LET ME FANDOM IN PEACE

When the little plus sign arrived on the test, you knew your life had changed forever. Still, you had to be sure, so you got another test. And then another. And another.

Plus sign. Plus sign. Plus sign.

It was one thing to suspect. To have that inkling. That suspicion. Tom and you satisfied each craving, each want. And you wanted to have a family. But it was different to have the dreaming and seeking. It was another thing to have the evidence right in front of you. Something wonderful was happening. It had happened, and it was about to happen. It was more wonderful than you could ever imagine. It was flourishing in you. Although right now, the child inside you was so small. The size of a pea. But it would grow. A child who was already so loved and so wanted.

Still, you had to have things ready for your husband. When he arrived home, you were immediately at the front door as he stepped in. You threw your hands around his shoulders. Tom, dear Tom. He was everything. Your lover. Your best friend. And now the father of your child.

“Tom…” you began.

He paused, his jacket still over his shoulders.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked.

You pulled out the three pregnancy tests from your pocket.

“We’re having a baby!” you cried.

He picked you up and spun you around, landing a kiss right on your lips. You kissed him again.

“I’ve never loved you more. You’re going to be a wonderful mother- I love our little one already,” he said, placing a warm hand on your belly.

You already had an announcement set up for Instagram. You put out a blanket with a whiteboard and set flowers around it.

“Welcome Baby Hiddleston-Coming Soon.”

The responses brought love and care. There were a few “OMG! Congrats!” 

 And “WOW! Tom Hiddleston is a DILF,” which made you laugh. And you did agree. Fatherhood was going to make him even more attractive to you. There was something about a hot dad. A man who cared and took care of his family. 

As well as “this is going to be a beautiful baby. The mom is hot, the dad is hot, combined? Come on!” and “Tom is too fine not to reproduce.”

But then…there were other comments.

 They were little. At first like the faint buzzing of a bee flying past you. You saw “really, with her?” As well as “she must be puking out her guts now- LOL!” and “Just wait until she gains all that baby weight, he won’t want her then.”

They were at first a few. But they were a vocal few. You tried to ignore them.

But still, they bothered you. They made you uncomfortable. And your phone kept buzzing. There was new information on there. It was as if your phone was alerting you to every last little thing that was going on. Blasting a comment at your face. And taking a gamble as to what this person would say.

The dam did not confine itself to Instagram. X had featured memes of you with your face on animals that had thousands of likes. Threads had people listing every wrong thing you were doing in public. Tumblr posts were sharing very unflattering images of you. You were self-conscious when you went out. And when you were out, how much paparazzi followed you? How many photos did they take? You made sure you wore nice clothes and put on makeup before you stepped out of the house, from then on. It seemed there was a little of it when you were first with Tom. But now it seemed it was more persistent. 

“They’re…they’re jealous, don’t take it personally,” you reminded yourself. It carried you through. 

The first trimester had its trials. You were waking up in the morning. Your stomach souring. You ran over, lifted the lid to the toilet, and threw up. You liked to start the day by drinking water. Usually, you drank one whole bottle before you had your coffee (only now, you had to switch to decaf). It was only a few sips, and soon it felt like you had to go pee or you would die. So you would burst into the bathroom and pee out until every last drop squeezed out of you. 

It was then that Tom left to film a certain project. A miniseries from Apple TV. You had no idea what it was. Tom gave you some background on it. It was a television adaptation of a novel, The Essex Serpent. The book had won awards. A producer picked it up to adapt it to the screen. Tom signed a contract with Apple TV. So he had to do as they commanded. You looked up a summary on the IMDB page for the yet-to-be-made series: a widowed woman finds refuge looking for a serpent.

Funny. The main character is a woman. That's odd, with such a big name like Tom, you would assume it would be about him. He had long earned his share of leading man roles. How could he not? 

You talked with Tom over the phone one night. Right over your dinner of chicken and baked potatoes.

“Who do you play?” you asked.

“I play William Ransome, he’s the vicar of this small town,” he explained.

You smiled. “Oh…so you’re going to be a hot priest?”

“A what?” 

“The term came from this show, Fleabag. Name says it all. There’s a character who’s named Hot Priest. He falls for the main girl. It gets really sexy, and then really sad. Everyone wanted him and loved him,” you explained.

A small laugh came out of Tom. His eyes sparkled.

“Ah, thank you,” said Tom.

