Finding Inspiration (closed for MTPersson)

Tom was late.

The two of them had been dating now for just over two months now with most of that time being spent in either one of their two rooms. It had been two months unlike any other for Tamsin. Whereas before, most of her relationships barely made it past one night, this one had been going on for far much longer. Their sex had moved on from being animalistic and lustful and merged into something a while lot more loving and passionate. That's not to say they didn't break the kinky shit out occasionally; she had found Tom very amicable to the idea of being tied up and cock teased.

They spent most of their free time together, him shunning his friends to be with her and her cutting back on her aimless wondering. When they weren't having sex, they would talk about anything and everything, Tamsin’s manner and demeanour always changing the longer she spent around him; always softening. The problem was, this week, they hadn't seen each other once. There had been a couple of phone calls and one or two text messages, but Tom's time was being taken up by his midterms and they were forced to spend their time apart.

Tamsin didn't mind. She fully understood that Tom didn't have any real choice in the matter, but she found herself sad that he wasn't with her. She couldn't believe it, wouldn't have believed it a few months ago, but she was missing him being around. Especially this week being the week it was. All of this was why she was so happy when she got the text message. A simple line of symbols which made her stomach perform somersaults inside of her.

Corner of Wellington & 7th. 2nite. 6pm.

It was a posh part of the city. Well not posh, posher than the campus area. Having no idea what Tom had planned for the evening, Tamsin agonised over what she was going to wear. Normally, she wasn't bothered about what she wore and Tom seemed happy with how she looked whatever rags were draped over her. Or not draped over me most of the time. But she didn't want to look like a slob if they were going to go somewhere posh. No, posher. The decision made itself in the end really. There was only one smart piece of clothing she owned. It was a black, long sleeved dress that fitted snuggly around her body accentuating the little curves she had and clinging tightly to her ass.

Tom would love it, he loved anything she wore, and her new hair worked well with the dress. She had finally decided to have it styled the day before and had chosen to have it cut right back to shoulder length. It looked good, her dirty brown roots still showing a little of the old Tamsin. But she didn't feel overly comfortable in it. It had been a long time since she had worn anything so formal, so rotting around the wardrobe and loose items on the floor, she eventually found what she was looking for. Her leather jacket.

He was still late though.

A few more minutes went by and still no sign of him until she heard his voice behind her thanking somebody. She turned and saw him closing a car door and walking towards her with an apologetic look on his face. It took all of her concentration not to laugh at what he was wearing. He looked like someone out of an eighties gangster film with his white dinner jacket. Tamsin managed to control her smirk and tried to look annoyed. Their lips brushed each others in greeting, a chaste kiss compared to what they were used to performing, and he began making his excuses.

"Sorry I'm late. Our gallery viewing ran long, so I'm stuck dressed like this...hope you don't mind."

He took her hand in his and started leading her down the sidewalk to where ever the hell it was they were going. Tamsin didn't say anything, preferring to let him sweat it out a little longer. It wasn't until they reached a crossing that her facade finally broke and she burst out laughing.

"So...Scarface...where are you taking me?'

The brief moment of silence, however disconcerting (even from Tamsin, who Tom was starting to think didn't talk much just to tease him, precisely because he loved talking and sharing) did give Tom the benefit of being able to examine her choice of coverings more closely. The leather jacket, of course, something he'd come to admire on her, even with...or especially because of how worn it seemed to be. Tamsin loved wearing it, throwing it on over pretty much any outfit, as if it was something that defined her. The form fitting dress on underneath, something Tom was pretty sure he'd never seen her wear...black was one of her colors. It hugged and flaunted her figure well, and he found himself lost for a moment the way it swished on her as she walked, even as he kept a keen eye out for their destination.

He'd noticed her hair, too, deciding that the shorter look seemed to suit her more, even if Tom wasn't sure if he liked it or not. But it was Tamsin, and she was sexy because she didn't care. Because she was confident enough however she looked that she could make him want her.

She was right, of course.

Her silence and steely look still gave him ill tidings. Until she finally spoke, the first sign of emotion from her aside from the brief kiss they'd shared "So...Scarface...where are you taking me?' A laugh accompanied the statement, and Tom exhaled involuntarily. She was just toying with him. Like always. It didn't irritate him; if anything in reinforced to him that she felt comfortable being herself around him, even if the definition of 'being herself' had changed a lot over their two months of dating. Tamsin still had her spunk, her defiance, and the devil-may-care attitude that Tom had found so enticing about her, but she was being much more deliberate about when to let it out. Knowing that she didn't need to keep up those particular quirks as a shield, instead letting them be a part of her.

Much like Tom's attempt to talk like a gangster was a part of him. Being silly to try to make her laugh. "Well, see, I was thinking we'd bust up a joint, take it over, see." Their destination was only a block away, and already he could feel his facade crumbling. It was a really bad accent. "Nothing's too good for you, doll." Even he started laughing after that, and Tom shared a look with her as they arrived at their destination. A restaurant, much nicer then the haunts they were used to spending their time at. Warm, gentle lighting greeted them on their way in, warm carpeting and polished wood on the bannisters, walls, and railings as he made his way to the podium where a server was awaiting new arrivals. A vase of roses adorned the podium, several red ones in what was clearly fresh water...and one white.

Tom turned to her, placing her arm in his. "I heard you mention this place once, so I figured we'd try it out." Striding forward confidently, he looked at the server expectantly. "Table for two, please?"

