For the Love (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Chapter 41

 A/N: Thank you all for your support, and all the seriously amazing, lovely comments.  This is a short chapter, but will hopefully hold you over until I can write more this weekend.  I'm also working on a new Tom fic, which if all goes well, I will be able to start posting soon after I finish For the Love. :)

6 weeks later
      
       Emie ran hard, feeling the muscles in her legs strain and the slight burn in her chest.  She knew she was pushing herself harder than normal, but there was something satisfying about the pain.  It meant she was still here.  She was still alive.  She glanced down at the bold, illuminated face of her running watch, noting that she was nearing 5 miles.  It was half past midnight, and she’d been running for about forty five minutes.
       She slowed down some as she turned the corner, knowing she was about two blocks from home.  Jogging the rest of the way would give her a good enough cool down.  She knew these streets by now like the back of her hand.  She felt safe on them.  She felt like she could be alone.  It helped that she knew she was in a gated community.  It also helped that she mostly ran late at night.  It wasn’t really a choice though, she had to do it.  She didn’t sleep much these days, and running seemed to be the only thing that could really help her relax.  Some days it worked, some days it didn’t. 
       She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline flow through her body, making her skin tingle, as she slowed down.  She could almost make out Lucia and Chris’ massive house, down the gently curving street.  She’d been living with them since she’d come back from Bora Bora.  She’d stayed with Scotty for a day, and then Lucia had come home from her honeymoon and basically forced her to come livewith them.
       It wasn’t ideal, but it was a good situation for now.  Lucia and Chris were hardly ever home, which was a blessing and a curse.  They were always in and out, and it gave her time to be alone but not too much time.  It made sure she that eventually would get off the couch, take a shower, and show her face to the world. Chris had been gone for the past three weeks for work, and Lucia had been gone for about a week doing some reshoots.  Emie had stayed in their big, cavernous house all alone.  At times, all the quiet was nice.  For the most part, it just gave her a bit too much time to think. 
       Things had been hectic since she’d come home.  The first two weeks had been what Emie could only imagine hell to be like.  She’d barely been able to leave the house.  When she did, she was followed by huge crowds of media.  All the microscopic focus on her, coupled with the fact that Tom was gone, had made it very hard for her some days to get up and out of bed.
       That was where Lucia had come in.  Fresh off her honeymoon, Emie felt bad knowing Lucia should have been basking in the glory and glow of being a newlywed.  But instead, she was taking care of her shattered shell of a sister.  Emie had tried her best to hide it from Lucia, but it had been so obvious.  And Lucia had been somewhat of a savior.  She made sure Emie had time to wallow in bed for a few days, but then after that, she had made her get up every morning at 6 to do yoga with her.  Lucia made her get dressed, even if it meant a tshirt and jeans.  And she made her leave the house.  Sometimes it was only to get lunch, or to go to an appointment, but it had helped.  Emie couldn’t say she got used to the cameras, but she got more accustomed to it.  It became less threatening, and more like a nuisance.  A fly that wouldn’t quite stop buzzing around your head.
       Emie made it through the days, sometimes in a bit of a haze, other times living acutely in the pain.  In the back of her mind, there was always Tom.  Always Tom.  As much as she fought it, Emie thought of him constantly.  In all that she did, she thought of him.  When she ran, when she ate, when she went to sleep, he was there.  She hated it.  She tried to think of other things, but it didn’t seem to matter.  He was embedded in her skin, in her marrow.  She’d be in the middle of a meeting with her lawyer, Michael, and she would suddenly wonder what Tom was doing.  She knew he was in London, preparing for his new play.  She wondered if he was drinking coffee, or tea, or laughing or feeling tired.  She wondered if he thought of her.  She only thought about that for a few seconds at a time, before she had to shut off all feeling. 
       Emie ran up the long driveway to the house, longing for a hot shower and bed.  She had high hopes that she would be able to fall asleep quickly that night.  She unlocked the door, and stepped inside, greeted by a huge dark foyer and her cat, Marius.