It was fun, having the house to yourself. All the streaming platforms for marathons of your favorite shows and movies. Going to the toilet with the door open. You even enjoyed getting a whole tub of ice cream with no husband to share it with.

But then there was silence.

Nothing. Only the cars crossing the road outside. The rain pattering on the window. And the pregnancy. You were putting on weight. Cue all the comments on Instagram predicting you would look like a cow. And with the way your breasts were starting to heave with milk, you already felt like one. 

But there was a point where it was pure boredom. No show seemed good enough to watch. No book seemed interesting enough to read. And you were off from work. There with your growing belly and your swelling feet and heavy breasts.

Your calls to Tom became longer. He didn’t talk much about hte shoot. Only about it being cold and missing hot, warm tea and dinners. It was both a comfort and a torture to see the pictures people have taken on set. Tom in priest attire in the middle of fields or with sexy open white shirts. Your hormones were raging. You wanted to grab him and ride him into the sunset. Get on your knees and suck him dry. Thank the lord for vibrators. It would then only leave you feeling empty once the device was turned off. It wasn’t like having him actually there. You missed him.

But soon he was back. You embraced and kissed him. Having things to watch now would be more interesting with his commentary. His presence, his footsteps, his scent. 

Though time passed. Editing was now complete. Soon, the show was about to premiere. There would be a red carpet, heels, gowns, and champagne. Followed by a screening where everyone sat and tasted the first three episodes.  

“I don’t know if you should go,” Tom said.

He was scrolling on his phone when the announcement came. A call for all involved to be there for the premiere. You looked down at your growing belly. You were now starting to waddle around the house like a penguin.

“I agree,” you said. “Go ahead, I don’t have to be there.” 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was always good to have a life outside of your marriage, outside of your home, so you met with your friend Jackie. It was a typical meeting of hers- a trip to see the different shopping locations followed by a meal. She plopped her bags down beneath the table. She got tons of new clothes versus your one modest bag. At once, she was ordering a drink, an appetizer, and rib-eye. She looked at you and beamed, her face full of makeup and looking as upright as ever in her stylish dress. 

“Where has Tom been?” she asked.

“He got back from filming, and now he’s gone for the premiere,” you answered.

The server arrived with your mozzarella sticks. Jackie took one and dipped it in marinara sauce.

“What’s premiering?”

“It’s a period drama.”

“Period drama? Y/N, I hardly watch those. Love Island’s been taking up my time.”

“The Essex Serpent. It’s based on a book. He’s playing a hot priest, and the internet is going to explode when he does. If it hasn’t already.”

Jackie blinked. The mozzarella stick in her hand froze in mid-air. She set it down. It’s hot, fried, cheesy goodness all forgotten.

“The Essex Serpent?” she asked.

“Yeah!”

Your drinks arrived. The server placed Jackie’s margherita to her left. She then put your virgin drink to your right.

“Do you know what it’s about?” Jackie asked.

“Yeah. It’s the 19th century. This woman’s abusive husband dies. She’s going to look for this giant serpent in a small town,” you took a sip of your drink. It was fruity and sweet.

“But…do you know what the priest has to do with it?” Jackied asked. 

She put her mozzarella stick on her plate. She leaned forward and folded her hands.

“Tom’s the love interest.”

“Y/N, he’s married,” Jackie said.

“He marries the main woman?”

“No…he’s already married. With kids. I read the book, Y/N. It’s about an affair.”

You paused. Something in you froze. She might as well have slapped you.

“I’m sorry…what? Could you say that again? I want to make sure I’m not crazy, Jackie.”

“It’s an adultery story,” she said.

A heaviness that had nothing to do with the baby settled in your stomach. Jackie continued.

“He cheats on his wife as she’s dying from tuberculosis.”

Now you knew you weren’t hungry. You picked at your food when it arrived, and had to take the rest back in a box. But your mind was whirling.

It disrupted your sleep. You tossed and turned. You got out your phone, intending to call Tom, but you couldn’t. You knew he was busy.

Who was she? This fictional woman. This fictional wife?

Part of you hoped the wife was mean. Or abusive. That made it an easier pill to swallow. Adultery was easier to understand when one partner was a demon from hell. When you were a kid, you found this soap opera in your aunt’s DVD collection and watched some of it. It took place in the older days. There was this beautiful heroine who fell in love, but her father forced her to marry a much older man. The older husband sexually assaulted her on their wedding night. He beat her, killed her maid, and even locked her up in her room. The heroine ended up having an affair in the midst of this. 

