now that we don't talk [tom blyth]

5.

I cannot catch a break, can I?

I make the grown-up choice to not tell him I am at the premiere, and somehow he works out I'll be there. I make the grown-up choice to not reply to his message, now I have to see him in a few days and it not be spontaneous and 'by accident'. Maybe 'grown-up' wouldn't be the best way to describe my choices. I would lean towards more 'childish' the more I look at it.

For as stubborn as we both were, we also weren't the more mature decision makers, often leading us both to poorly made decisions and the consequences that followed.

I had spoken to my therapist about it. In fact, most of my sessions revolved around all the things I did to fuck up the relationship Tom and I had. Now, it would be wrong of me to say that it was entirely my fault, because it wasn't. I wasn't the one that went overseas for a job, stopped talking to my girlfriend, titrating the conversation off before cutting it loose over a text message. I also wasn't the one who ignored her desperate attempts to have my belongings removed from her house so she could even begin to grow and heal from the heartbreak. I also wasn't the one who took small inconveniences and make them so big and dramatised that it is everyone else's problem to fix instead of my own. So no, it wasn't all my fault.

What was my fault, however, was the arguments that eventuated from this. I couldn't handle living in this constant state of catastrophe. With Tom, he lived thinking the world was against him, the world hated him and everything happened to ruin his life. Living alongside of that was draining, leaving me feeling like I was walking on eggshells around him. Often, when I tried to confront these situations, it would end in me becoming stubborn, cutting him off, refusing to communicate and throwing the 'I give up' card and storming into the other room. He would follow, we'd have sex and fall asleep, acting as though the night before never happened.

That was the cycle, and that cycle broke the moment he went to film. Whether it was because I was no longer there to withstand his dramatisation of the world, or he got bored of whatever it was between us, something happened and that was it.

My therapist had been the one to suggest I reach out, ask to talk, ask when he was back in New York and could collect his stuff, and I did, several times. He never replied. Until a couple weeks ago, and he never showed. I was also no better, having still ignored his message from home asking if he could collect the boxes when he returned. She had also suggested I stop running away from problems when they got too difficult, like I was now, ignoring the message staring blankly at me on my phone.

It was 4pm in New York and I could easily call Mia and ask what she thinks, but what would I be learning from that? I would be getting another person to fight my battles for me. Instead, I sighed and picked up my phone from beside me.

Be professional, I told myself, that is the only way to get around this.

Kira: Yes, I am attending the premiere and I am completing a feature on you, Rachel and conducting interviews with the cast. I believed it to be unprofessional to tell you in advance nor necessary. Look forward to seeing you :)

My tired eyes took over before I could read his reply, and as the sun shone through the window at 7am, I dreaded even looking to see what the reply could be. I had heard my phone ring with a notification as I fell asleep, but I had not an ounce of power in my body to have a look at it, despite my mind racing with guesses of what he said.

I made myself a cup of tea and went out to the small balcony that hosted a chair and table that looked over the city, the lights now absent and replaced with the glow of the sun casting down on the buildings below. I opened my phone, seeing Tom's reply staring back at me.

Tom: It would have been nice to know.

Taking a deep breath, I found Mia's contact and hit the call button. It was past 1am in New York but the girl was up until 2 or 3 every day, usually working from home so she could sleep in a bit later. It rung twice before the bubbly voice echoed on the other end.

"Hey hey!"

"Gosh, you are too cheery for it to be the middle of the night there," I rolled my eyes, taking a sip from my cup of tea.

"I've just been writing my piece on Sarah Paulson, I've nearly finished though, then sleep."

"Good idea," I chuckled.

"So why did you call?" she questioned.

Taking a deep breath, I took another sip of tea before clearing my throat, "Tom texted me-"

"What?!" Mia yelled down the phone, causing me to pull it away from my ear for a split second. Once her voice was not errupting from my phone, I placed it back on my ear.

"Yes, he did, asking why I didn't tell him I was doing the premiere."

"I thought you were going to tell him?"

"No, well yes but no. But regardless, he knows now. I replied basically saying I don't owe him that information and he just said 'would have been nice to know'"

"I mean, it probably would have been," I could already imagine her shrugging her shoulders on the other end of the line.

"Look, probably, but that's besides the point. What do I say back?"

"Meet up with him."

I nearly spit tea out of my mouth.

"What the fuck are you suggesting?"

This time it was Mia's turn to clear her throat.

"Go for a coffee or something. Clear the air before you go and talk to him at the premiere, alleviate some of this tens-"

"No."

"Okay."

We sat in silence.

"Fine"

I heard her cheer on the other end of the line.

"Good, text him now, let me know how it goes."

We spoke some more before Mia decided it was time for her to sleep and hung up. I tossed around the idea of meeting with Tom. Part of me knew I should and just close the gap between us before I go nose deep into interviews and interrogating him for this film. The other part of me debated whether he would actually want to see me, whether that was even on his radar. From his messages, it didn't seem to be that way, from the bluntness and lack of regard that I was doing my job.

I wondered if he was still proud, if he still cared about me the way I cared for him. Each time I saw his face in the film promotions, I couldn't help but feel immense pride of the man I once loved with every part of me, despite the negative reminders of our relationship that accompanied those feelings.

I always wonder whether I loved harder than he did. Each time I think back, I become more convinced that I loved hard, whilst he loved more. Loving harder means falling deeper, and left me stranded in the deep end waiting for someone to come save me from the grief and pain of loosing someone I once believed would be my soulmate.

I made myself inside and changed into a pair of black pants and a charcoal bodysuit. Sorting my skin and makeup out, I slipped on some boots and a coat and made my way out to the street that held a cold breeze. My phone tracked directions to the store that I would be fitted for my red carpet outfit. The wind blew cold against my nose and ears, heating my cheeks up a glowing red. The city moved around me, people desperately trying to make their way to their office or coffee shop that they were inherently late for.

When I made my way into the small parlour, I was quickly manoeuvred into the outfit. Beige in colour, the tailored pants hugged my waist and hips before dropping straight to my ankles. Gold wiring scattered the sides and moulded into the blazer jacket that was open at the front, a matching bralette cut top adorning my chest. The gold wiring weaved up the arms and back of the jacket, forming similar patterns to those in the film poster. The designer, a local business owner from Berlin, slid small pins around the jacket and pants to sew later, muttering under my breath about how perfect it all turned out.

It was perfect. I looked beautiful, and god I hoped Tom thought the same.