All Good Nuts Must Come to An End: Part 2
Hello,
Have I mentioned that you need to be following @terribletomimagines and @lyingtom?
Cause you really should. These stories make way more sense if you do. They’re also just great blogs. So. You know. Do it.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
I am adding a ‘read more’ bar. If it doesn’t show up for you then I’m so, so, so sorry cause this bitch is 5,000+ words.
Anyway. On with the show!
Title: All Good Nuts Must Come to An End - Part 2 Based off of/Inspired by: #1, #2, #3, and #4. Warnings: Mentions of other celebrities, Hamlet, short shorts, and I guess cussing.
Date Attempt #2:
Friday (One week later)
After a week of making sure Tom did not find himself in police custody, you were almost ready to take another stab at a date night with his former classmate, Jonathan Birch.
You'd spent the last week texting back and forth with him about how to handle this date, the significance of nightmares, and disagreeing over what good music was.
Tom had moodily slogged through the week. Apparently not appreciating being on home confinement when 'There was a lot of work to be done with seasonal marketing at Tom's Nut Farm.'
Any chance he could find to pester you would be filled with more questions about your date or about how to convince you to take a trip out to the farm with him.
"You aren't allowed to leave the house yet. Luke said so. You can't convince me otherwise."
"It's just to the farm. No one will know. You and Luke act like me selling produce is a big deal."
Without looking away from your phone, you calmly retort, "It is if you nut at some cops trying to arrest you for lack of permits," briefly you glance at him, seeing him hanging over the back of the couch in boredom, and question, "Is that sexual assault or harassing a police officer?"
The pitiful man practically growls before letting his body slink down fully onto the couch. From his janky, folded up position next to you he says, "For the last time. That wasn't me. Some enthusiast from the farm must have thought they'd help me out or something."
"They just happened to coincidently ALSO have oranges for sale?"
"If you'd go to the farm, you would see that the orchards are doing really well."
"They also share your mindset that your farm is above the law?"
Tom Hiddleston couldn't argue that fact and you knew it. So, he growled again and rolled himself off the couch so he could stretch out and huff angrily on the floor. All the while grumbling, "This is all unfair. I was in Hamlet for God's sake!"
"Then please act like it."
From over the top of your phone screen, you could see Tom's ginger curls bounce as his head shot up from the floor and whipped around. Clearly looking for something that ended up taking him out of the room.
Finally. A moment of peace.
You wrapped up your text to Jonathan about seeing him tomorrow for lunch and pocketed your phone with a sigh.
It couldn't be tomorrow soon enough.
"To be or not to be..."
Tom re-entered the room with a scared Bobby stiffly being held up by the actor's outstretched arms.
The dog made eye contact with you, as Tom continued his lines, and you mouthed, "I'm so sorry."
It never crossed your mind that the dog couldn't understand you, especially since Bobby seemed to sag more at your words and lack of help.
Or maybe you imagined that reaction.
It really needed to be tomorrow already.
~
Saturday (tomorrow)
Lunch ended up taking place in a little coffee shop near Tom's house. You had to apologize profusely for the inconvenience but you were under strict orders not to leave your client alone for too long. Or to go too far. Even though today was supposed to be your day off.
"It's no big deal. Coffee and a treat are just as good as an actual lunch. Maybe we can take a little walk after this?"
You knew it was cliche but you couldn't help sighing dreamily. Nothing seemed to deter this guy.
"Maybe, let's see how I feel after I get some caffeine."
A young, shy voice calls out 'Birch' and Jonathan swiftly jumps up from the table while signaling you back into your seat, "I got it, I got it."
After smirking and throwing your hands up in defeat, you sit back down and try to resist checking your phone for potential texts from Luke or Tom. You felt confident that nothing was going to happen today. It was going to be a pleasant, relaxing time.
But then again you never were good at gut feelings on Saturdays.
The sound of your date's chair being scooted out and dragged back in brings your attention away from where you were watching said date pick up the coffee drinks.
Here is a list of people you expected to be seated in front of you (in no particular order):
Tom Luke Bobby Your Father Salma Hayek Oprah The Ghost of Toby Keith Your 8th Grade Science Teacher
You did not expect to see a woman, about your age and height, with familiar looking eyes.
"Hey, sorry I'm late. I've actually never been here before so this will be fun," she says easily as if you were actually expecting her here.
"Yeah, um, who are you?"