You remembered when you went to your mother as a pre-teen, and asked: “Mama, is adultery okay if one of the partners is abusive?” You couldn’t recall her answer.

When you stalked online, some people agreed with you. But it set off all sorts of responses from other people.

.

“Fiction isn’t supposed to be moral; stop being the Hays Code.”

“Fiction shouldn’t have to appeal to morality, bad stuff doesn’t have to be punished, are you a puritan?”

“But remember, your trigger warnings are your responsibility.”

But you couldn’t help but ask yourself, “Do your friends' mouths come with trigger warnings?”

Yes, Y/N, why didn’t you check the trigger warnings? Why weren’t you careful? Why did you act like that? Why did you dress like that? Why did you go to that place? Why did you have that drink? Why did you talk to that man? It’s all your fault. You should have been more careful. It. Was. All. Your. Fault. 

You didn’t plan to read the book at all. You ended up wandering into a bookstore. Noting which section marked P for Perry, as in Sarah Perry, the author. You would lower your eyes and walk away. Or flip it off. That made you feel better. A little. 

But then came one comment. It completely changed your perspective. 

This one woman online. How odd, you never met her and she never met you, but yet you respected her opinion- was talking about book reviews. She began to note that there were people who left reviews who never actually read the book. That it was wrong. Rude. Unfair.

You paused. Could you say you hated the Essex Serpent if you never experienced it? How could you be mentally critiquing it…and all while knowing nothing about it? 

There was only one way to settle that. One way to justify your hatred of the book. To gain the right to say or feel anything bad about it.

You went to the library and got a copy. 

You sat down to read. But found yourself invested in it. Reading on breaks. Reading before dinner and delaying dinner further to read more. Yes, the writing was pretty. Sarah Perry is more of a poet than a storyteller.

But this wife…her name was Stella. Stella for star. And her husband did call her a star of the sea. (“Liar!” you thought, wanting to throw the book across the room).

She handed people flowers. Befriended everyone. Saw beauty and meaning in such ordinary things. Her mother said sex was only endured for the sake of children, but she had a wonderful sex life with her husband. In fact, she was always pregnant early in their marriage. She had borne five children and buried two. You were already dealing with bearing one child, but having five! That was quite a lot! And you couldn’t imagine losing the one you had. When you read that part, you put a protective hand over your belly as if to shield your baby from any harm. 

Yes, Stella got sick. Yes, she wanted her husband to be happy. Yes, that involved saying she was too tired to dance. That her husband should dance with Cora, the main female character. Instead.

But…Neither Cora nor Will seemed to know that Stella approved of the affair. They didn’t know her thoughts and feelings. Didn’t consider it.

And they didn’t seem to care.

Nowhere in the text did they ever stop and think about how this would affect Stella. 

Will was too happy masturbating (while “howling like a dog”) over the marshes to Cora. Cora was busy picking out postcards to send to Will. 

And as Stella got sick, she would write in her journal. Though, of course, she didn’t allow Will to see her journal. So how on earth could he ever know she actually approved of the affair! She could not want it for all he knew!

Stella called Cora Will’s “better helpmeet.”

That meant his better wife.

Despite everything Stella did. Having sex with her husband. Giving him children. Being a dutiful vicar’s wife. Leaving him alone on Saturdays to work. Being religious and feminine. Having no ambitions outside of marriage and motherhood.  Being loyal to him. Loving only him.

She wasn’t enough.

She never was. And she never would be.

You tried not to think about it. To distract yourself. To find things that preoccupy your mind. You turned on Netflix to binge-watch the Queen Charlotte spinoff. Only to find out with horror that, betrayal of marital vows did in fact exist in that world. The kind that was celebrated. Violet’s father had an affair with Lady Danbury. And by then Lady Danbury was a widow. 

It was like The Essex Serpent. And his kid knew and approved… because of love? And it implied the wife deserved it because she was mean and…racist. (She! A wealthy white woman in 18th-century England was racist! That never happened!)

The wife’s actions and behaviors didn’t matter. A wife betrayed is a wife betrayed.

You wanted to throw your remote across the room. You wanted to punch the television. You ended up sobbing, downing two soda cans, and not sleeping.

How often had this happened? Why did people have that fantasy? You knew the answer. It was the fantasy of being desired, of being chosen, of being wanted that badly that someone with enough want would cross that line for you. Isn’t that what all women wanted, after all? To be wanted.