The server, a middle aged woman with short, curly red hair, in a black vest and white shirt to go with black pants, responded kindly, with a smile. "I'm sorry, we're only take reservations tonight."

"Really?" replied Tom, looking around at the interior of the restaurant; it didn't look like they were that filled up, and he met the server's eyes hopefully. "No way you can make room for us? It doesn't look like you're that busy."

"I'm sorry, it's a management decision due to lack of staff."

"So much for an impromptu night out." A look of disappointment showed on his face. Tom hadn't even turned back to Tamsin, his mouth having just opened before a voice came from behind him.

"Thomas? Thomas Weitz?"

A breath escaped him, even as his face broke out into a smile as he turned. "Gary?" An older gentleman with a pepper gray beard (and a chef's uniform, with the silly hat, and sans apron, which was likely still in the kitchen) came out of seemingly nowhere, and Tom broke away from Tamsin to give him a hug. "It's been ages."

"Well, that's what happens when your parents send you off to school." A smile passed between them. "Now what are you doing in my restaurant tonight?"

A look of a schoolboy who'd been caught stealing came over his face. "Well, I was hoping to get a table, but didn't know that you only take reservations..."

"I'll take care of that." He looked at the server at the podium. "Louise! They'll be taking the booth near the window. Assign Gerard to them; I'll take care of their meals personally."

With no sign of reluctance, she nodded as Gary, still smiling brightly, moved to Tamsin to take her hand. "Follow me, my dear." Always the gentleman, whatever little distraction he gave her allowed Tom to quickly snatch the white rose from the vase, giving Louise a conspiratorial smile; one that she returned. Two actors playing their part in a greater drama.

A step up one level, and then a few paces down a well embroidered carpet led them to the booth Gary had mentioned, and Tom nodded at him. "Thanks, Gary." Before Tamsin sat down, he caught her shoulder, and turned her to him, and he showed her the white rose.

"Figured this fit you." A unique flower for a unique woman; she'd appreciate the gesture more then the gift. He delicately threaded the stem around one of her ears, imitating the motions she'd showed him during their first day together, although he was fairly certain he wasn't as...precise about it as she'd been. "Sorry." Tom motioned to her to sit down in the booth; the seating cushion a dark maroon color before he sidled in next to her, making no pretense about how close he wanted to be. As he opened the menu, he turned to her. "So what does this place serve, anyways?" Tom didn't even know if she knew, all but hoping that she'd mentioned this place in adoration, and not anger...

One way or another, they'd make it work. If anything, that symbolized their coupling thus far.

They were both laughing as Tom stopped, pulling her close to him as they stood outside of the restaurant. Tamsin recognised it immediately, she had been there once before a few years earlier and had remembered mentioning it in passing one night when they were laying together in bed. She couldn’t remember exactly how it came up in conversation but she seemed to recall talking about the best dishes they had ever eaten. If she had known it would end with them coming here themselves, she wouldn’t bothered bringing it up. This was the last place in the world she wanted to come with Tom. She could feel the laughter catching in her throat and her smile slipping slightly. Please don’t go in. Carry on walking, go somewhere else. Please.

But Tom was already pulling her forward and into the foyer, his arm entwined with hers.

"I heard you mention this place once, so I figured we’d try it out." He turned to the hostess standing at the podium, "Table for two, please."

Please say no. You’re fully booked up. The health inspectors have closed you down. Anything. Tamsin hadn’t said anything since they had stopped outside on the sidewalk. Reverting to her more insular personality, she just stood meekly next to Tom and hoped for the best. Crossing her arms in front of her body, almost hugging herself, she stood there whilst Tom and the hostess talked; almost as if she wasn’t there, or an extra in their little scene.

She tried not to smile when the woman behind the podium told Tom that there was no sitting down without a reservation. Thanking God for Tom’s lack of organisation and foresight she tried to look as disappointed as Tom did. Her movement towards the door, however, was cut short by an old man with greying hair stepped out of the kitchen and shouting Tom’s name across the empty restaurant. Tamsin was the gooseberry in another conversation. Standing still she wished that they old guy, who turned out to be either the chef or owner of the restaurant, would just ignore her and she wouldn’t have to say or do anything.

She knew her time with Tom had softened her a little but she didn’t know until that moment the extent to which that was true. In the past, this kind of situation would have resulted in Tamsin just walking out of the place and going somewhere else. Tonight, though she found herself acting as if she was shy; fussing with her hair and trying not to draw attention to herself. Maybe it was the dress she was wearing or maybe it was the place they were standing in. She didn’t know; all she did know was she wanted to leave. Trying to speak up; trying to get Tom's attention, her words just caught in her throat and came out as a quiet squeak. They carried on regardless.

It was clear now that they weren't leaving and she felt herself being dragged down the carpeted floor towards the windows by Gary. She tried to pull away from his grasp, uncomfortable at the contact with him but to no avail. Great. Of all the places in the city and now this creep. I bet he doesn't even remember. But her mood lifted as Tom sat down next to her and pushed the flower of a white rose behind her ear. It was a sweet action, something that made her heart beat a little faster, something that reassured her. Lifting one hand she stroked his cheek and they stayed like that for a moment looking into each others eyes. Anywhere else in the city and she would have been so happy at that moment. In her room with a pizza; in the park with a kebab; anywhere but here.

"So what does this place serve, anyway?"

She didn’t blame Tom, how could she, he was being so sweet and had obviously chosen to come here on this night only because of something she herself had said. It was her fault; her and her big mouth.