       “Hello, love.” She whispered.  Her words made her pause, but then she reached down and ran her hand through Marius’ fur.  He purred and rubbed against her hand in thanks.  Emie patted him on the head, and then made her way upstairs to the bathroom.  As she walked, she began peeling off clothes.  First, her lightweight hoodie.  Then came her shoes, which she kicked off in the hallway.  Once inside the bathroom, she turned on the shower and peeled the rest of her running clothes off.  Tank top, sports bra, leggings, panties and socks.  She pulled her blond hair from the ponytail and she stepped into the spray of the shower.
       It had been six weeks.  Over a month.  It was nearly Thanksgiving.  Soon it would be Christmas, and then New Years, and then…it would be like it had never happened.  Emie pushed her face under the water, holding her breath.  Ocean blue eyes.  The warmest smile.  Big, poetically beautiful hands.  She sputtered, stepping away from the water. 
       Tom hadn’t contacted her.  He had listened to what she’d said.  That was the thing about him.  He would fight hard for what he wanted, and he would stick by it until the end.  But she had declared the end.  She had declared it rather loudly.  And so, after he’d stuck her in the car at the airport, she hadn’t heard from him.  She would be lying if she said it didn’t crush her.  But she wasn’t sure what else she should have expected. 
       A wonderful, amazing man had loved her, and she had loved him back, only to shove him away the first time she felt life pushing back.  And now he was gone. 
       So much had changed in six weeks.  Her life before her sister’s wedding was gone.  In it’s place was something similar, but also inherently different.  She was still Emie.  She was still Eme Leo.  But those worlds were now much more intertwined.  And Emie couldn’t say that it was terrible.  Some days, she even found it enjoyable.  People recognized her now, and she would have readers come up to her, and tell her how much her books had changed their lives, or just made their day better. 
       There was something lovely about connecting with people on that level.  He had been right about that.  And out of all the chaotic mess, there was renewed interest in movie options for her series.  And this time, they wanted to give her much more creative power.  Emie had a feeling she would be striking a deal within the next month or two.  It was exciting, it was exhilarating.  It was a dream that was coming true.  A dream she didn’t even know she had, but now that it was happening, it seemed to be a puzzle piece that had been missing.
       The strange thing was, when this all started happening, the first person she thought to call was Tom.  She’d even dialed his number.  But she’d hung up almost immediately.  Perhaps it wasn’t so strange that she wanted to share with him what was happening.  It had, after all, been a blessing in disguise.  And he’d been one of the first people to question her about whether being hidden was the most fulfilling option.  She had thought she was happy being an anonymous and faceless author.  Turns out, it was rather nice to be proud of ones work, and to share that happiness with the world.  It was all very bittersweet.
       She hadn’t done many interviews since she’d been revealed.  She’d actually only done one, and made sure to keep the questions focused entirely on her writing.  She still got multiple offers daily for interviews, especially ones to talk about the photos or Tom.  She always declined.  Or more accurately, Scotty always declined.  Scotty automatically declined everything.  That much hadn’t changed.
       Emie stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body and then using another to quickly squeeze the water out of her hair.  She felt tired, and she hoped she could sleep that night.  It had been awhile since she’d had a good night’s sleep.  She’d pushed herself hard on her run, in hopes that utter exhaustion would just take her there.
       In a week, it would be Thanksgiving.  Her aunt was coming in from Arizona, and Lucia and Chris would both be home, if only for a short time.  They would all have a big dinner together, and Emie was looking forward to it.  She needed her family, now more than ever.
       Emie slipped on a tank top and soft pajama bottoms, and then crawled into bed.  She lied there, flat on her back for a few minutes, listening to the quiet of the house.  She missed her old apartment.  She missed the tiny rooms, and the creaky floorboards.  It had character.  Lucia’s house was gorgeous and lavish, but it was new, and at times felt a bit Stepford Wive-ish.  Everything was neutral tones, marble, gleaming wood, polished metal.  It was gorgeous, but Emie didn’t feel like she was home.  Not quite.  She was used to color, a bit of clutter, architecture that was older than she was, at least.