Before she gets the chance to answer, Jonathan walks back over and casually sets down your drinks while looking back and forth between you two. You with your mouth slightly open and forehead furrowed and her with a full smile and bright eyes focusing intently on the coffee cups.
Without hesitating, the new lady reaches over and picks up your coffee; immediately taking a sip and smacking her lips with a pleased, "Yum!"
This earns her a scowl from you and an agile, "Here take mine," from your gentleman as he moves his cup in front of you before he looks around and leaves to gather a new chair for the table.
"Great. Now, who the hell are you?"
"Now, now, Y/N, that's not nice," Jonathan chided once he'd returned and sat down. He is sent a quick glare from you before you return to eye battling the new table guest.
Said company finally looks over at him and her eyes widen in surprise, "Tom didn't tell me one of the dates was Michael Fassbender!"
WHAT?!
"Tom?" he asks, while you almost screech, "Michael Fassbender?!"
"Yes," she agrees and then purrs, as she stretches out to stroke at Jonathan's hand resting on the table, " and apparently yes."
"I'm not Michael Fassbender," he sounds almost distressed as he slides his hand away from her and rests it out of her reach.
"He looks nothing like him," you confirm and add, "He's clearly his own person." This earned you a sly grin from Mr.Birch, who looked like he wanted to say something more to your statement.
But, before you two can get too cozy, the mystery lady continues purring, "Oh well. You look like him and that's enough. Both of you will be absolutely fun!"
"Okay, who are you and why did Tom send you?"
Honestly, you should have known that Tom wasn't going to let you just enjoy yourself today. This was probably payback for keeping him cooped up all week. Even though that was really his fault, but try arguing that with him.
"I'm a good friend of Tom's and he said he had a bi-friend," she shrugs while stating it as if it was clearly obvious.
Your hand smacks into your face as you groan and slouch down into your chair.
Of course. Of course.
"A bi-friend?" your date quizzes while poking at your arm. A swift glimpse shows one of his eyebrows raised in an 'oh really' manner and you almost want to giggle at the sight.
Now is not the time though.
"Tom has been on house arrest and we got on the topic of dating and preferences and what not, " you move your hand off your face and lazily wave it at your unwanted company, "Apparently, Tom thinks that being bi means that I like to date two people at once."
Tom's lady friend laughs and gives you a petulant look before declaring, "Honey, that is what it means."
You weren't really sure what you had planned to do with your hands, but you did know that you had sat up and started lunging across the table. The only thing that stopped you was Jonathan grabbing your shoulder and tenderly pushing you back into your seat.
"Let's just enjoy our date. Or what's left of it. I still have to get back to my office," he gives you a side-eyed look and you willingly pretended to relax some of the tension in your body.
"Yes, we can't keep you too long from work," you wink at him once you're sure your third wheel isn't wearily watching you anymore. He gives you a- what should be trademarked- smile before turning back to the woman and beginning to question her on random facts about herself.
After taking a deep breath, you truly do relax in your seat and decide to sip a little at Jonathan's coffee. Keeping your eyes focused on Tom's friend and trying to decide what it was about her eyes that kept setting off alarms in your brain.
It wasn't until she ungraciously excused herself to 'the powder room' do you suddenly jolt forward in your seat and scramble to find your phone.
"What's wrong? Did you lose something?" he asks once Ms. Mystery is out of earshot.
"No. Jonathan. I think I know who she is. Give me a second to Google this."
He says nothing but regards you with cool blue eyes as you furiously tap away at your phone.
Finally, you hold your phone up and show him a picture of Elizabeth Smart.
"Isn't she the one-"
"Yes."
"That looks nothing like this woman."
"No," you agree and hold a finger up before zooming in on her eyes, "now look."
Jonathan squints, then lets his eyes widen and glance towards the bathrooms, then looks back at your phone and squints again.
"That is weird."
"Tom kept going on, FOR-EV-ER, about having a girlfriend and the only thing that was sometimes consistent was that she had eyes like Elizabeth Smart!"
"Then I think his girlfriend is, ah," he actually reddens and does his signature neck rub before finishing, "a lady of the night?"
His blush only intensifies when he sees your baffled gaze. So, Jonathan reaches over and pulls something out from under what was your coffee.
Said object is slid across the table and left sitting in front of you as he mutters, "She put it there and winked at me before going to use the restroom."
Sure enough, it was the prettiest call card you'd ever seen. This woman was a true professional.
After a few beats of silence, you finally look back at him and say, "I'm not sure what's worse. That Tom's girlfriend is an escort or that he hired her to be my plus two today."