"It’s modern Italian. She said, distracted and a little disorientated. "Sorry, do you mind if I go to the toilet? I’m not feeling too good."

Tamsin brushed off Tom’s concerned comments and staggered to the ladies restroom. Laying her small clutch bag on the counters around the sinks she filled one up with cold water and splashed some on her face. Looking at her reflection in one of the mirrors, Tamsin could see droplets of water running down over her face, dripping off of her chin. Not droplets of water; tears.

Tom had never fancied himself a great reader of people. An artists' job was interpretation, to see what they wanted to see when they gazed upon something, or to bring out emotions or feelings in scenes or settings that others could not. The setting could be drawing (which was Tom's strength), be it a painting, pencil drawing, or a simply crayon sketch. Or it could be a statue, some sort of photoshop image, even the way a meal was laid out or the smells coming from a perfume. They were all art, in their own way, and trying to evoke different sensations and feelings from it was what Tom did best.

But everyone could read people they knew. And Tom knew Tamsin very intimately, moreso then anyone did, even if he was blissfully unaware of it. Not willingly ignorant of the signs she'd given him, just someone who was living in the moment, happy with what he had, and not necessarily what it meant. Which was why all kinds of alarm bells started to go off in his head the moment she said she wanted to go to the bathroom. "Tamsin, are you..." He started, but was only speaking to her back, as a waiter came over; and his gaze lingered to Tamsin just a bit longer as she made her way to the women's restrooms.

"Wine, sir?"

Tom shook his head, the smile reappearing. "Not yet." He looked at her politely. "We'll take some water, though, if it's free...otherwise we'll-"

At that point, she'd already moved off, and Tom decided to give Tamsin some time on the admittedly small chance that she had just needed to get some air or something. Maybe even a smoke or two. She'd done it before, but Tom knew well enough that this was different. If Tamsin needed some space she always had the same air about her she'd always had when they'd been together. Just a bit of cockiness, the haughty arrogance she liked to show the rest of the world. But the brief glimpse of her face he'd gotten before she'd slinked off had been an emotion that he'd never seen on Tamsin before.

Fear.

Another moment passed with no sign of Tamsin, so Tom got up slowly as a rather obnoxious pitcher of water and two clear glasses got put on their table. He slowly made his way over towards the slight hallway where both bathrooms were located. He gave her another moment before he knocked on the door gently.

"Tamsin...?" He called. "Are...." He paused in misstatement, as if unsure how to phrase it. It was obvious she wasn't doing great, and the thought of losing her raced through his mind, like he almost had in the bunker. "..are we okay?" Even as he winced at how he'd phrased it, the question was appropriate. Because if she was hurting, even for reasons currently foreign and unknown to him, then so was he. And on this night - every night they were together, but especially tonight - Tom wanted to make her feel special.

After he heard no response, he took a breath, muttering something under his breath as he gently pushed the door open and made his way in. "...Tamsin?" was all that escaped him as he did.

Tamsin looked at herself in the mirror, the mix of tears and cold water running down her face. A few strands of blonde hair were stuck to her forehead but she didn’t care; she made no attempt at moving them out of her eyes. Maybe if she stared at herself and wished she was in a restroom at some other restaurant she would magically reappear in their dining room instead of this one. But we’re very much still in Kansas, Toto. Images of things she had seen and emotions that she had felt on that night came bubbling to the surface and her breathing broke down into harsh, rapid sobs. The eye contact with her mirrored self was broken as she let her head sag, the tips of her hair dipping into the bowl of water in front of her.

The images and feelings kept washing over her despite Tamsin trying to fight them away. To focus her mind on something else; on Tom, but it was no good. Everything was too vivid, too visceral and close to hand, and she felt a burning sensation in the back of her throat as she vomited.

Through her gasping breaths and spluttering, she could hear Tom outside, politely knocking and asking whether she was OK. She wanted to tell him that she was fine, that she would be out in a moment, not to worry about her and go back to the dining rom but all that she managed to do was bring up a fresh amount of bile which she spat out into the sink.

She heard the door opening behind her and instinctively turned her back to it so that he couldn’t see her in her current state. Stupid girl, he’s seen you like this before. She wiped thin strands of sick away from the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand before saying,

"I’m fine Tom. I’ll be out in a minute."

Tamsin could feel herself shaking as she said it, a fresh wave of tearfulness creeping up on her. Still with her back to him, she walked away from the door and entered the cubicle furthest away, locking it behind her. She sat down on the lid and brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them into her body. Tom didn’t deserve to see her like this. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know. She should have been honest with him, told him about it earlier but there never seemed to be a good moment to do so.

And now she was here, in a restroom, sobbing in a cubicle. A fucked up mess. She had known from the moment she decided to let Tom get close to her, to let him in, that this would happen eventually but she had pushed it back and ignored it, hoping it would never come out. Sitting there, she cursed herself for letting it happen; cursed herself for letting someone close again only for her to feel all the pain an anguish again. She should have just turned and run away on the sidewalk. She should never have come back to this place. It all brought it rushing back to her and she couldn’t cope with it. Not alone at any rate.

"I’m fine Tom. I’ll be out in a minute."

The words he'd heard from his girlfriend gave him no comfort even as he walked into the women's washroom. He ignored the shiny walls, spotless mirrors, and sinks which look like they'd been polished to a sheen. Apparently, he *had* gone much higher class then he'd anticipated. Or they'd managed to come in here right after the bathroom got cleaned. Either way, his merely glazed over the well kept area and listened. Past the hum of the lights, for the much more subtle sounds of sobs and sniffling from one of the cubicles. It only occurred to him after he heard her that he probably could have just looked for the closed cubicle, too.