       Emie flipped in bed a few times, not able to find a comfortable spot.  After a few minutes, lying wide awake, she reached over and grabbed her phone off her nightstand.  She flipped through her text messages, scrolling past some from Scotty, one from Michael, and a few from Chris.  She stopped on Lucia’s name and opened up their conversation.
       I can’t sleep again. Emie typed.  She hit send and waited.  Lucia always had her phone nearby.
       We can get you some drugs.  I know some people. Lucia answered almost immediately.  Emie smiled, knowing she was joking, but only sort of.
       No drugs. Thanks though.  Will you be home soon?
       Tuesday.  I can’t wait to stuff my face. Think Aunt Erica will make her famous mashed potatoes? I haven’t had carbs in years. Lucia joked.  Emie chuckled softly.
       I’m sure she will.
       Sorry but I’m about to go to bed.  I have to get up in four hours to be on set. Lucia responded.  Emie sighed, wishing her sister were home.
       Okay, thanks for chatting. There was a couple minutes of silence, and then the buzz of Emie’s phone alerted her to a new message.
       You could just text him.  Say ‘Hi’.  I’m sure he would respond. Lucia wrote.  Emie’s mouth went dry, and she stared at her sister’s message for a minute before she felt she could respond.
       I’m sure he hates me.  I don’t think that’s a good idea. She finally said.  There was a longer wait before Emie received a new message from her sister.
       If you think he hates you, then you obviously didn’t know him at all.
       Emie put her phone down, taking a deep breath. 
       Goodnight, Luce.
       Sleep well, Emie.
       Emie set her phone down, turning to her side.  The room that she was using as her bedroom was bland, and nearly colorless.  Lucia had said she could paint and decorate, but Emie was hoping she wouldn’t be there for that long.  In the dark, everything was varying shades of gray and black, though the walls were really an uninspired sandy color.  Her eyes focused on the back of her bedroom door, which she had closed out of habit, even though she was the only one in the house at the moment.  Hanging on the hook on the back of the door were Tom’s clothes.  Two jackets.  One from the engagement party at Charteau Marmont.  The first night they met.  The second from weeks ago at the airport.  Emie stared at them every night.  She hadn’t touched them since she’d moved into the house.  And she wasn’t sure when she would be able to give them back to him.  That would require talking to Tom.  The first few weeks after she’d returned home, the idea of speaking to him had seemed impossible.  She had been at a loss for words. She was scared, and terrified of what had been happening.  And she was beyond heartbroken.
       Now, weeks had passed.  And…though her world was different, it hadn’t completely collapsed. It turned out that her fears were more crippling than the actual events.  She was beginning to find her place in this new terrain.  And she was starting to find herself stockpiling things that she wished she could say to Tom. 
       Sometimes they were simple things like “Good morning” and “that sunset was amazing”, but sometimes they were deeper, much more intimate things.  Those things were usually thought, memorized, and catalogued in the deeper part of her memory late on dark nights.  She knew she would have to stop.  Eventually, she would have to stop talking to him in her head.  Tonight, his responses were almost defeaning. 
       Emie grabbed her phone and opened up a new text message.  She found his name quickly, and began typing.
       “I can’t stop thinking about you.  Her eyes are always open/And will not let me sleep/Speak with nothing to say.” As she touched the screen, her fingers moving fast, she felt her heart start to race.  She quoted Paul Eluard, who she could vividly remember Tom reciting to her.  Before she could second guess herself, she hit “Send”. 
       Emie held her breath, waiting.  She didn’t know what he was doing.  She didn’t know what time it was in London.  But she waited.
       It was a good thing she didn’t hold her breath for too long, because he didn’t message her back.  Not that night, nor the next day or the day after.  Emie knew what it meant, and her heart could barely stand it.  The following days she barely managed to swallow her feelings, like a hard lump building larger and larger by the day in the pit of her stomach.