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The Distraction

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You and Tom had been dating for several months now. Things were new but serious. You hadn't said the big 'L-Word' yet but your relationship was blossoming into something really special, and even though it had gone unsaid, you both understood the feelings were mutual.

Tom was doing some promotional work in London for his new play debuting in March, and he had asked you to come join him for a few days. Being a free-lanced artist, it gave you the flexibility to travel while you worked, and since you had just finished installing your latest show at a gallery in Sheffield, and had a few weeks off before you had to start working on the next, it was the perfect opportunity to see your love.

You had arrived on a slightly damp, but nevertheless beautiful Friday afternoon. Tom had been unable to meet you at the train station due to an interview he had scheduled, but promised he would meet you at his hotel room that evening for dinner. As you waited in his hotel room, feeling anxious over his arrival, you decided to pour a glass of wine to calm your nerves. As you were just finishing your first delightfully rich sip, you heard the hotel room door open in a rush and shut with hard slam. You could hear Tom barreling through the entry way and could sense immediately something was wrong. He seemed flustered, agitated, and frankly just pissed. This was not the Tom you knew. He was always so calm and collected.

"Hey honey, everything ok?," you asked, concern in your voice.

"Y/N, yes I have just received a phone call from my assistant that the producers added 8 more interviews for this weekend including an hour long Q&A…I just can't believe they would add so many last minute. We've already been at this for a better part of a week and stretched for time as it is. And to top it all off my last interview went less that stellar to say the least. I don't understand why certain interviewers make it their life mission to make you as uncomfortable as possible.." Tom continued to rant on like this for another ten minutes till he finally seemed to run out of steam, and slumped down in a chair with his hands in his face, lightly stroking his temples.

"Tom honey, I'm so sorry," I said as I walked over to him, crouching down on my knees in front of him, taking his hands in mine. "Would you like me to make reservations for dinner? Where would you like to go? Or perhaps we could stay in? I'll run you a bath!" You stated excitedly.

Tom unable to meet your eyes, stood up in a rush grabbing his keys and coat again, "Darling, I'm sorry but I'm meeting a journalist from ELLE this evening for an interview. In fact, I'm sorry but this is just not a good time right now. Things are just so crazy, and I just can't afford any distractions right now, I think maybe it would be best if you just went home."

Heart clenching painfully in my chest, I put on a brave face, "Oh yea…no yea absolutely. No problem I totally understand."

"Are you sure, I'm so sorry, it's just a bad time." Tom eyed me suspiciously, not truly believing my lie.

"Oh absolutely, really don't sweat it babe, it's ok." I did my best to put on my most reassuring smile, as he quickly kissed me on the lips, and headed for he door.

"Thanks darling, I promise I'll call as soon as I can." And without another glance back, he was gone.

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"Mr Hiddleston, I can't thank you enough for this opportunity to sit down with you, I really appreciate it. Here, let me grab the check." Tom quickly grabbed the check book currently sitting in front of the journalist from ELLE named Mike, before he had a chance to.

"No please, I insist. Thank you for a wonderful dinner, and the intellectualling stimulating conversation, I really needed it." Tom laughed genuinely and shook Chris's hand. As they departed for the evening, Tom felt all of the anger and frustration from the afternoon completely dissipate. The hearty meal, 2 glasses of whiskey, and thoughtful conversation had done him good. With his mind clear and faith in humanity restored, Tom stood on the curb outside the restaurant, waiting for his driver to pull the car around. Yet as fast as that sensation of relief came, it was gone just as quickly. Suddenly your face was all he could see in his mind. Your warm body. Soft lips. Lips he had waited 2 weeks to kiss. And then the harsh words he had said to you earlier in the hotel room came rushing back to him. 'Shit,' he thought, 'what have done?'

As the car pulled around he quickly got in, pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed your number, praying you hadn't left yet as the car sped towards his hotel. The phone rings twice then automatically goes to voicemail. "Fuck," Tom grumbles under his breath. After what felt like an eternity, Tom's car finally pulls in front of his hotel. As fast as he could he hopped out of the back seat, ran up the entrance steps, and darted to the first available elevator he could find. Standing in the elevator, Tom anxiously tapped his foot and prayed you had either not yet left or decided to ignore his request. The elevator doors finally opened with a ding and Tom sprinted to his hotel room door, and unlocked it as quickly as his hands would allow. Opening the door to pure darkness, Tom's heart immediately sank. He flipped the light switch by the door, illuminating the empty room. He scanned the room for any trace of you. A suitcase or jacket. Maybe you had just decided to go out, but alas there was no sign you had ever been there. Sitting down in the same chair he had earlier that afternoon, with tears threatening to fall from his eyes, Tom once again put his head in his hands. You were gone. And it was all his fault.

End of Part I