It then struck you…why did Tom say yes to this role? Why did he seem so eager to do it?

Why didn’t he tell you about the affair?

Had he read the book before? What did he think? What did he feel? Did he not consider Stella? Stella, the lesser helpmeet? 

To think when you married him, you thought him better, nobler, higher? Was Tom really just a man? 

All that love, all that work…and there was nothing. Nothing at all. Was he…betraying you? Wouldn’t he…would he? He probably already did. The role of Will Ransome stirred excitement in Tom. 

One morning, you woke up, and you couldn’t get yourself out of bed. You felt spent. Empty. Nothing.

You couldn’t text Tom. He was too busy with the premiere. And maybe a woman who was a better wife than you.

And how alone you were. They would all say you were crazy. Getting this upset over a fictional narrative? You should have checked the trigger warnings.

I’m stupid, you thought, stupid, and I hate myself.

You wanted to yell, to scream. You typed out a text to Tom that was in all caps, but you deleted it.

You lay in your bed, staring at your ceiling, and sobbed.

You then got up. But your body felt heavy. You could barely eat breakfast. You had several tabs open on your phone of various stores online. You put items in your cart as “treat yourself” shopping days, and you purchased a lot. Money was flying from your bank account. You maxed out your credit card. But no matter how much you bought, there was that rush, that thrill…and then it went away. It didn’t stop the bad feeling. Only numbed it for a short while.

You weren’t good enough for him. And he didn’t keep to his vows.

You felt nothing but pain. There was truly nothing but pain around you. And you wanted the pain to stop. Anything to make it stop.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next thing you knew, you were in a hospital. The white, fluorescent light blaring in your face. The tall, white walls bleaching out the world around you. It smelled acidic, like hand sanitizer. You wore a blue hospital gown over your shirt and pants. Red socks with little white dots all over them were on your feet. You looked around, and there were nurses and doctors all around you. 

The shame felt hard. You didn’t know if it was shame or relief. You felt embarrassed. You felt weak. You couldn’t lift your arms or move your legs. You didn’t know what to think. But you were also scared. Open and vulnerable. Dragged to your lowest point. At your ugliest, rawest self…and what would you find? You felt groggy. You felt frightened. You shook. You were something cracked and open. Raw and bleeding.

There was a doctor who was on the phone, talking to someone. You couldn’t tell who.

“Yes…suicide attempt…she survived, she’s with us. Called us in time. We have to watch her.”

You turned your head to her. As you spoke, your voice felt hoarse.

“Is…is the baby okay?” 

The medical worker turned her dark head over to you. She put a hand over the phone.

“Yes. The baby is still there. You both are gonna be okay.”

They wheeled you over from the emergency room to a hospital room. It was yellow with a wide window showing a street. It was already night, and there were no stars in the sky from the fluorescent glow of the hospital’s lights. Attached wires around your body to measure your pulse and vital organs. Though you had to peel them off to use the bathroom on shaky legs. They assigned one person to watch over you, sitting in a chair next to you as they stared at their phone all day. Noticing a small black remote, you pushed the red button to turn on the television. 

You were changing the channel to a movie when Tom burst in. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair unbrushed. Scruff was all over his chin. He ran over to you and took your hand.

“Darling, darling- how are you? Oh God, thank God-I canceled everything- I had to go over- they told me everything- tell me, how are you now?” he went over and cupped your face.

“I’m…I’m alright…”

He kissed the top of your forehead and pulled you in for a hug. It was the longest, tightest hug you had ever received from him. He smelled of sweat. It had struck you-he was your emergency contact. And he dropped everything he had to go to you.

“What happened? Please tell me!” he said.

“Tom, I…I…I thought you didn’t love me. And…I was all alone. I thought the pain would never end. I thought all I did for you. All that happened…was for nothing…and I felt…felt nothing…nothing but sadness…and I wanted it to go away.”

“You are enough for me, my angel. What brought you to think there was no way out? Well, I’m here. And I’m staying. I’m staying until the sadness goes away. Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together,” he promised.

He stayed in that room all day. The TV screen played a movie from your childhood that you both watched together. Tom was there to hold your hand. He spoke to the nurses and made sure you got your meals delivered. He was there for checkups. He even sat on the bed and let you curl up next to him.