Tom also knew she'd probably pick up that someone was in there by now, and he spoke again. "Just me." As if it'd be anyone else, but he didn't want to appear like a blubbering fool, so unsure of himself that all he could say was her name. Which was closer to being true then he wanted to admit; fine appearance and composure, for the moment, still intact. From the lack of movement inside the cubicle, it was fairly clear that she wasn't going to be out in 'just a minute'.

So he gave a knock on the cubicle door. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. Did something happen to you? What's going on? Why-" He wasn't sure at what point the door opened, as his questions were all running together, but he did know the moment he saw her he took his hands in his, pulling her close to him for a warm embrace. "It's okay, Tamsin." I'm here. "Just...." He looked down, unsure of himself (and not for the first time) before he met her gaze again. Everything inside of him wanted to tell her to relax, that everything would be fine, but another part of him said that tonight was the time to get everything out, to finally unmask what had driven her to be so isolated for so long.

He even held back the cheesy joke; the tension in the air was too serious to comment on her feelings about Italian food. Something had set her off, and it was fairly clear to him that it was something about this restaurant. Tom knew there'd be plenty of time for self examination later as he gazed into her eyes, to try to see through to the hurting and the pain beneath them. "Do you want to talk here? To go somewhere else?" A deep breath as he caressed her hands in his. "Tell me where you'll be comfortable and we'll go there." What went unsaid was that he wasn't, not here, but that wasn't important. If she wanted to get her feelings out here, he'd let her.

Besides, from what she'd told him of her exploits, this would be child's play.

Tom wanted her to speak, so badly. Not as much for her own health as for his; he'd expected surprises but this had not been one of them. "I didn't know..." He said softly as she replied, a statement with so much meaning as she continued.

The lock slide back with a small click and Tamsin gently pushed open the cubicle door. Tears still rolled freely over her cheeks and she couldn’t bear to make eye contact with Tom. She was embarrassed at herself for the way she had acted; all she could do was think about how stupid she had been in coming into the building, for not explaining it all to him calmly and rationally outside; for not telling him sooner. He at least deserved an explanation for why she was hiding herself away in the restroom.

Stepping forward a little sheepishly, her head bowed, she walked into his embrace and buried her face into his shoulder. The white material of his jacket blocked out the fluorescent light and Tamsin’s world became dark. It was a comfort to her; it made her feel as if she was alone and she let go, tears streaming from her eyes and sobs emitted from her in long, shuddering gasps. In her darkened world, she was safe from the judgement of others. The fact that she was supporting herself on Tom’s body only helped to make her feel safer; a rock for her to lean against.

"It's okay, Tamsin."

His hand was on the back of head, slowly stroking her hair; comforting her. His arms held her tightly to him and the soft noises he was making soothed her. She felt safe there and her tears began to slow, the sniffling sounds gradually lessening. She moved her head so her eyes weren’t burrowing into his shoulder, and placed her cheek into the damp patch where her tears had soaked into the material. Still his hands stroked her hair and she felt herself regaining the control of her breathing.

He deserves to know.

Once she started, she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. If she did, she would break down again. The only way to get the story out there was to let it out in one stream of consciousness.

"When I was 20, I got engaged. We had been dating for a few years and were head over heels in love. He proposed to me in this restaurant. We were young and stupid but we didn’t care. We loved each other and didn’t want to be with anyone else, couldn’t be with anybody else."

"I didn’t know..."

Tamsin could feel fresh tears forming in her eyes but she blinked them away, determined to tell Tom the whole story; to get everything out before she broke down again. The memories were flooding back but she focused on the sound of Tom’s heart beating next to her ear and carried on.

"He got down on one knee and I was so happy, so excited, that I said yes before he had even said anything. All of this in front of couples and groups having their meals, clapping and crying."

She found herself smiling despite the tears. A memory of the most intense happiness she had ever felt. The best moment of her life.

"The old guy out there brought us a few bottles of free champagne to celebrate. We didn’t complain and drank the lot. I mean, we were celebrating weren’t we. When we left, Ben just walked straight out into the road and got hit by a taxi. I can’t remember a lot of what happened next but I had to be pulled away from him by someone. I didn’t want him to go, I didn’t want to be alone."

She was shaking again, no longer trying to hold back the tears and sobs that raked through her body but she carried on. Her eyes focused on a spot on the far side of the restroom and stared at it. Anything to help her concentrate on getting the truth out; anything to help her tell him.

"I didn’t even get the chance to tell him I was pregnant. I was going to surprise him when I was sure but he..."

Droplets of salty water were dropping off of her chin and splashing on the tiled floor below her, around her toes and his.

"I aborted and never told anyone. Any of it. I’ve been alone ever since. I was so scared that it would happen again, that if I let someone close to me like I had him, they would be taken away from me and I’d be alone again."

Tamsin stopped speaking. Her words hung in the air between them and silence fell in the plush restroom. She could feel his chest rising and falling beneath her and for a moment felt a sense of panic rising up in her chest. He was going to leave her as well. He didn’t want anything more to do with her. She was going to be alone again.

