In the Interlude

Chapter 46 - The End of a Road

One moment she was here. And then she wasn't there anymore. But she still was everywhere he looked. In his bed, under the sheets, in the shower, on his sofa, in his head, in his heart.

Tom was struggling to make sense of what happened.

All his adult life, his priorities had been crystal clear. His mind, his words, his actions, everything went toward achieving one goal: his career. But then he met Aïcha, out of nowhere. He was not even supposed to be on that busy street so early on that Tuesday morning back in April. But he was. Their paths crossed, their bodies met, their hearts collided.

Tom paced his room like a caged lion. Did she really just pack her bag and leave, in the middle of the night? Was she really just taking time to think? But he wasn't a kid. He knew what that meant. He had used that line before and it usually meant, "I'm too much of a coward to say the words to your face. To break up with you."

So that was it then? She was leaving him? No, it couldn't be. She loved him, and he loved her. He wanted a life with her for God's sake! It didn't seem right.

Tom sat on his bed, fully clothed and leaned his back on the wooden headboard. He should be angry, but he wasn't. He couldn't. He had never felt so strongly about anyone in his life. Or maybe once, a very long time ago. He was still young, and so was she. Two actors on the rise. But even then, he had eventually chosen his career over her. It had always been his career over everyone and everything.

And now, when he thought he found that one special person for whom he was ready to break the pattern, she decided he wasn't that special for her. Wasn't it ironic?

Tiredness finally overwhelmed Tom and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to rearrange his thoughts. He woke up with a jolt a couple of hours later, sweating, his heart beating fast. His hand wandered of its own accord to the side of the bed, only to find an empty space.

It was just a little after five in the morning when he finally headed outside, the sun tempting to rise amidst the summer rain.

The hotel where Aïcha was staying was a couple of blocks away but he took his car nevertheless, not wanting to waste a second of their time being apart. Ten minutes later, she was opening the door to her hotel room.

Tom looked tired. Tired but sweet and handsome. He looked at her with his intense blue eyes, the expression giving all his thoughts and feelings away. There was hurt, and sadness and it filled up her throat.

"Aïcha..." God, she was beautiful, even when she looked weary, eyes red and swollen. And he hugged her, in his strong comforting arms.

She needed the hug as much as he needed it, so she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight for a moment. She soaked in his warmth and inhaled his scent. The one that drove her crazy every single time.

As a sharp twist of lust and desire stabbed through her, all the way from her throat to her toes, Aïcha finally broke their embrace and went to sit on the bed. Tom followed suit. She glanced at her hands in his before removing them to her lap.

"This hurts," he whispered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm hurt too. But," she exhaled and went on, "we can't keep doing this."

Tom shook his head slowly, his hands reaching again for hers, not ready to give up. "You can't say that. It was one stupid article. Soon there will be other gossip for people to read. Don't let them take away what we have."

Oh, how she wished life was as simple as in a Hugh Grant movie. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. They fall in love. Something wicked comes their way. They rise over it and live happily ever after. "But it's not just the article. It's so much more than that."

"Aïcha, I believe in us. We can do this. We'll figure things out. I promise."

"Tom..."

"What can I do? There must be something," he said, the desperation in his voice caught her off guard and she felt ugly, hideous. How can she do that to him? Her defences weakened as he looked into her eyes. She finally wrapped her arms around herself to keep her hands from reaching for his.

She frowned and closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe there was a way for them to be together, without creating havoc in her life and her daughter's.

"I wish I could understand what's happening in your mind," he said as she turned away from him and went looking through the window, unable to hold his gaze.

She wished she could tell him. That she wanted to reconcile their worlds without blending them into each other. That she wanted to be a mum to her Mia, and a lover to her Tom while keeping these two worlds separate. That she wanted to make everyone happy. But she knew she couldn't. And certainly not with them living at opposite sides of the English Channel. She had to make a choice. And she chose her daughter.

Her daughter. It was what she needed to remind herself about. It was not about her. It was about Mia and the promise she had made to her and herself.

And in some weird stupid way, it was also about Tom. She couldn't let him tie himself to her. He was still young, the world's his oyster as someone she didn't recall once said. He deserved to be happy, with someone his age, who had no baggage, or at least not the sort she dragged with her wherever she went.

Aïcha felt Tom just behind her, his breath on her neck.

"Aïcha, please come home with me."

She swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall and slowly turned around to face him. Home. How she wished she could make that her home. Their home.

Her hand reached out and stroked his face. Tom, leaning into it, pulled her body closer to him. She allowed her lips to touch his. If only the world would stop from turning, just for a moment.

But this was no fairy tale.

Breaking the kiss, she put some distance between them, her stomach twisting itself into a giant knot - a knot the size of the London Eye.

"Tom, this was good. I hope you'll find what you are looking for. But it's not gonna be with me." Her voice was strong, unwavering; her words pierced his heart like spears. "I need to get going. I have a train to catch," she said and turned her face away, facing the window.

A heavy silence ensued. The kind that screamed of incredulity, anger, hurt. When he spoke, his tone was cold, distant. "Right. I see."

The sound of footsteps and a door closing that followed never felt so depressing. "I'm sorry," she whispered, but he was gone.