Once enough time had passed, the hospital declared you to be stable. They brought you to a crisis center to recover. They took your phone and placed it in a bag, putting it in a closet where you couldn’t access it. The days felt like a boarding school. You changed into a large grey sweatshirt that covered your belly and long pants with green socks. It was so cold in the building. You requested having an extra blanket that always had to stay in your room. They made sure you had the right medications that would not harm your baby. And you spent your days coloring, doing word searches. Walking the halls for exercise, staring out the window. Watching television and waiting for your next meal. God, it was boring. People in movies and media always made psych wards way scarier than they actually were. The other people in there didn’t threaten you. They usually slept all day. Taking all the comfortable couches, so all you had left were hard chairs to watch the current movie with.

You looked forward to the hour when they allowed you to call Tom. Guests and visitors weren’t permitted. But you could call. So you scrawled up his number on a piece of paper you always had with you. Then lay the scrap next to your bed as you slept. Dreaming of seeing him, touching him, being with him in every way a wife could. You would call and talk to him. He would discuss doing various chores around the house. Cleaning his office or a new recipe he tried, and he wanted to hear about all that you were doing. 

He even commented, “You’re already improving, my love. Keep at it. You’re starting to sound like yourself again.”

Then one morning, you walked into the main room before breakfast. A sitcom came on. On the show, a husband and wife were debating an issue. But then the wife proved her point with several quips. In the style of the sitcom, some words on the screen pointed to her and said: “Just got him.” Then the words pointed to the defeated husband and said: “hates being got.”

It made you laugh. Yes, laugh. It came out small, but then it poured out of you like singing, like a water fountain, like the stretch of a rainbow. Laughter. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed.

From then on, you made sure to make the most of your time. You talked with the social worker. You took your meds. You used the back pages of the word searches and coloring pages to journal with crayons. You made sure to watch every tv show and movie and take note of it to tell Tom all about it. Meals regained their taste. Everything was…interesting. You even made lists of everything you were going to do once you were out.

You were going to go to the park and walk for thirty minutes every day. You were going to reread all your favorite books. You were going to go eat ice cream. You were going to watch all these movies.

Soon enough, they put you in the room and announced that you would be heading home in two days.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That morning, the crisis center gave you your phone back and a bag. On it was a 90-day supply of your medications. There were cards reminding you of your first therapy and doctor's appointment. You gave them the address, and they put you in a car and drove you over. It was parked before your place. You got out, still in the grey sweatshirt and pants. Feeling like the final girl crawling out of the horror movie. Now that the horror was over…now what would happen? 

Once you arrived at your home, Tom immediately ran to the door. He embraced you and kissed you.

“My dear, we need to celebrate. What would you like to do? Anything you want to eat?”

“You know what I’m craving? Buttered popcorn. The kind from the movies,” you said.

After you changed out of your grey shirt and sweatpants, you and Tom saw a matinee at the local theatre. Damn the press, he was going to be out with his wife. You both saw something you’ve been curious about. Something you could handle. You munched on popcorn and let the butter get beneath your fingernails. As you walked out, you had to squint because the light of the day was shining right in your face. Your belly was so full you felt as if popcorn could spill out of it. Tom held your hand and walked you over to the car. He drove home, as you both discussed the movie. Tom went on about the acting. You pointed out what you liked and what you didn’t like.

But the time had come to finally bring up the subject. Now that you have privacy. It was easier while driving. Tom was looking at the road and getting close to parking the car at home.

“Tom, I know that the Essex Serpent is a cheating story. And your character cheats on his wife.”

He frowned. He turned a corner to the right.

“You know I’m not my characters.”

“Why did you agree to do it?” you asked.

“Let me park first.”

He pulled the car up to the spot where he always parked. He then put it in park and turned it off. He looked over at you.

“I don’t think cheating is an okay thing. And the book is beautiful. And I want to play complex characters. I want challenges. I love Loki, I always will, but I want to try to challenge myself.”

You folded your hands in your lap. You looked down over your swelling belly. Tears began to well up, and your face felt hot.

“But Tom…has there…has there been anyone…with you being so enthusiastic about this role, I…I…”

A tear rolled down your cheek despite yourself.

“Because you wanted to cheat on me!”

The sobbing began. Uncontrollable. A dam built up now broken. He held you and rocked you back and forth.

“Oh, my poor dear, oh sweet angel, darling Y/N…shhh, shhhh…” he said.

He then held your face, looking into your eyes. Wiping your tears with his thumb.

“No. There was no one. Not during filming. Not during the premiere. And there will be no one. There hasn’t been anyone since we met. I saw you, spoke to you…and when I realized I loved you, there was no one else for me. I wanted you for my wife, or I wouldn’t have one at all. I made you a promise-until death do us part. And I intend on keeping it.”