Truly, before and after he'd said the words, Tom thought he had some measure of what he was getting in to. Something had rattled her, some old memory that he couldn't have anticipated. He'd almost expected it would have been something like this, had he been presented with this exact scenario and then asked what he would have thought had been the issue. Tamsin had never been that much of a talker, which had been fine with Tom; he'd shared his issues with his classmates, his family, his friends, and she'd been content to listen. Compared to where they'd been when they'd started dating, Tom knew so much more about her then he had...two months ago. Even a month ago. A week ago, he had known much less then he did now.

But he'd just opened the floodgates. The words came out of her and it was all he could do to keep up. He squeezed her just a little tighter, feeling her uneasiness as she continued, and Tom wanted to strengthen her however he could. It wasn't a natural reaction; in a way, he felt as scared as she did right now, even if she was the vulnerable one.

"He got down on one knee and I was so happy, so excited, that I said yes before he had even said anything. All of this in front of couples and groups having their meals, clapping and crying."

He didn't see her smile, and even as the 'old boyfriend' hex had finally been shattered (this was the first time Tamsin had told him about any of her boyfriends, even as he had mentioned one or two of his casual flings at a walk recently), Tom smiled involuntarily at his imagining of the memory. A joyous time, for people that deserved it. His brief attempt to construct a picture didn't keep him from reminding himself that she wouldn't be bringing this up if something hadn't happened.

And Tom had no idea of the scope of the event she was about to retell.

"The old guy out there brought us a few bottles of free champagne to celebrate. We didn’t complain and drank the lot. I mean, we were celebrating weren’t we."

It would be a Gary thing to do. Tom wondered how he couldn't have remembered her if something like that had happened, and then it became clear why that wouldn't have been the case.

[color="blue]"When we left, Ben just walked straight out into the road and got hit by a taxi. I can’t remember a lot of what happened next but I had to be pulled away from him by someone. I didn’t want him to go, I didn’t want to be alone."[/COLOR] Tom felt her shaking again, could hear the sobs coming and he kissed top of her head. Not a boyfriend anymore, but someone trying to comfort a hurting loved one.

[I]Do I love her?[/I] It was an awful thought to be having, especially now, but Tom couldn't stop it from racing through his head as she continued.

[COLOR="Blue"]"I didn’t even get the chance to tell him I was pregnant. I was going to surprise him when I was sure but he..."[/COLOR]

The cold pit in his chest continued to deepen. She had never told him any of this before...and being pregnant was a big, big thing....

"I aborted and never told anyone. Any of it. I’ve been alone ever since. I was so scared that it would happen again, that if I let someone close to me like I had him, they would be taken away from me and I’d be alone again."

At that moment, Tom was grateful she was not looking at him, for the eyes she would see in him would be very unsettling. Even more so, he refused to shut them, out of the fear that she would see that he was afraid. Which he was. Suddenly, too many things made sense. Why she had such a large barrier around her whenever she was around new people (hell, when she'd met him), why she was so withdrawn, why she was-

Everything made sense now. There was so much more to process. He wanted to get away, to take some time, to-

But it's not what she needed.

Or him, if he was to be truthful. He'd lived a priveleged life, never having to deal with anything remotely as trying as this girl - this woman - in front of him had. Right now, she seemed so much stronger then he was, and yet she was the one who needed his help. Taking a breath, he took a step back, just to look at her eyes, refusing to let go of her hands as he did. She was terrified. Not of what she'd said, but of the effect it would have on him. Of the effect it was having on him.

He'd stay here as long as she needed. Tom had hoped this place would prove to be a place to celebrate their relationship, to help cement it. If nothing else, it was testing it right now. He let go of one hand, bringing her in close so he could lay - and keep - a comforting arm around her shoulders, after another quick peck on her forehead. Now didn't seem like the time for a more intimate gesture, just a comforting one.

"Come on." He said softly. Tom was still reeling, collecting himself. He'd stand by her, and take her to his place so they could....

Well, they'd stop somewhere to grab something. His stomach growled at him, but he ignored it as he lead her out of the restaurant. This unwitting tomb of horrors he'd brought her in to. Focus on the simple things, he thought, as the evening air enveloped them again. The cold didn't bother him. The silence did, even as he knew he *had* to think.

And get food. The question seemed pointless, but he asked it anyways. "There's a shawarma takeout near here...do you want me to grab something and we can eat it at my place?" He turned to look at her, even as she didn't seem to want to look at him. "We've got to eat something, Tam.." As she responded, he didn't think much of the fact that he didn't use her full name.

She was so wrapped up in her mind, her memories, that she didn’t notice that Tom was gently leading her out of the restaurant until the cold wind hit her in the face. Tamsin woke as if from a daze and the world around her suddenly snapped back into focus. Where she was, who she was with and what had just happened. Feeling his warm hand holding hers, pulling her forward, she gave it a small squeeze. A thank you for understanding and not being mad. With every step he led her further away from the place of her nightmares and for that she was truly grateful.

The truth was out there now, floating in the void between them, waiting to be taken in and digested. Tamsin tried to get a look at Tom’s face but he wouldn’t turn around to look at her. He hasn’t left me yet. Please don’t leave me. She wasn’t sure why she had suddenly blurted out the whole story to him; she could have just lied and said she had an upset stomach. But she had told him the truth, all of it.No one knew the whole truth, the only two people in the world who knew she had aborted her unborn child were Tom and herself. Do I love him? The though flashed through her mind, feelings of confusion, hope and sadness washing over her almost immediately all conflicting with one another for supremacy over her emotions.

