 'new Tom' because it was so hard getting over the old one.

I couldn't resist, I grabbed my phone fiddling with speed to open his text. A text of only two words and a time.

"Coffee. Talk. 4 PM" the message read in bright coloured text bubbles. That's only half an hour from now I worry. I answered in hopes we could rearrange this date, even better if we could just text our messages rather than actually speak to each other. In real life. With our words. With him.

I frantically text pretending that I have important plans for the afternoon, my 'important plans' in reality meaning dinner then T.V.

"Can't, maybe another time?" the message felt weird but I sent it anyway. In only a matter of seconds I see the frightful grey bubble-he's typing. Not for long but those seconds felt like hours until his message would prevail. He was getting the most out of me without him even being in the room much less the building. He could probably make me weak through a concrete wall.

"You're lying. Just grow up and show up." he replies through text. He was right, I needed to grow up.

I did. I showed up. At the coffee shop of his choice there he sat, a small table in the corner. It was secluded, private but not lonely-he always had a nag for finding the best table in the house. His looks could get him most places and when it fell short he resulted on his charm next his connections-he could get virtually anywhere with the power of just one phone call.

He wore casual attire in his seat, navy jeans that were loose around his ankles yet still fit his calves and a tight shirt almost hugging his muscles. As if he were parading his athletic physique, showing everyone the body they wish they had or the body they wish was on top of them. I figured he enjoyed bringing out peoples jealousy, he enjoyed mine.

I went up to him, a mystery drink lying in a plastic cup sitting in front of me. I didn't speak before taking a sip of what he had laid out for me, it wouldn't have surprised me if he had filled it up with bleach in order to watch me literally die in front of him. Luckily-no bleach instead laid a regular coffee, two sugar one milk. My usual order-he remembered. I set down the cup hoping he didn't notice the surprise in my face as I realized the power of his memory.

"is it the right order?" he asks. I had the intention to lie through my teeth, he couldn't win.

I keep my stare cold,"No, but it's fine."

He apologizes, that's new. Although that doesn't change the fact that he hadn't apologized when I begged him too. When he cheated, when I cried and when I bargained. Never once did he utter those two easy words, I'm sorry.

"Why am I here Tom?"

"Well what did you expect when you decided to show up?" he asks rightfully so, I didn't know what I expected. I could've blown him off but I didn't. I wanted to see him-without Harrison protecting his every move and counter movement.

I didn't know how to answer,"I'd never expect anything from you."

That wasn't fair I thought, it wasn't fair to constantly dump on him but then again I had no motive for fairness.

He uttered an indescribable noise as if it counted as his defence,"Don't be so hostile y/n," he fretted,"I'm trying to be nice here."

Nice, I had no need for his niceness. I just wanted the fantasy version that I seemed to fabricate for him in my head, somehow in my months of wallowing after our breakup I seemed to craft him an alter ego. I so foolishly painted him as a caring and intelligent young man-his ego made sure that he wasn't of that background though.

I was already tired of his presence I reply in best efforts to up him,"Shut up Tom." Pathetic, my answer was pathetic. How have I gotten so flustered around him? He didn't deserve my embarrassment he didn't even deserve my acknowledgement yet I couldn't keep away. Every time I see a post or an interview of him, of his 'gentlemen like attitude' I grow sick, they didn't even know him. No one really knew him, he was cold and rude and mean just plain mean.

He rolls his eyes at me as if I had been the one to bare in this conversation. "I thought we could be mature here y/n," he says.

"I am mature, I am. If I wasn't mature I would've dumped this coffee on your head and trust me I'm fighting the urge as we speak," I replied, I wasn't lying. I had my hand gripped around my cup just waiting to watch the scorching hot drink run down his stupid head. To watch him grow angry due to my actions, I craved his pain. It was wrong but I craved it.

Then almost as if to call me out on a bluff he speaks,"Do it then."

In front of the entire shop, are you crazy? Not only the patrons of this store but whoever was destined to walk past the window to see me pour my drink on him plus the paparazzi I was sure lurked outside. Where anyone with an iPhone and a Tom Holland fan page would come for me until I was sure there'd be no career left-no career before I even start one.

"No Tom, people will see," I worry.

He smirks, that handsome devil,"Coward."

"I'm not a coward! You're the coward," I try best to sound tough but he was right my stern voice sounded more like wimpy whines than anything of intimidation. I was practically a child throwing a tantrum.

Just then he takes my drink out of my own hands and takes off the lid. I watch him carefully but as soon as he holds it up to his head I start panicking to look around the room-then like nothing he pours the drink all over his perfected hair leaving it a wet coffee filled mess. All matted and smelly I'm sure. A couple people turn heads but no one says anything, I pretend to not know who he was even going as far as exchanging confused glances with other customers.

"You should clean me up darling," he says in almost a groan as coffee drips down his chin soaking his t-shirt. I didn't know what to say, was there even a proper reaction to what he's just done? I was frantic, grabbing at napkins and cleaning the mess he made of our table and even squatting out of my chair to scrub up the floor. Tom didn't even help, he sat in his coffee stained mess not even the slightest bit embarrassed. His face not a tint of red or not even a wince of pain through his body.

I cursed under my breath before I said this,"Get in my car," I say in low grumble.