You wrapped your arms around him and kissed his cheek. He held you for a while. Outside, you heard birds chirping. The cool air from outside seeped in through the windows. But you had your husband to keep you warm.

“I-I read it, and I hated it. You may have gotten something out of it, but I…I respect you as an actor, but that story and Will make me so angry! You should have told me what it was about?” you asked.

“I…I didn’t want to spoil it for you!”

“I’d prefer to know what happens when you take something! I can handle spoilers.”

“Darling, I…I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

He released the hug. You sniffed back a few tears. A smile broke on you despite yourself. There was something inside of you bursting. But instead of feeling hopelessness, there was something else. Something growing- something pure.

“Tom…I know you’re not your characters. I don’t want your characters. I want you…But it’s been tough, the things- the things people online have said about me!”

“What do they say?” he asked.

You told him. His face turned red, and there was a flare in his blue eyes.

He took your hands in his own. They were large, soft, and warm, completely covering your own.

“And I promise, from now on, I will do everything in my power to protect you and the baby…I will be right here. And…if you ever want to speak. About anything. Anything at all…I promise you, I will not judge you. I am here, and I am listening.”

You both hugged each other. You felt a tear slide down from your eyes. He then gave you a little kiss on your forehead, and you smiled.

That night, he made a special chicken dinner. He put his hand on your thigh and smiled at you. He would whisper things to your ear. And you felt desire bloom in you like a flower. You both went to bed. And enjoyed each other’s bodies until it was very late, and you were crying his name aloud from pleasure.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the next week, he was attentive. He made sure to cook all your meals, he let you rest, and you watched movies and television together. Even doing each other's tasks on the computer in each other’s presence. You never left each other alone. 

On a Thursday, Tom got out the ring light. He adjusted the brightness and then got his phone out. He pressed a button, and soon the live video camera was on.

“Hello, this is Tom, and I have a message for you fans…”

You stood by, away from the camera. Tom didn’t believe in social media. He thought it was too much of a distraction. But yet here he was- going live on Instagram. His message was that important.

“I have heard some of you disrespecting and insulting my wife. Mocking her, being cruel to her- and this I cannot tolerate. I must ask that this stop now.”

You knew it might not be a perfect response. There will still be some comments that got to you, but you were going to practice as Tom did. Spending less time on social media. Setting your accounts to private. Spending more time in the real world, enjoying real things. Things like ice cream, books, movies, and warm drinks. You still had nightmares sometimes about what happened. Surviving a suicide attempt meant that now everything was a threat. You went to your ultimate low. And it struck you that you could go there again. 

Yet again, it only meant you saw your life as precious again. You were taking your medications at the same time every day. And you were getting therapy. With someone who wouldn’t cry, “Why didn’t you check the trigger warnings!” when you explained what happened. You continued to watch Tom.

“From now on, we’re going to take regular sabbaths from social media. But comments that dare to harm my wife, I will block and report.”

Tom then finished his message and signed off. Wishing love and a good day to all watching who would still support and love you both. It was wonderful- Tom couldn't help but be Tom. Even if he was angry, the rare times he was, it was full of love.

He turned off the ringlight and set his phone down. He then smiled at you.

“Have you heard of the Ariadne Project?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t,” you said as you walked closer to him. Putting a hand on your belly to steady yourself.

“It’s a charity. For women whose husbands or families have abandoned them. Give them food, water, things they need.”

“Oh, they sound lovely.”

“My dear, I took the rest of my check from the Essex Serpent…and I’ve donated it to this charity,” he said.

Your jaw dropped. You walked up to him, grabbing his hand.

“Tom, are you sure?” you asked.

“Of course I’m sure…”

You leaned your head against him in a hug. 

“Let’s never discuss that show again, Tom.”

“Alright. Only if you prompt it,” he said.

“Tom, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He put a hand on your belly. And you felt a kick. Letting out a gasp, you grabbed Tom’s hand and put it on your belly. A smile burst on him as he felt the baby kicking.

“Why, hello!” he said.

He leaned down, talking to the child inside as he placed both hands on your stomach.

“Your mother is the bravest person I’ve ever met. I can’t wait for you to meet her, little one.”

When the little plus sign arrived on the test, you knew your life had changed forever. Still, you had to be sure, so you got another test. And then another. And another.

