now that we don't talk [tom blyth]

1.

Following a breakup, most people will cycle through the 7 stages of grief: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, and acceptance. It can take 1-2 years to move through all 7 stages, and to give yourself 3 months to begin to heal from a breakup.

So why, 6 months after our breakup, was I still stuck in stage 1?

I still couldn't wrap my head around it. How did it even happen? Why did it even happen? I still hadn't come to the realisation that it was over.

I was still leaving his side of the bed empty, still leaving his colognes in the bedside table, still hadn't move his soap out of the bathroom or his boxers out of my drawers. I was still grappling with the shock from that night.

Healing was getting infinitely harder too, with his face plastered across half of New York, on film posters and billboards, on every morning television show. Every time I thought I was progressing through to the next stage, I was pushed right back to square 1: the pure shock of the night it happened.

I sighed as, yet again, the breakfast shows were talking about his new film. I grabbed the remote from the table and turned the TV off, standing and dragging my feet into the kitchen. I pulled my hair into a bun before proceeding to make a coffee, moving his favourite mug out of the way to grab my own. I leant against the cold, marble counter, staring out of the living room window and watching the first flakes of snow start to fall. Winter was near.

Since he left, my apartment had felt the emptiest it had ever been. The coldest it had ever felt. The quietest it had ever sounded. Boxes of his belongings still littered the floor, still waiting for him to come and collect them. I rolled my eyes, pulling my phone out and sending another text, preceded by the 17 others that I had sent over the last 4 months.

Kira: Your stuff is still here.

I turned my phone off, throwing it across the counter and taking a sip of my coffee that was still warm enough, but cooling quickly. It quickly warmed my body, just enough to start to move around the apartment.

Finishing my coffee, I showered and dressed into some pants and a fitted shirt to wear into the office. It was a rare occasion that I would have to go work in the office, and this was on of those days. Part of me was grateful that I wouldn't have a reason to open my TV and see his face again, the other part of me well aware that going to work didn't decrease the likelihood of me being reminded of him. In fact, it was infinitely higher.

I had been working as a journalist for Variety for 2 years. During college, I had completed my internship before they offered me a full-time role in media journalism. I loved every second of my job. What I didn't love what that my ex-boyfriend worked in the very industry that I reported on. I couldn't escape it.

The train slowed to a halt at my stop and I bustled out with the other half of New York City that was on that very ride. I grasped my bag a little tighter and picked up my pace as I headed to the building at the Trade Centre. The lift, almost bursting at the seams just like the train, couldn't have made it to the floor any quicker. By the time I got there, I was running a perfect 3 minutes late.

"You're late. 3 minutes," Cara giggled from the front desk. I rolled my eyes at her, sending her a smug grin before finding my office, tucked at the back corner of the floor. My computer was pinging with emails the moment I opened it. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the noise.

"You don't seem impressed."

My gaze flicked up to the door. Mia, one of the other journalist, stood in the doorway, dressed in a perfectly steamed lilac pantsuit, her blonde hair pinned back from her face. She made her way into my office, shutting the door and sitting in the chair opposite. She picked up the bobble head Stitch off my desk, flicking his head back and forth.

"Is it Tom?" she questioned, still flicking Stitch's head.

"I can't fucking escape him," I huffed out, typing my password in furiously.

"Has he picked up his stu-?"

"No. I texted again this morning. I want it gone."

"Take it to the thrift store," she said with a shrug, placing Stitch back on the desk, his head still wobbling.

"I want to but... I just can't," sighing, I finally turned to look at Mia. She held a blank expression on her face.

She had made her opinions of my situation abundantly clear over the last few months. Either I throw all of his stuff out or take it to the thrift store, or I call him up for a root. I wasn't particularly fond of either.

"I'll do it for you," Mia shrugged her shoulders again. Surely they are sore from all the shrugging she does at me.

"No it's fine. I'll call him this weekend," I signed out, fiddling with a pen between my fingertips.

"Will you though?"

"Yes. I promise."

"Great, I'll call you Sunday to see if you did, and don't think I won't," she stood up, brushing off her pants and straightening her jacket, pointing her finger at me.

"I don't doubt you will," I rolled my eyes as she exited my office, letting out a sigh and turning to my computer.

Despite working from home the last 2 days, it seemed as through I hadn't done as much work as I thought, my inbox showing 245 unread emails. Not to mention, I had interviews and articles to prepare on top of all of this.

Films and TV shows were releasing left, right and centre at the moment, barely giving me a moment to breathe in between each release. I had been bouncing from premiere, to red carpet, to interviews, to another red carpet, back to an interview, and another premiere, all over the last 2 months. You'd think all of this would stop me from thinking of him, but it didn't. He was on my mind more than ever. About 4 emails down, one subject line caught my eye - Film Premier 17th November - Berlin.

I clicked on the email, my eyes glossing over the words quickly. Then I stopped. Both in shock and horror.

Interviews will be conducted with the cast of The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. This is inclusive of, and not limited to, Tom Blyth, Rachel Zegler, Josh Rivera and Hunter Shafer.

Him. They were asking me to fly to Berlin to for a film premiere and to interview him.

I mean, they weren't to know. How would anyone in Variety or him team have any idea of the history between her and Tom Blyth. Up until this film, not many people knew of him, now his face and name were across every corner of the internet. This was bound to happen at some point.

I started drafting a mental email declining the offer to the event. I couldn't go. I couldn't sit in front of him after the heartbreak I'd experienced. I couldn't pretend like I hadn't cried over him nearly every night, or hadn't moved his stuff out of my drawers. I'd be lying to him if I said I was fine. The idea of going to Berlin and working as a professional in front of him horrified me. The mental email was writing its way into its final paragraph when I read the end.

All flights, accomodation, and expenses will be covered. Attendance of the event will incur a 15% promotion and a $5,000 bonus. Please advise your Communications Manager if you agree to attend.