Finding You, Looking for Me: A Henry Cavill FanFic

Part 33: My Kind of Town

I awoke abruptly. For a moment, I forgot where I was. I blinked and blinked again. The sound of the fasten seatbelt signal returned me to reality.

I was uncomfortable. Even first class was uncomfortable when you're wearing restrictive lingerie and a tailored Valentino dress. My Louboutins were discarded on the floor next to my seat.

I pulled a mirror out of my clutch and popped it open. My tear-streaked face appeared in the reflection—my lipstick was nearly all gone and there were only remnants of my makeup remaining. My hair was a fright, and tucked back behind my ears.

I carefully peered at the space around around my seat. The other passengers were either reading, sleeping, or chatting amongst themselves—no one seemed to notice the distraught woman in an expensive cocktail gown traveling with no luggage.

My head throbbed, reminding me of the the tequila from the night before. That opened the door for all the memories of the night before.

"Henry, take responsibility for your role in this. You invited me into your bed."

I shook my head, trying to shake the thought away. I had cried drunken tears all night, until I finally boarded a flight to Chicago. Despite my appearance, no bystanders approached me with anything more than an apologetic smile.

"Please, fasten your seatbelt—we are preparing to land," a warm voice said to me. My eyes met the eyes of the British Airways flight attendant. I nodded quietly, and sat up straight, fumbling with the buckle before strapping myself in. The flight attendant continued down the aisle, and I noticed the sun streaming through the windows into the cabin of the plane, as the other passengers in first class also began strapping themselves in.

I leaned my head against the window, and watched the city below me grow larger as we approached the airport.

I found myself walking through the airport, with only my clutch in my hands. I was wearing the Valentino dress and my Louboutin heels, and walking through O'Hare Airport outside of Chicago—definitely getting quizzical looks from the other travelers. I made my way to the passenger pick up area.

"Well, that's a look," I heard someone call out. I turned my head to see Tyrus, hanging out of the drivers' side window of a Honda Civic, and waving at me enthusiastically.

I smiled, relieved to see his face. I had called him from Heathrow, knowing that only he would be awake at that hour and willing to pick me up from the airport.

"You're a goddamned sight for sore eyes," I said to him as I climbed into the front seat of the Honda.

"No luggage?" he asked me.

I shook my head, "Nah, I just thought I'd pop by for a second."

Tyrus laughed at me. "Sure. We've got a forty minute drive home, so you can tell me the real story."

We left the airport grounds and entered the expressway. Tyrus was blasting Frank Sinatra on his stereo and began to tell me about life in the bar industry outside of Chicago.

"You're kind of a legend in the area, you know," he said to me, giving me a wink.

"Am I now?"

"Oh, yeah, it's the fairytale Pretty Woman story. Handsome, rich guy meets hooker and they live happily ever after," he said to me, weaving in and out of traffic.

I chuckled. "Well, I guess I can see the similarities—minus the prostitution."

Tyrus shook his head, and took a deep drag off a cigarette. "Bar folks, we're essentially prostitutes. We just don't get paid as well, and our hours are much longer." He sped through the traffic, glancing at me from time to time.

"It's not a fairytale, Ty," I muttered, looking down at my hands, my engagement ring glinting in the sunlight.

"What happened?" Tyrus asked me. "You're going to have to tell me."

I nodded, and began the story—from the absolute beginning. The whirlwind romance that moved me from Chicago, to LA, to London—and now back again. I told him about my pregnancy and the engagement party. Without tears, I managed to tell him about the worst day of my life—losing Oliver. I told Tyrus about the Ben incident, the fight with Henry, and our reconciliation. The paparazzi and Henry's fandom hounding me incessantly. I even admitted to him that I went to the Savoy to meet with Ben.

We sat in the driveway outside of my home, which had sat empty, aside from a few guests here and there, in my absence. I recounted my depression and my moment of enlightenment—vowing to regain my self.

Finally, I told him about the events of the last twenty-four hours—which led me to phone him from a payphone in Heathrow Airport.

"Why did you call me?" Tyrus asked me.

I smiled sheepishly. "Your number is the only one I know by heart. And I left my phone at the party..."

He laughed. "Understood."

"I've never felt like that before," I said quietly.

"What happened after she said that?" he asked me, being delicate.

"I-I backed away from him. Like he was a stranger. I couldn't hear what he was saying to me. All I heard was what she said..." I answered, closing my eyes and sighing heavily.

"And you left?"

"Yes, straightaway," I nodded. "I left the party and went directly to the airport."

"Sarah, he's probably looking for you," Tyrus said, softly. It was the most serious I'd ever seen him. His big blue eyes were wide and sincere.

I opened my eyes and leaned back in my seat, staring out of the sunroof. "Ty, my heart is broken. I love him so much."

"You don't even know the entire story, Sarah."

"What is there to know? I was pregnant with Oliver when... he met her."

Tyrus raised his eyebrows. "But, Sarah..."

"Yes, I know," I answered. "I know!" I shouted at the ceiling. "How on earth can I fix any of this?"

My own indiscretion was the obvious wrench in my logic. How could I be upset with him—when I did...what I did?

"I'm not angry at him, Ty. I'm heartbroken that our relationship is this...broken," I sighed again.

Tyrus nodded and reached over and embraced me. "You'll be okay, kid. Go in and wash up. I'll take you for pancakes."

I hugged him tightly, a few tears rolling down my face. "Thank you, babe. This means a lot to me."

After a long, hot shower, I dressed myself in jeans and an old concert t-shirt. At the mirror, I tried to pin back my unruly hair. The glamorous woman from the night before was nowhere to be seen. It was just me, Sarah, from outside of Chicago. I was filled with regret and now another emotion—dread.

I just left him. Without a word.

Tears began streaming down my face. I wiped them away and tried to shake off the feelings, quickly grabbing my purse and heading out the door.