Plus sign. Plus sign. Plus sign.

It was one thing to suspect. To have that inkling. That suspicion. Tom and you satisfied each craving, each want. And you wanted to have a family. But it was different to have the dreaming and seeking. It was another thing to have the evidence right in front of you. Something wonderful was happening. It had happened, and it was about to happen. It was more wonderful than you could ever imagine. It was flourishing in you. Although right now, the child inside you was so small. The size of a pea. But it would grow. A child who was already so loved and so wanted.

Still, you had to have things ready for your husband. When he arrived home, you were immediately at the front door as he stepped in. You threw your hands around his shoulders. Tom, dear Tom. He was everything. Your lover. Your best friend. And now the father of your child.

“Tom…” you began.

He paused, his jacket still over his shoulders.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked.

You pulled out the three pregnancy tests from your pocket.

“We’re having a baby!” you cried.

He picked you up and spun you around, landing a kiss right on your lips. You kissed him again.

“I’ve never loved you more. You’re going to be a wonderful mother- I love our little one already,” he said, placing a warm hand on your belly.

You already had an announcement set up for Instagram. You put out a blanket with a whiteboard and set flowers around it.

“Welcome Baby Hiddleston-Coming Soon.”

The responses brought love and care. There were a few “OMG! Congrats!” 

 And “WOW! Tom Hiddleston is a DILF,” which made you laugh. And you did agree. Fatherhood was going to make him even more attractive to you. There was something about a hot dad. A man who cared and took care of his family. 

As well as “this is going to be a beautiful baby. The mom is hot, the dad is hot, combined? Come on!” and “Tom is too fine not to reproduce.”

But then…there were other comments.

 They were little. At first like the faint buzzing of a bee flying past you. You saw “really, with her?” As well as “she must be puking out her guts now- LOL!” and “Just wait until she gains all that baby weight, he won’t want her then.”

They were at first a few. But they were a vocal few. You tried to ignore them.

But still, they bothered you. They made you uncomfortable. And your phone kept buzzing. There was new information on there. It was as if your phone was alerting you to every last little thing that was going on. Blasting a comment at your face. And taking a gamble as to what this person would say.

The dam did not confine itself to Instagram. X had featured memes of you with your face on animals that had thousands of likes. Threads had people listing every wrong thing you were doing in public. Tumblr posts were sharing very unflattering images of you. You were self-conscious when you went out. And when you were out, how much paparazzi followed you? How many photos did they take? You made sure you wore nice clothes and put on makeup before you stepped out of the house, from then on. It seemed there was a little of it when you were first with Tom. But now it seemed it was more persistent. 

“They’re…they’re jealous, don’t take it personally,” you reminded yourself. It carried you through. 

The first trimester had its trials. You were waking up in the morning. Your stomach souring. You ran over, lifted the lid to the toilet, and threw up. You liked to start the day by drinking water. Usually, you drank one whole bottle before you had your coffee (only now, you had to switch to decaf). It was only a few sips, and soon it felt like you had to go pee or you would die. So you would burst into the bathroom and pee out until every last drop squeezed out of you. 

It was then that Tom left to film a certain project. A miniseries from Apple TV. You had no idea what it was. Tom gave you some background on it. It was a television adaptation of a novel, The Essex Serpent. The book had won awards. A producer picked it up to adapt it to the screen. Tom signed a contract with Apple TV. So he had to do as they commanded. You looked up a summary on the IMDB page for the yet-to-be-made series: a widowed woman finds refuge looking for a serpent.

Funny. The main character is a woman. That's odd, with such a big name like Tom, you would assume it would be about him. He had long earned his share of leading man roles. How could he not? 

You talked with Tom over the phone one night. Right over your dinner of chicken and baked potatoes.

“Who do you play?” you asked.

“I play William Ransome, he’s the vicar of this small town,” he explained.

You smiled. “Oh…so you’re going to be a hot priest?”

“A what?” 

“The term came from this show, Fleabag. Name says it all. There’s a character who’s named Hot Priest. He falls for the main girl. It gets really sexy, and then really sad. Everyone wanted him and loved him,” you explained.

A small laugh came out of Tom. His eyes sparkled.

“Ah, thank you,” said Tom.

It was fun, having the house to yourself. All the streaming platforms for marathons of your favorite shows and movies. Going to the toilet with the door open. You even enjoyed getting a whole tub of ice cream with no husband to share it with.

But then there was silence.