You both end up shrugging and you offer him a drink of his coffee.
~
Date Attempt #3:
Sunday (morning sometime)
"Tom, I know it was her. She had eyes like Elizabeth Smart!"
"I don't know who that is!"
Deep breathes. Deep breathes.
"How do you not know? That's literally who you've chosen numerous times to compare to your girlfriend."
"Elizabeth Taylor, yeah, maybe. But I don't know who Smart is."
You clench your hand into a fist and then rasp your knuckles, hard, against your forehead. The amount of rage this job provided was unhealthy and unfortunately, the only therapist you liked wasn't able to professionally see you.
Though fortunately, he was able to unprofessionally see you.
Next Tuesday to be exact. Since you both agreed that another try at a normal, casual date was warranted. You weren't sure how many more unusual dates the guy was going to put up with. Especially since he never let on if these events really bothered him or not.
After removing your fist, from your own face, you look back at the pensive actor sitting in front of you and sigh, "Okay. Well, anyway. I'm not looking to date two people at the same time. So, no more trying to help me in that department, alright?" His fingers instantly seek out his beard and the wheels start turning in his head.
You shudder and cross your fingers behind your back.
Please, supernatural forces, old gods, Allie Brosh, anyone... DO NOT LET TOM HIDDLESTON FUCK UP ANOTHER DATE!
~
Tuesday
For your 3rd outing, you and Jonathan agree to try to keep the setting even more low key. Also, you decide not to leave yourselves sitting ducks for the possibility of another terrible Tom intrusion.
Well, you decide.
Your date thinks you just like taking strolls around the park for no reason.
"Please, please, please. Next time we pass another table with chess you have to let me challenge you," the therapist begged as you two started on your second lap around the park.
You'd obviously denied him the first time because of not wanting to be a waiting target but you already knew you couldn't do it a second time.
The guy was seriously too gorgeous to refuse anything. At least twice anyway.
"Okay," you dubiously agreed and he gave a little cheer and fist pump with his free hand.
His occupied hand tightened its grip on your fingers and you felt that silly middle school blush burn your cheeks again.
After somehow brushing off his first pleas for a game of chess, he'd slowly started letting his hand graze against yours before finally gently interlacing your fingers together. At the same time, he'd moved closer and carefully glanced your way to see your reaction. Unfortunately, for you, you'd also chanced a peek over at him and the resulting eye contact had made you both flush with embarrassment.
Seriously. It was like you two were some young courting couple from a Jane Austin novel. It was disgusting and maybe you loved it.
That is... until this very moment.
You rolled your eyes at your teenage reaction and managed to catch a glimpse of some actual teenagers unsuccessfully hiding behind some shrubbery.
They were clearly giggling, looking at their phones, and then pointing in your direction.
Alright. Weird. But nothing to be worried about.
The walk continued and Jonathan started telling you a story about something that had happened to him, Tom, and even Eddie Redmayne back in their school days. You had tried hard to follow the tale but it was starting to unnerve you that every few steps, more and more people started to appear closer to the walkway.
It wasn't just teenagers anymore. It was a largely diverse crowd and they all were for sure looking straight at you.
Wait.
Not at you.
At Jonathan.
"Maybe, we should," you gradually started guiding him towards a side path that led out of the park and towards a small part of a local shopping district, "go get something to drink. I'm getting parched."
Jonathan, who seemed completely oblivious to the growing number of people, easily followed and started commenting on places he knew that were nearby that would be great for a bite to eat.
Which was all well and good but was not destined to happen.
The mob seemed to realize that you two were trying to leave and the yelling and chasing started.
"Quick, follow Michael Fassbender!"
That was how you two started running. Hard. Like your lives depended on it down the path and out onto the sidewalk.
You weren't even sure when, but at some point, your date started running just a little ahead of you and used your clasped hands to help drag you along. You were so out of breath and tired that you didn't notice that he'd pulled you into a side street; which then led to you abruptly running into him when he stopped. Not even his grasp on you could stop you from falling over.
"I'm so sorry," you panted and beat at your chest with your now free hands as you tried to convince your body to not die.
"It's okay, it's okay," he hushed at you after bending over and hurriedly dragging your unwilling to move body behind a well-placed dumpster.
It was a good thing you were out of breath because this would have greatly bothered you if you were in the right frame of mind.
Distantly, you heard the screeches and yells of "Michael will you sign this autograph" and an overabundance of other things being shouted by the gathered crowd.
