Unscripted Love • A Tom Hardy fanfic

Chapter 67

It was after lunchtime when Tom wrapped his interviews the next day. He was looking forward to relaxing for the rest of the afternoon in the posh hotel room. Laughing as he opened the door to see Fiona still asleep, sprawled across the bed. Climbing in next to her, Tom ran his fingers down her naked back. She was in just her bra and panties from the night before when she drunkenly slipped out of her dress and instantly fell asleep. 

Tom took off his array of necklaces and put them on the nightstand. Sneaking his hand in the back of Fiona's panties, he pulled her toward him. Eyes fluttering open, Fiona put a hand on his chest and pushed him away. He let out a laugh, like he usually would if she teased him.

"I'm serious, don't touch me," Fiona put her pillow between them and moved as far away as she could.

"Hungover, love?" Tom ignored the pillow and stroked her head.

"I said don't fucking touch me," Fiona got up from the bed. She was hungover and regretted the impulsive altitude change. Head pounding, she pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her body.

"What?" Tom sat up. He had no idea where that came from. "What's the matter?"

"You are what's the matter. You're a real great actor," she went into the bathroom and slammed the door. She was leaving today, she'd stay at the airport for hours or days if she had to. She just had to get out of there.

"Did I do something wrong?" Tom shouted. He could hear the shower turn on as he pounded his fist on the closed wooden door.

Fiona opened it abruptly, "You and Jessica are fucking revolting. You said you didn't sleep with her and I believed you. I really did. I was a fucking idiot."

"What? I never slept with her, never."

"Right," she slammed the door in his face and locked it. She took a shower as fast as she could. She packed up all her toiletries, at least the important ones, she really didn't care anymore.

Fiona stepped out, her wet hair hung over her shoulders as the white towel covered the rest. She slipped a pair of jeans on under the towel, whereas she would usually let Tom watch. She grabbed her suitcase and threw it on the bed.

"Love," Tom stood between her and the dresser. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving," Fiona looked around, it was obvious.

"Our plane is tomorrow afternoon."

"I'm leaving you. Please move," she gave him a push to get her clothes from behind him.

"What? Over me doing my job?" Tom was angry and moved to be in her way more, his hand over the drawers. Giving up, she packed what she could behind her.

"No, Tom. Over you and Jessica, the perfect couple," Fiona knew he was going to constantly deny it. "I saw everything. I saw her hands all over you, I saw yours all over her. The flirting, touching, giggling, I saw it all."

Tom paused, "we're just friends."

"Ok cool, I'm gonna go home and be "friends" with people I meet and you tell me how innocent it looks," Fiona zipped her suitcase and grabbed her purse.

"This is fucking ridiculous, you know that, yeah? You're being completely over dramatic about nothing," Tom rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand as she went to lift the suitcase. 

"Let go of me," she said, pulling her hand from his grip.

"At least stay, why do you have to leave right now? Stay and talk to me," Tom pushed her suitcase hard, making it fall off the other side of the bed.

"I don't care, keep the suitcase. I just need my passport," she shook her purse at him.

Tom picked up the suitcase and wheeled it toward her. Grabbing the handle, she pulled it from him with unnecessary force. Her eyes met his, making her heart break more. The butterflies that were once rampant were now dead and decomposed. His face made her nauseous.

As she rolled the suitcase toward the door, her eyes welled up. She bit her lip hard, trying to inflict physical pain to ward off the emotional agony that she knew would never subside.

"Love…" Tom said, as she opened the heavy wood door to the hallway.

"I wish I was your love. I really do," Fiona took a step back inside. Her hand shook as she placed the ring he gave her on the entry console table.

"Stop," his voice was close to breaking, his eyes were overflowing already.

Without looking back at him she turned and shut the door, wheeling her suitcase toward the elevator. Tears ran down her face faster than she could wipe them. Once inside the small lift, she dug around her purse looking for a Xanax. Finding one loose at the bottom, she blew some lint off it and popped it in her mouth, swallowing it dry.

"Fi! Fiona!" Tom had run down the stairs to catch her and was sprinting through the expensive hotel.

"Don't make a scene," she whispered to Tom as he stopped in front of her. "Let me go."

"No. We're not breaking up. We can fix this," Tom pleaded.

"Maybe we could have last year, but it's too late now," she went around him. She looked up and low and behold who was walking through the front doors, Jessica. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Fiona, please stay," Tom ignored Jessica's entrance.

Fiona stopped walking and turned to Tom. In a quiet voice she said, "you're free to fuck her now without the guilt. Enjoy."

"Oh are you leaving?" Jessica asked Fiona, not hearing her comment to Tom.

Fiona wasn't one to make a scene, but Jessica had it coming. Fiona let go of her suitcase handle and pulled her right hand back before smacking Jessica across the face. The sound was ear piercing, everyone around them looked at her. Jessica put her hand over her face in complete shock unable to utter any type of response. Fiona continued outside, pulling the heavy suitcase to the curb. Unravelling her earbuds, she put them in and raised the volume almost all the way up. She most certainly did not want to hear the repercussions of her actions going on behind her. The adrenaline began fading as the taxi pulled up, she tried to hop in before the tears escaped down her face again. As the car pulled away from the curb, she could see Tom through the window talking to security; they were clearly trying to assess the situation caused by such a layman. For a moment, however, their eyes met, reminding her of their first date and her storming off in almost the same manner. This time she didn't smile, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against her hand. She didn't need to remember that image, even though she knew she would, of him standing there as their relationship shattered.