now that we don't talk [tom blyth]

4.

I never replied to Tom. I've been telling myself it's because I have been 'too busy' preparing material for the premiere. Reality is that I don't want to submerge myself in a conversation that could lead to us discussing Berlin.

I should have told him. Hell, I am scared for his reaction when he walks in the room and sees his ex-girlfriend sat across from him about to berate him with questions that she already knows the answer to. It's a vicious cycle.

My suitcase lay open and flat on the end of the bed as I slowly packed different pants, shirts, shoes, makeup, into the suitcase. For a trip that was only to last a week, here I was packing enough for a small backpacking trip around the entire European coast, without doing any washing.

Since Tom replied, I hadn't been able to escape his face. Every second article, TV station, christ even the billboard I pass on the train to work has his face on it. I would be lying if I said it didn't make my heart flutter, particularly the blonde. He knew I was a fan of it, and nothing has changed in that regard.

I remember him sending me the photo, his sweet smile lighting up the screen. Alongside that photo was a message that told me how excited he was for me to come visit the set. I never actually got to visit - he broke up with me before it could happen. I was meant to visit towards the end of their filming schedule, but the distance, silence and lack of conversation drove us so far from each other that it could not be repaired, at least in his eyes.

Tom had always been that way. Everything was catastrophic and there was no means of return once the world had crumbled around him. Once he made his mind up, that was it. I believe that was why he never replied to my messages about his belongings. In his head, that was it. You break up, go no contact, forget each other exists and that is the end. Amongst all of this, I couldn't help but think he had a change of heart when he decided to message me back to come and collect his stuff. Not to mention he had apologised for not showing - a very out-of-character move for someone who believed the end truly was the end, which left me sat on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down my face as I questioned whether I had made the right decision about going to Berlin.

-

The flight was gruelling. No amount of sleeping pills or melatonin put me to sleep so here I was, wide awake and only 4 hours into my flight. My attention floated between my computer that displayed my notes for the premiere, the screen on the chair in front playing some old episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, and the book that was close to sliding between the seat next to me. It was a quiet flight, thankfully, but came as no surprise as it flew out past midnight. I ended up with the row to myself, my legs spread across the three chairs, my head resting against the back.

I looked through my document on the screen, proofreading questions and planning out my interviews for the weekend. Words were blurring into one but his name stood out amongst the rest.

My manager had told me that I would do an exclusive feature with him that would accompany a Variety photoshoot to be published after the release of the film. She told me we had 30 minutes with each other, followed by 30 minutes with Rachel for an additional piece. Whilst everything seemed to look good, I couldn't help but question it. Why on earth was I on a plane to Berlin to interview my ex? Financial incentive, obviously, but maybe I am more motivated because I need closure. Maybe I should have spoken to him beforehand so these aren't the first moment before we meet.

As the sleeping pills finally started to kick in, I found myself dozing off to sleep for what felt like minutes. I woke up, it being 2 hours until we landed, having missed my first meal of the day and my stomach growling with hunger. I threw back two glasses of orange juice and two panadol to help the headache that was beginning to form between my eyebrows, before opening my computer again to my notes page.

In all my time of being a media journalist, preparing for interviews never go any easier. My job was my lifeline and I spent most of my days preparing myself, studying books and source material, the background of the actors and other projects they had been in, or the musician and their life prior to music. It always made preparation much easier, the questions flowing seamlessly onto the page as if they already existed. Whilst this stood up for the rest of the cast, my depth of knowledge of Tom made it hard for me to foster any ounce of creativity.

Everything felt like a challenge, and each moment that passed I questioned whether I was the right person for the job.

-

The moment I stepped foot in the hotel room, my head hit the pillow. Whilst I had a couple of hours of sleep on the plane, I would hardly consider it of decent quality. By the time I stirred many hours later, the clock read 9pm and I had a text from the videographer confirming he had arrived and asking me to call in the morning to arrange to meet. 

I had forgotten to shut the curtains of the hotel before I slept so the glowing of the full moon seeped through the windows, lighting up the room around me. The city was illuminated beneath me, creating a golden glow that cascaded the streets and buildings. Pulling myself off the bed, I made my way to the window and took a quick photo, sending it to Mia to assure her I still went. I found my suitcase, changed into some clean clothes and made my way down to the lobby and out to the street. Flying in on a Thursday meant the streets were quiet, making it easier for me to make my way to the burger joint on the corner, order, and get back to the hotel in quick time. 

The television in the room hosted nothing of interest and I ended up lying on the bed scrolling Twitter with a stomach full of burger and chips. My mindless scrolling nearly meant I missed the notification at the top of my screen, one that made jaw drop to the ground and incapable of being picked up.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," I muttered under my breath, standing from the bed and beginning to pace around the room. I could feel sweat pooling under my arms, my breath becoming quicker and more shallow. The room almost felt like it was going to start spinning before I sat down, placing my phone next to me, the message displayed on the screen.

Tom: Why didn't you tell me you'd be at the premiere?