Some of the things being said were so nasty that you actually mutely thanked any celestial being that Tom was not here to get any ideas for his farm's website.
Tom.
"I don't know how," you whispered while pulling yourself up into a crouched position next to Jonathan, "but I know Tom Hiddleston did this somehow."
"How?"
You just shook your head and went back to silence as you both continued to listen and feel the pavement shake with the force of people marching by.
Deciding not to let this pause in activity go to waste, you extracted your phone and started scouring through social media sites for the evidence you needed.
And sure enough, as the sounds of voices and feet started to get farther away, you found your proof and showed it to your former therapist.
The phone screen showed an official Twitter account for one -Bobby Hiddleston- that had received over 53,000 retweets for a tweet saying, "I think my good buddy Michael Fassbender is out and about at this park today!" Followed by a map of the park with a huge circle around it.
"Isn't that his dog?"
"He claims Bobby runs his own Twitter but I'm pretty sure Tom does it. I mean... you pick. Either Tom or a dog told people where you were going to be today."
He just snickers softly. His shoulders bunching up in an attempt to contain how badly he wanted to really just laugh out loud. You just tiredly crack your neck and take another trembling breath.
"Do you think the coast is clear? I really need to stand up."
Jonathan peaks around the dumpster, before reaching out to help you stand up, "It looks clear."
"Good. My knee was starting to hurt."
The boyish grin is gone and he flashes you a concerned look before starting to comb over you with both eyes and hands, looking for injuries.
"Was it the running or when you fell just a moment ago?"
"It was a croquet mallet to my knee."
That levels him back up and your date fixes you were a bewildered expression. So, you grant him a little mercy and explain, "I tried to play croquet with Tom and he almost took my kneecap out-"
You stop when the sound of his very loud howling suddenly starts echoing back from the end of the side street.
"It's not funny! I thought I was going to lose my leg!" but you know you aren't saying this with as straight a face as you hoped. This only causes him to double over, laughing even harder at your expression.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's not funny. But it kinda is. All of this is funny."
"I find it all incredibly frustrating. I'm just trying to pay bills, work hard, and date a nice guy that I like. But I'm not catching any breaks."
The laughter slowly stops and you both end up just staring at each. Both still taking deep, air recovering, breaths.
"Y/N. I'm going to kiss you now, alright?"
"Oh."
And he really had planned to. You were positive. He had framed your face with his hands and had started to pull you closer.
But.
That was before someone hollered, "I found him! Quick! Michael is over here!"
It was another infuriatingly instantaneous rush of movements and words, but Jonathan managed to push you against the wall and jumblingly say, "Just stay here and I'll lead them somewhere else. I'll text you once I'm hiding and we can try to plan to meet up another time."
Then you were sliding down the wall and letting yourself fall flat on your ass. Still a little dazed and confused, but still with it enough to hear him yell, "And I am absolutely going to snog you the next time I see you!"
You weren't even sure how long you sat there or how long it'd been since the last fan had gone stomping by.
What. The. Fuck.
This day. This week. This Month. Almost all of this last year was suddenly hitting you like a freight train.
It was so bizarre and just physically draining. Hell, it was mentally almost torture at this point.
Nothing could make any of this weirder for you.
Except for when you looked up at the wall across from you.
Your mouth actually truly gaped open at the sight of the most beautiful Loki graffiti you had ever seen. Not that you'd seen a lot of Loki graffiti but you had seen a lot of Loki artwork and this was truly taking the cake.
The intricate details to his face and armor AND the kaleidoscope of bright and vivid colors was like nothing you had seen before. And there, just under Loki's scepter, you could see it was signed: The 18th Street Gang and Tom Hiddleston.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Was Tom in a gang now?
~
Date Attempt #4:
Thursday
This time you both agree not to try and meet somewhere public. You also don't share any kind of details with anyone. Not Tom. Not Luke. Not your family. Not even your 8th-grade science teacher.
When Luke asks what your plans are for Saturday afternoon, normally one of your few days off, you simply tell him that you plan to be napping and not to disturb you.
"I just need to drop the contract renewal off. I'm obligated to give you exactly two months to go over it before we have to re-up."
"I don't know what to tell you. I'm already really tired that day. Just drop it off at my doorstep and I'll pick it up whenever I wake up."
The publicist eyes you as if you've grown a second head and mumbles under his breath, "Tom is rubbing off on you."
So, you channel the spirit of Tom and weirdly tell him, "Those are fighting words. I think I'll tell Tom he's allowed to wear short shorts and thigh high boots. In public. Again."