Without a doubt she trusted him and allowed herself to be led dumbly wherever it was Tom was currently going. He said something about getting food from a shawarma takeout and she had nodded. Maybe food will help be think straight again. Or maybe I’ll just throw it all up again. Tamsin suddenly found her head rising and looking into his eyes as he spoke to her.

"I’m sorry Tom. I’m sorry for everything."

He tried to say something in reply but she cut him off, speaking over him.

"I’m sorry for ruining your evening, all your plans."

A feeling of intense shame caused her to look away from his gaze and down at her feet instead. She didn’t need to see him judge her.

"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier but you’ve got to understand how difficult it is for me to live with those memories. Every time I close my eyes, I see him crumpled and broken on the tarmac. Every time, Tom, and it never go always."

Wrapping her arms around her chest, she hugged herself; a desperate need for comfort. She looked Tom in the eye again, a fleeting surge of her confidence returning momentarily.

"I miss him, Tom."

They looked on silently as he ordered two shawarmas for them. Tom had a pretty good idea of what she liked, even if his mind was racing. A cruel, heartless cacophony in his head, even as he could hear literally every sound around them as they waited for their food. Drinks would be easy enough at his place. They looked silly, not only with how nicely they were dressed, but the sight of them. Tamsin, with her head hung and body language discouraged. Tom uneasily shifting; the spot on his jacket from her tears, her insistent pressing into him as she'd sobbed. Tom glanced down at it involuntarily, knowing that getting the jacket cleaned wouldn't be the hard part. It was a thing, a material object, and those could be repaired. Or replaced.

But this - the tapestry of their relationship - had just been tested. Tom knew well enough, being someone who lived on his passions as an artist, that there were some things that couldn't be undone. A knot could be redone with stretched or frayed ropes, but it wouldn't be as strong. A painting could be touched up or refurbished but it wouldn't be the same as the original. Tom still couldn't look at her, afraid of what he'd see in her...and of what she'd see in him. His determination to try to support and love her as best he could balancing with his fear of what was going to happen next.

Tom took the bag from the cashier, holding their wraps, and walked out with her in tow. He made sure she was there, but little else, and eventually they came to a quiet street corner, bathed in the light of the moon and the street lamp above them. She stopped him, and Tom turned to the devastated Tamsin, seeing the desperation in her eyes as she spoke.

"I’m sorry Tom. I’m sorry for everything."

For all of the things Tom wasn't sure about saying, he was pretty sure about what *not* to say, and he started to talk, but Tamsin kept on, her words coming out in a jumble.

"I’m sorry for ruining your evening, all your plans."

He felt himself shudder as he moved in front of her, saying everything with his searching eyes. But nothing audible, as nothing came to him. His plans didn't matter. This evening didn't matter. Not anymore, and not now. What mattered was-

"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier but you’ve got to understand how difficult it is for me to live with those memories. Every time I close my eyes, I see him crumpled and broken on the tarmac. Every time, Tom, and it never goes away."

She pulled away, hugging herself even as Tom desperately grasped at her arms, not wanting to let go. Not sure how to let go. A part of him wishing he would, even as he knew he couldn't.

"I miss him, Tom."

How? How had he gotten into this? Tom wondered if he should be cursing his luck right now. He finally found a girl - no, a woman, he corrected himself - to build a relationship with. One beyond the physical, mental boundaries espoused by most college coeds who just wanted to party, drink, and screw each evening away with no care of what happened tomorrow. Tom knew the dangers of planning too far ahead; but if anything being with someone who actually showed their intelligence, their beauty, their grace in everything they did and how they carried themselves....it had reminded him of how lucky he was. That he hadn't judged her by their first meeting. That something in him, the artist in him had tried to look beneath the surface of what she'd shown him. The image she was trying to project. It wasn't always right, and even now Tom could easily say he hadn't gotten what he had expected.

The woman was scared. She missed someone she'd given her heart to. Tom realized now he wasn't threatened by the memory of her exboyfriend. He was scared by it. Scared that he had something to live up to, to try to reach. To be the person for her that he'd been.

He hugged her again. Looking down at her, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. "It's okay to miss him, Tamsin." Her tears threatened fresh ones in his eyes, and he tried to smile comfortingly. "You were very...brave..." Or foolish. "...to tell me everything." He didn't know what else to say.

"I'm still here."

They got to his dorm entrance; the way inside would mean their evening would continue. Tom could sense her hesitation, her uneasiness with being with him so soon after her confession. He took a step away, hoping the distance would soothe her a bit, letting the evening air wash over her as he looked at her desperately."Please come up, Tamsin." The two bags with their food in his hands swayed; it'd be too easy to give her one and let her go. "I know you're scared but...." Tom couldn't meet her gaze, and he looked down. He had started the night with intention of passion, but as he looked at her, he saw what they both needed now, which was comfort.

"...I don't want to be alone, either."

The tears had stopped now. She was either getting over that evening’s events or she had cried herself dry. Tamsin didn’t know but she hoped it was the first. Tom had comforted her during their walk back from the takeout and she had felt herself becoming stronger with every step.

"I’m still here."

This wasn’t the first time that Tamsin had experienced complete and utter emptiness. Quite often, she would see something or hear something that would trigger a memory of Ben and she would sink deeper and deeper into blackness, locking herself away from the world for days on end until her depression finally lifted. No one knew where she disappeared to, if they missed her at all. Tamsin was just that weird girl who kept herself to herself. Her solitude was supposed to protect her from the pain of losing someone but it meant having to comfort herself. She had no one to lean on.

