The Cherry House

The Cherry House Part 9

Tom POV:

The next week goes by like watching paint dry, a torturous seven days that weighed me down like rocks on my back. It was a week of a sack of bricks tied to my ankle in the middle of the ocean, alone and drowning in the stillness.

I was at The Cherry House every single day. Rushing off set, hurrying to watch it open, I held that fading piece of hope as tight as I could in my hands, but I could feel it slowly slipping away through my fingers like sand. I'd ask Mr Anderson every god damn day of he'd seen you, pleading for an answer I knew he couldn't give me. "Don't worry kid, she's fine wherever she's at. She always is. I think now you should worry about yourself." He had advised me on the fifth consecutive day I came, choosing to ignore his words and return anyway. I just had to.

Apparently she skips town often whenever she can to "escape for a bit". I begged him to tell me if there was anything I could do for her, something he knows from looking out for her for years that I don't. And his straightened lips and unreachable eyes told me there was something else. Then he just said to ask her if I ever get the chance. I had those words engraved in the back of my mind, hoping by force I would turn back to them when my faith begins to shake. And it was, especially near the end of the week when I thought about how I never told you how you truly made me feel. I was almost convinced it was a hallucination, a pathetic attempt made by my brain to fill in the empty space when I saw you. But it was real, you were there. In your usual high top stool, red cushioned at the top and brass legs to support it, I assume that's your favourite spot, it only makes sense. Your clothes hung messily around your shoulders, your feet crossed, resting on the bar at the bottom of the stool. I cautiously make my way over to you, nervous if I move too fast you'd disappear. Then I saw what was in front of you. Your hands flat against the table, glaring down at a bottle of beer between them in a gruelling staring contest, one you knew you'd lose. You felt my presence, hardly showing it on your face other than the slight twitch of your lip as I pulled out the stool next to you and sat down. Your eyes never left the bottle as I waited for any movement from you, you seemed so lost in its world. I wondered how long you'd been sat like that.

Tom: Are you going to finish that?

I asked pointing at the completely full beer, finally seeing your eyes drift down to the table in defeat. You slid the bottle over to me, crossing your arms and leaning forward as you continue to avoid my eyes. You shook your head and sighed heavily, watching me as I place the bottle back on the other side of the counter.

Y/n: I'm sorry for leaving you like that.

Your voice seemed so weak, so unlike the first time I was fortunate enough to hear it.

Tom: It's okay.

Y/n: No it's not. I knew you'd say that. It's not okay, I left you and I didn't even tell you why. It's not that I don't like you Tom, I do, a lot.

Tom: Then what is it?

She bit her lip and a smile I knew was so painful to display appeared on her face, a reminder of her undeniable strength.

Y/n: I want you to go be Spider-Man. Go make more movies, travel the world, live your dream without anything holding you back.

Tom: You're not holding me back-

Y/n: I'm not what you deserve Tom. You deserve so much more. My life, it's too complicated at the moment, I'm scared if I drag you into it you'll get lost and I want you to be happy. Your happy isn't with me.

The wavering of her voice was a ticking time bomb to when she would shut down completely and give into the tears desperate to fall. Mine stung with the pain of holding them back, a failing tactic that only made the downpour worse.

Tom: I want you.

Y/n: You'll find someone else.

Tom: I don't want that. I want you.

I persisted. She pursed her lips and twiddled her thumbs, waiting for a response she could use that would satisfy us both, but none ever came.

Tom: Everyone's gonna miss you.

Y/n: We can still be friends. All of us. You and I too.

Tom: You know I won't be able to live like that.

She nodded and stared back down at her hands. Her voice now more vulnerable than ever.

Y/n: Then I guess we should give each other some space.

Tom: Yeah...

No. I don't want that. Being away from her is the last thing I want. She pushed her stool back, the scraping against the floor burning in my ears, me instinctively doing the same. I stood in front of her, unsure of what was going to happen next, she was always so unpredictable. Yet when her arms wrapped themselves securely around my neck, and her head rested on my shoulder, my body melted into hers, feeling whole once again. She clung onto me with a sense of never wanting to let go, and of course I did not want to either. So we stayed holding each other, for as long as the day would allow us, until she slowly pulled away and captured my eyes one final time.

Y/n: Goodbye Tom.

She said as she buried her hands into the pockets of her jacket and walked out. That day was six months ago. Six months of being away from her. Filming had lasted a bit longer than what we had thought, travelling back and forth between countries strained us all until we could barely keep our smiles on for the press. But we still did, and for me, that was the hardest part of it all. Pretending to be happy, cheery, full of life when the one thing I want, I couldn't have. There were countless interviews asking me whether or not I'm dating or if I'm seeing anyone. "No, I'm very much single" I'd say. Praying you wouldn't be on the other end of the satellite hearing my forced words. An endless charade I was tired of playing, but still I must continue. The only times when you would manage to slip my mind was when enough alcohol could cover up the memories for a few fleeting moments. Numbing me enough to drink and drink until I wake up the next morning in a foreign bed, a stench of misery and regret following me through until the next time it happens. The coping mechanism suggested by my friends only making me feel a million times worse. But as preached, time will heal all pain. So time, I await your sweet mercy. I tie up my shoes and fix my hair in the mirror before heading out for another night at the club. Another night of tortured happiness.