Luke doesn't speak to you for the rest of the day.
~
Friday
At this point, Tom was obviously off of home confinement yet you were positive that HE was the one that had asked you if it was okay to work out of his house today.
Instead, you were pacing around his living by yourself and waiting for him to answer his phone.
"You've reached Tom's Nut Farm. Our hours of operation..."
You let your mind wander while you waited for Tom's 12-minute voicemail to go through its spiel.
Where in London could he have gone today? There was too much to be done for him to be galavanting around or selling Nut Farm merchandise.
He had three scripts to go over, two articles to write for some fake news site, and he was supposed to be writing a formal apology to Dame Maggie Smith.
Finally, a robotic female voice breaks through your thoughts with, "Please leave your message after the beep."
Beep.
"Tom. I am at your house. You are not. If you don't return in the next 30 minutes, I'm going to go into your basement and clean it. Then I'm going to blast Taylor Swift's new song on your stereo until the speakers blow out and the neighbors call in a noise complaint on you."
You hung up and immediately regretted your threats. You were going to have to follow through, he wouldn't learn if you didn't, and you literally had picked the two worse ways to torture yourself.
Not even the cleaning crew would touch Tom's basement and you saw how much they were getting paid to come to clean this place once a month.
Then again, you wouldn't clean it for that money either and it was already more than what you made now.
You'd started making your way towards his office when the phone still in your hand started going off. Your clients "secret" moniker popped up on the screen and you huffed before answering, "Why aren't you here, Mrs. Hemsworth?"
"There's an evil tyrant there."
"You dick! You asked me to come here!"
"Oh shit, I didn't realize who I was talking to!"
"30 minutes, Tom, or I'm going to clean your basement."
With great satisfaction, you ended the call as Tom had started to yell, "No, you'll find the secret formula for-"
As you stood motionless in the hallway, you actively hoped to high heaven he'd get here soon. The basement would take at least three days to clean and you had shit to do tomorrow.
~
Saturday
You are giddy with excitement and also about to puke with the little nagging feeling of anxiety that was tingling in your stomach.
Jonathan Birch had absolutely, outright made his intentions of kissing you clear at your last sabotaged date. The only thing was... were you ready?
Sure, you'd gotten to know him pretty well through all the twists and bumps, but this felt like a leap considering you two hadn't even completed one whole normal date!
What to do? What to do?
The sound of a car door shutting interrupts your dramatic internal dialogue and you spare a glance at your phone.
2:02 PM
Jonathan wasn't due until 2:30, so your brain rationalized that it was probably Luke bringing over the paperwork. It was probably best to get the papers from him so that he didn't try and linger. He had seemed adamant that you get the renewal personally from his hands.
You'd opened your front door and stepped out while muttering, "Luke, am I going to even like this new contract?" before turning around and coming face to face with your former therapist.
You're only capable of blinking rapidly at him as he grins and walks closer to you.
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm early. But I didn't want to chance something happening if I waited until 2:30."
Eventually, you remember how to breathe and take a deep gulp of sweet, sweet air before embarrassingly stuttering, "Ye-yeah, that's fine! You're probably onto something with that train of thought."
You share a nervous laugh with each other and, for the first time, you realize he actually looks apprehensive. Mr. Birch had been the epitome of calm, collected, and roll with the flow with everything since the moment you had met him.
Today was different.
"Can I ask you something?" the nervousness evens bleeds into his voice and you promptly nod your head because you're willing to do anything to take that edge away.
Hell, your mind was made up. You'd even kiss him if it meant he'd go back to the carefree attitude.
"Did you agree to go on a date with me because I looked like your boss?"
For a moment, you almost laugh, but then manage to quell the feeling and instead very sincerely say, "Absolutely not."
A wave of relief seems to wash over him and his smile turns slightly silly looking as he asks, "Is it because I look like Michael Fassbender?"
"You don't look like him! I seriously don't understand why people keep saying that!"
He steps closer. You manage not to flinch or dive for cover somewhere.
"Why did you agree then?"
You pretend to think about it. Tap a finger against your chin, roll your eyes up in consideration, and even hum for a second.
"Your pants were so tight that I could see-"
He actually hilariously barks his laughter and swoops you into his arms before you can even try and resist.
"My pants were not that tight," you narrow your eyes at him, "okay, okay. My pants may have been a little too snug."
