Imaginy Tom Hiddleston

Fighting for a trust. Part 4

Wędrówka zajęła ci ponad pół dnia. Miałaś przy sobie telefon, w razie gdyby twój ojciec gorzej się poczuł. Kiedy wróciłaś Anthony poinformował cię, że Tom wyjechał, ale zostawił dla ciebie list.

- Thank you. - przejęłaś od niego przesyłkę i wyszłaś na taras, siadając na ławce pod ścianą

Rozerwałaś kopertę i wyjęłaś kartkę, gęsto zapisaną granatowym atramentem.

Dear (Y/N),

I'm sorry if I got too close. I didn't want to scary you, I really didn't. But I'm sorry, I just can't take this anymore. I'll be honest, like I always was. It's too painful for me. I was trying to get to your heart, but unsuccessful. I don't blame you, maybe I'm just not the right man... However, I never wanted to hurt you and if I did, I sincerely apologize for that. You said that it'll end with tears and, believe me or not, men also can cry from heartache. I was crying too much, over last years... Now, for my own mind health, I just need to quit that. Please, don't contact me. I will contact you, when I'll be ready to treat you only as a friend. When I'll finally get that I can't count on nothing more than that. I wanted to give you my love, but now I can see that it's pointless. I need to move on. I'm sorry. I know that you might need me as a friend, but I can't be there for you as a friend right now. Because I really need more. And it hurts too much to deal with that. I love you. And I promise that one day I'll contact you. Maybe soon, who knows? Maybe I'll find a way to heal myself? One day I'll be able to be just a friend. See you that day.

Yours,

Tom

Złożyłaś list i schowałaś go z powrotem do koperty. Miałaś kompletny mętlik w głowie. Potrzebowałaś czyjejś rady. Zadzwoniłaś do Joanny, przyjaciółki z dzieciństwa, która od kilku lat była mężatką, teraz z trójką dzieci. Zgodziła się na spacer po obiedzie, kiedy wmusi posiłek w swoje maluchy i zostawi je pod opieką męża.

- So, why you wanted to meet? - spytała, po powitaniu, gdy ruszyłyście uliczkami miasteczka

Przez chwilę milczałaś, co sprawiło, że zmarszczyła brwi.

- Are you happy? - spytałaś po chwili

- I'm sorry? - uśmiechnęła się, ale spoważniała, gdy uświadomiła sobie, że to pytanie na poważnie - Yes, I think that I'm happy. Why do you ask?

- Do you love your husband?

- Of course! But still I don't get it.

- Does he love you?

- (Y/N). - zatrzymała cię i odwróciła twarzą w swoją stronę - What's going on?

- What love is about? And how do you know that someone really loves you? I'm so confused... All my life I've heard that men can't love. That they just use us. But... Now I'm not so sure anymore. And I'm scared. Terrified. Because I can get into their trap and beeing hurt.

- Come over here. - podprowadziła cię do ławki, na której obie usiadłyście - Are you in love?

- The point is that... I don't know.

- All right. - westchnęła - Men can love. Just because they are humans like women. - uśmiechnęła się lekko - My husband tells me that he loves me many times. And every time when we're watching „Love Story", he's crying and holding me tight in his arms. After film he says that he can't imagine his life without me. This is what love is about. To be together. To feel the need to be together. Just like that. Men also can have a broken heart. Do you remember John?

Pokiwałaś głową. To była głośna historia w miasteczku. Młody chłopak zabił się z nieodwzajemnionej miłości.

- But why they are so cruel? - spytałaś - Why they use women? Just for one night, giving them a hope for an ethernal love? I just don't understand, when they are telling the truth and when they just want to play with us? How I can be sure that I can trust him?