Imagine: Boy Toy

Part 77: Fucking Child

When you got home, you immediately went to the cupboard, grabbed the bottle of bourbon, poured yourself about four fingers full and stretched out on the couch.

"Fucking child," you grumbled to yourself as you kicked your shoes off and Skyped Celia.
The screen lit up with some bright green and blue blur.

"What am I... hello?  What am I looking at here?" you said.

You heard some noise and then a "JAVI! GIVE MOMMY BACK HER PHONE!"

You started laughing, "Hi Javi, it's tia Y/N. How's school?" The screen flipped and you saw his smiling face, zoomed way in so you got a nice view of the snot running down his nose.

"He's 4, Y/N," Celia said grabbing the phone from him, "he's not in school.  Go play with daddy," she shooed him away.

"I don't know how children work," you shrugged and took a sip.

"Oh I see we're having a solo drinking party?" she teased, "What is going on, girl?  You look good. You must have had a good time?"

You sighed, "I did until the end when things took a hard left.  Tom asked me to stay with him while he films in Atlanta."

Celia gasped sarcastically, "That bastard! Dump is ass!"

"Har Har," you rolled your eyes at her, "I mean, that would be basically moving to Atlanta for like 4 months.  And it feels like going backwards.  I've come so far...what are you doing?"

"I think there's peanut butter in my hair," she said, picking at her scalp.

"I get that Y/N," Celia continued, "but do you think that he does?  He probably feels rejected."

You frowned, "But I didn't reject him.  I'm just trying to move forward and the States is not forward.  Dropping everything for a guy is not forward.  I have to maintain some sort of self identity.  Did you not read any Bronte?"

Celia laughed, "Girl, you know I was into that Anne Rice shit.  So, you're not freaked about moving in with Tom, you're freaked about moving in with Tom in Atlanta."

You took another sip and mulled that one over.

"Yeah.  I mean, no, it's not the living together part that's an issue..."

"Bet he doesn't know that," Celia cocked an eyebrow at you, smirking.

Well, shit, you thought, he thinks I don't want to live with him, like I'm having one of my commitment freak moments again.

"How does it feel to be right all the time?" You stuck your tongue out.

"It's really hard," Celia laughed, "especially when you've got to tell your best friend that she looks awful in that shade of red."

You looked down quickly, "Fuck off, it's a Spider-Man shirt," you said defensively.

"It washes you out," she shrugged.

"Thanks for the fashion advice, you hooker," you smiled.

"Anytime!" she said, giving you the finger, "love you long time!"

You shook your head, laughing, "Bye!" and ended the call.

You knocked back the rest of the whiskey. Things started to make a little more sense.  Tom was just doing what he could to make things work.  That's what he kept saying to you over and over- Y/N, I'm going to make this work.  But moving to Atlanta didn't work for you, and he took it as, moving in with him didn't work for you.  You were still miffed at the way he acted, though.  His cold attitude was so out of character for him.  He was acting just like...well, just like you.

You eyes gazed around the flat, down the hall, into your dark bedroom.  You hated the thought of sleeping alone tonight.  You hated the thought of waking up without his arms around you.  You hated this whole stupid fight.

You texted Tom a picture of two overstuffed chairs, one slate blue and the other a distressed leather, followed by:

YOU: I need your opinion.  Also, when you have a sec, maybe we can talk? I love you.

You put your phone down and went into the kitchen to pour another drink.  You took a sip, leaning on the counter when your phone buzzed.  You picked it up to read.

TOM: I love you too.

You smiled to yourself.

TOM: The leather. Call you tomorrow 😘