Your only reply is a snort and a slight tilting of your head. Your eyes briefly dart to the right, thinking you saw a glint of bright light, but are refocused towards Jonathan when he gently brings up a hand and taps at your chin.
"Now?"
"Yes."
And again he is leaning so very close to you. You felt sure it was going to happen this time.
But alas. It did not.
"What the hell are you two doing?"
"Luke!" you scream so loudly, and so quickly push Jonathan away from you, that you don't realize he has mirrored all of your actions perfectly.
Luke Windsor merely stands there and blankly looks back and forth between you two.
"This is a total breach of contract!"
"No, no, no, no, no," you rush to say before motioning avidly at your date, "I told you about me going out with the therapist. This therapist!"
The publicist gives you the most daunting stare possible and you feel a spark of resentment well up in your chest.
Balling your fists up, you say, "Luke, seriously, it's not-" but you stop when you look over to the other man for support.
Jonathan Birch toys restlessly with the neckline of his shirt while giving you a truly miserable and pained look.
"No."
Tom lets his hand drop away from his throat and holds it out like he's trying to offer you something.
Peace? Comfort?
"No," and you can't help but hate how choked up you sound. You place one balled up fist on your hip and bring the other up to your lips. Biting onto your knuckle as you try to stave off the tears.
"I'm sorry. I never meant-"
"I don't care."
And you really don't. Not anymore.
You turn, so your back is towards your front door, and start to back away from both men. Hands now held out in an effort to keep anyone from getting near you.
"Please just let me explain," the actor begs while carefully trying to tread closer to you.
But, you just shake your head and bitterly say through gritted teeth, "I really don't want to hear it."
"I never meant for it to get this far, really, I was just trying to help," his pleas only make you rock your head more vehemently as your back finally presses into your front door. The feeling of the cool metal through your shirt gives you a moment of comfort before you realize Tom is still also fringing closer to you.
"Stop. Seriously. I don't care," and something about the one last extra step he takes seems to suddenly set you off on a rant that had been building up for almost a year.
"Tom Hiddleston, I do not fucking care! After everything, EVERYTHING, I have put up with... why on Earth should this be any different? I've had to flush sriracha out of your eyes three times, you've nearly flooded my home on multiple occasions, tried to break my leg, caused me to be burned," you pause and point to the burn scars still slightly pink on your palm, "and not to mention fucking pretended to be a dinosaur and attacked me!"
Oh, but you are far from done, and you bring a finger up to Tom's chest and rapidly poke hard at him while listing off, "Let's not forget about your obsession with your fucking farm, the fact that you're probably in a Mexican gang, your aversion to hairspray, how every week you watch Marvel porn so you can critique the people who play Loki, and how you made me sleep on the couch because..."
In a strange twist of timing, you trail off just as one particular jab of your finger finally forces Tom to step backward from you. The increased distance is enough for you to feel more clear-headed and to inhale a little easier.
The guest bedroom.
The bright neon warning that you had ignored.
Every thoughtful gesture Tom tried to make ended with hurting you somehow.
There was only one thing that could stop all of this.
"There's only one thing I want to know. I think I deserve that, right?"
At first, you think he finally has decided to stop speaking and the memory of him taking up miming for a week almost breaks your resolve, but you're saved by him decisively nodding with a look of hope.
"How did you do it? Is this like The Prestige or something? Are we going to find dead Tom clones somewhere? Orphan Black, maybe? Oh! What about The Island? Are you going to do an Ewan McGregor impression and finally tell me the truth?"
Luke pipes up from somewhere behind your client, "That is actually a really curious and important question."
Oh. But by the intense frown on your client's face, it's clear it's the worse question.
"I can't tell you how."
You can feel your face scrunch up and barely hold in a lamented chortle.
Then you straighten yourself, as if a soldier called to attention, and give both men a watery smile.
"Tom Hiddleston," you nod to him, "Luke Windsor," another inclination aimed behind Tom, "I quit."
You somehow end up through your front door and have it firmly closed and locked, before the voices on the other side finally react.
Their words are indistinguishable and completely incoherent to you. They could have and might have been, offering you every rich and treasure the world had to offer but you were well and truly done.
You sank down and cuddled your knees to your chest.
If every nice thing Tom tried to do for you ended up with your misery then didn't it make sense to quit?
If it was a looping record, forever doomed to be played on repeat, then didn't it make sense to skip the same old song and dance?
If your relationship, working or whatever, was an endless rehashing of the same crazy story over and over again... Then didn't it make sense to now write...
The End?