That was what made Tom’s words mean that much more to her as they walked the rest of the way back to the dorms in near silence. She was thankful he hadn’t run off and left her, thankful that he still seemed to care enough for her to insist on getting something to eat even if it was a crappy shawarma. In that silent moment, she wanted to say thank you again but her mouth staid shut tight. Words couldn’t describe to him how she was feeling at the moment. She was grateful for his shoulder to cry on, shocked at his insistence on standing by her and she owed him for his kindness. Maybe I do love him.

But she staid silent like him. Whatever words she might have said would have sounded empty and false at the moment.

Reaching the entrance to Tom’s dorms, they stopped and for a moment they just stood there trying not to look at one another. She knew what he wanted and was grateful that he would offer himself to comfort her but Tamsin wanted to be alone. To go back to her room and hide for a couple of days. The past evening had brought up a lot of raw emotions for her and she needed to be away from Tom so she could figure them out properly.

"Tom, I think I need to be on my own for a while."

"Please come up, Tamsin. I know you’re scared but...I don’t want to be alone, either."

He was right. She was scared; scared of her own feelings and unsure of what they might even be. Her relationship with Tom was the closest connection to another person she had owned since Ben’s death and it felt alien to her after so long. A shoulder to lean on, though, might help; she didn’t know.

She nodded silently and stepped towards him. Wrapping her arms around his back she squeezed him tight and whispered into his chest,

"OK."

"OK."

Time was still moving as she hugged him tightly. They stayed there for what felt like forever, near the double doors into his dorm, letting the night air fall around them. It wasn't that Tom didn't know what to do next, he just wasn't sure he wanted to. Their food was already cold, and probably wasn't that great to begin with, if Tom were to be completely honest (which would still put it a step or two above what he normally ate). In this moment, with them so close they could feel each other's breathing, listen to their heartbeats...be perfectly in tune with one another. Damn the cold, damn whoever was watching, and damn their sleep. Tom just wanted to capture this and hold it, not think about the pain, the suffering that she'd been through, the confusion that had entered their relationship...on both sides of it.

He led her wordlessly upstairs. Tom was feeling none of the normal playfulness, joviality, or pleasure that had defined the earlier stages of their relationship. A joke about his neighbor forgotten, ignored due to the pall that had came over him. The deadness that was going through him now, as scary was it was, still was infinite preferable to the alternative, Tom knew. He didn't want to think, didn't want to give time or space to the demons that were lurking beneath the veneer of comfort and strength he wanted to give to Tamsin. They were still talking to him, taunting beneath the shield that he was desperately trying to keep in place, telling him that he was in way over his head. That he couldn't help her.

It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last.

He hung up his jacket, helped her out of hers. Still trying to be the gentleman, even now, and he simply took her to his couch. All but flopping into it, letting her nestle into his lap, many of the normally pleasurable aspects of the pose long gone. His length that would normally be pressing into her was dormant; there but not active. His hands slowly moved about her shoulders and arms, rubbing up and down them, passing between bare flesh and fabric seamlessly. Not a movement of arousal or passion looking to remove the barrier of clothing from her body, as he'd envisioned earlier. Or one of sensation looking to inflame Tamsin for more pleasurable times to come, to drive her mad with desire.

It was the comforting, loving gesture of someone who had no idea of what to do next. Only that he wanted to be there, and be a part of it. He didn't feel physically tired, and Tom really had no idea how much time passed before he fell into a deep slumber with Tamsin's body sprawled on top of his.

He had no idea what the morning would bring.

Tamsin allowed herself to be led up the stairs to Tom’s room. Neither of them spoke, her words outside in the cold breeze of the night were the last that had been spoken by either of them, and they soon found themselves entering his room. Her jacket was taken from her and hung somewhere in the darkness before she felt Tom’s arms wrap around her and hold her in a tight embrace. Not a lover’s hold, there was no passion in it at all, but the hold of a friend; of someone who wanted to help her and care for her. But the pain is still there. It isn’t going.

She saw Tom collapse into the sofa in front of her, seeing it happen but at the same time not seeing it. To Tamsin it felt like she was floating a few inches above her body, looking down on Tom and herself and watching what was happening. She felt her body fold down onto the sofa next to him and her head fall into his lap where it rested gently in his lap. A comforting hand was placed on her shoulder and rubbed it up and down. A hand intended to comfort her yet the pain remained.

How long they stayed liked that she didn’t know. Her mind wandered in it’s own space and time and by the time she came back to the dark room, the sound of Tom’s soft snores filled the room. Slowly she unfurled herself from him, being careful not to wake him. The arm was still wrapped around hers, no longer stroking but still there holding her close, and she lifted it up before slipping out from underneath it. Padding silently across the room she found her jacket before opening the door and slipping out into the hallway and the dusky morning outside.


It seemed liked ages since she had last smoked. After she and Tom had started seeing each other more regularly, she had cut back without realising. The thick fog that hung over her in her small, messy dorm room contested to the fact that she was making up for time lost.

Tamsin lay in bed, her hair greasy and matted, with a half empty bottle of vodka to her lips. Since the night where the horrible truth about her life had come out, Tamsin had avoided all contact with Tom and had reverted to how she had always dealt with the dark shadow of her depressive spells. Time alone, alcohol and smoking. Bringing the spliff in her hand to her mouth, she inhaled the sweet smoke and felt herself sink deeper into the calming frame of mind.

This was how she made the pain go away. Like this she felt happy and able to take on the world from her bed.

From her desk, her phone was ringing and vibrating. She ignored it, liked she had ignored it for the past week. She knew it was Tom and yet she didn’t want to answer it. Tamsin didn’t need him. She had all she needed right where she was.

She was gone when he got up that morning. Tom wasn't entirely surprised, if the truth were to be told. The food was gone, too, or at least her portion of it, which heartened him a little. She wasn't neglecting her health. She just needed time, space, Tom was sure of. She'd shared her heart with him, told him something she'd probably never told anyone, at least in terms of the abortion. He'd give her a day or two, let her sort her thoughts out, and things could start getting back to normal again. He could have the special night he'd planned, and then they'd resume building their relationship towards something different. Something special.

Tom knew he'd be busy this week, but they'd connect again. He was sure of it.

**********

It turned out he was only half right. Tom *had* been busy as well, as he'd been for a while. Which was about the only thing he'd gotten correct about the events of the seven days following Tamsin's 'meltdown', if he could call it that.

He'd sent her texts, emails, and even tried to call her. At first, Tom hadn't paid it much heed, as wrapped up as he'd been in his projects. It took a day or two for him to get worried, and then by about Tuesday he was near panic. Fearful, doubtful, he left several voice mails for her, wondering if she was even listening to him. Wondering if she cared.

Wondering if she was still alive.

But that hadn't been the frightening part. The part that had scared him the most were the marks he'd been getting on his drawings that week. One he'd thrown together in four hours; a painting all but slapped onto the canvas as some fucked up interpretation of Harley Quinn. To him, it seemed like a mishmash of white, red, and black; eyes fading into a costume that was mushed, blended into the background, like a portrait that had gotten put into the laundry and then flipped upside down.

He'd gotten an A on it, though. Tom had asked his professor about it, and the older man had smiled.

"It evokes confusion, hurt, desperation. It's simple, but it represents the character well, and brings out emotions when I look at it."

"I...threw it together in one evening." Tom was all but gaping at him now, dropping his head in near shame, but the professor just looked at the painting again.

"Imagine how good it would've been if you really explored the motivation behind it, then. The feelings that drove you to create the portrait..."

Tom wasn't afraid to admit that he did entertain the thought for a while. About letting his hurt and frustration mold him into becoming a great artist, letting his feelings about Tamsin festering into an open wound that could drive him into what he had always said he wanted to be.

Because he knew what would speak louder then that was him all but marching out of the classroom, throwing the portrait lopsided into a trash bin, his initials clearly marking the bottom right. The quality of the picture didn't matter. Not if it came about this way.

Not without someone to share it with.

*****

"Flowers, Tom. Definitely flowers."

He frowned at the figure on his computer screen. "Sis, it's not that easy. Besides, I didn't do anything..." Although he'd went to great lengths to keep his relationship with Tamsin a secret from his parents, between the two siblings everything was shared, and nothing was hidden. Her smiling face on the screen helped to comfort him, her upbeat nature a balm for him right now.

"Come on, guys always say that. If she's not talking to you, then you screwed something up."

Deciding, for the moment, that fighting that would be a lost cause unless he wanted to admit to her what it was Tamsin had said (which he had no interest in doing), he sighed. "Okay. But you know damn well that I can't just go out and buy her a bouquet of roses...I'm not made of money here."

"Who said it had to be a bouquet?"

Another sigh escaped him, and then she looked at him seriously.

"Okay, you're an artist...I'm sure you can figure something out with that creative mind of yours that won't break the bank."

He stopped, pausing to think as she smirked at him. "...now why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're a dumbass."

"Not helpful."

"Or because being so wrapped up in the situation means that taking a step back and looking at the situation from a different perspective can be hard." She grinned at him. "If nothing else, it'll let your energy go somewhere else when you're not working on school stuff..."

*****

It was then that left him hanging outside of Tamsin's room again. His previous attempts to try to drag her out of her room hadn't been successful; he'd either been shooed off by her 'roommates', or she just hadn't responded. Still Tom knocked again, his voice trying to carry softly through.

"Tamsin?" Another couple of knocks. "Come on, please talk to me..." It hurt him that she was ignoring him, trying to shut him out, but Tom wouldn't give up that easily. He looked around, before idly fingering the items he'd brought with him.

Being student meant he didn't exactly have the werewhithal to buy roses that would be mangled while he slipped them through her mail slot. The item in his hand, however, a semi-crude papermache/orgami/whatever the hell google had called it rose, painted red with a green paper stem, he would hapily let go to 'waste' as he gingerly pushed it through. After the handwritten note, painted carefully and gingerly with 'burnt' edges, with flowing, stylish black writing on it, red outlining on the edges of the large letters adorning the page.

A cheesy poem, sure, but that was why Tom had nearly failed his english class in grade 12. Pictures were how he spoke, not words, and even of Tamsin hated the words on the page, at least with how cheesy they were, she'd smile.

If she ever read them.

THIS ROSE IS RED
THE PAGE IS NOT BLUE
YOU MIGHT NOT SEE ME
BUT I STILL LOVE YOU


Something in him made him linger at the doorframe; she might not even be home, and if she was, Tamsin might not come to the door. But he took a moment to stare at it, wondering where she was, hoping she was okay before he slowly shuffled back down the hall.

He was barely aware of the fact that he'd never used the word 'love' with her before. Another observation he would've made had he not been so close to the situation.