Nothing. Only the cars crossing the road outside. The rain pattering on the window. And the pregnancy. You were putting on weight. Cue all the comments on Instagram predicting you would look like a cow. And with the way your breasts were starting to heave with milk, you already felt like one. 

But there was a point where it was pure boredom. No show seemed good enough to watch. No book seemed interesting enough to read. And you were off from work. There with your growing belly and your swelling feet and heavy breasts.

Your calls to Tom became longer. He didn’t talk much about hte shoot. Only about it being cold and missing hot, warm tea and dinners. It was both a comfort and a torture to see the pictures people have taken on set. Tom in priest attire in the middle of fields or with sexy open white shirts. Your hormones were raging. You wanted to grab him and ride him into the sunset. Get on your knees and suck him dry. Thank the lord for vibrators. It would then only leave you feeling empty once the device was turned off. It wasn’t like having him actually there. You missed him.

But soon he was back. You embraced and kissed him. Having things to watch now would be more interesting with his commentary. His presence, his footsteps, his scent. 

Though time passed. Editing was now complete. Soon, the show was about to premiere. There would be a red carpet, heels, gowns, and champagne. Followed by a screening where everyone sat and tasted the first three episodes.  

“I don’t know if you should go,” Tom said.

He was scrolling on his phone when the announcement came. A call for all involved to be there for the premiere. You looked down at your growing belly. You were now starting to waddle around the house like a penguin.

“I agree,” you said. “Go ahead, I don’t have to be there.” 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was always good to have a life outside of your marriage, outside of your home, so you met with your friend Jackie. It was a typical meeting of hers- a trip to see the different shopping locations followed by a meal. She plopped her bags down beneath the table. She got tons of new clothes versus your one modest bag. At once, she was ordering a drink, an appetizer, and rib-eye. She looked at you and beamed, her face full of makeup and looking as upright as ever in her stylish dress. 

“Where has Tom been?” she asked.

“He got back from filming, and now he’s gone for the premiere,” you answered.

The server arrived with your mozzarella sticks. Jackie took one and dipped it in marinara sauce.

“What’s premiering?”

“It’s a period drama.”

“Period drama? Y/N, I hardly watch those. Love Island’s been taking up my time.”

“The Essex Serpent. It’s based on a book. He’s playing a hot priest, and the internet is going to explode when he does. If it hasn’t already.”

Jackie blinked. The mozzarella stick in her hand froze in mid-air. She set it down. It’s hot, fried, cheesy goodness all forgotten.

“The Essex Serpent?” she asked.

“Yeah!”

Your drinks arrived. The server placed Jackie’s margherita to her left. She then put your virgin drink to your right.

“Do you know what it’s about?” Jackie asked.

“Yeah. It’s the 19th century. This woman’s abusive husband dies. She’s going to look for this giant serpent in a small town,” you took a sip of your drink. It was fruity and sweet.

“But…do you know what the priest has to do with it?” Jackied asked. 

She put her mozzarella stick on her plate. She leaned forward and folded her hands.

“Tom’s the love interest.”

“Y/N, he’s married,” Jackie said.

“He marries the main woman?”

“No…he’s already married. With kids. I read the book, Y/N. It’s about an affair.”

You paused. Something in you froze. She might as well have slapped you.

“I’m sorry…what? Could you say that again? I want to make sure I’m not crazy, Jackie.”

“It’s an adultery story,” she said.

A heaviness that had nothing to do with the baby settled in your stomach. Jackie continued.

“He cheats on his wife as she’s dying from tuberculosis.”

Now you knew you weren’t hungry. You picked at your food when it arrived, and had to take the rest back in a box. But your mind was whirling.

It disrupted your sleep. You tossed and turned. You got out your phone, intending to call Tom, but you couldn’t. You knew he was busy.

Who was she? This fictional woman. This fictional wife?

Part of you hoped the wife was mean. Or abusive. That made it an easier pill to swallow. Adultery was easier to understand when one partner was a demon from hell. When you were a kid, you found this soap opera in your aunt’s DVD collection and watched some of it. It took place in the older days. There was this beautiful heroine who fell in love, but her father forced her to marry a much older man. The older husband sexually assaulted her on their wedding night. He beat her, killed her maid, and even locked her up in her room. The heroine ended up having an affair in the midst of this. 

You remembered when you went to your mother as a pre-teen, and asked: “Mama, is adultery okay if one of the partners is abusive?” You couldn’t recall her answer.

When you stalked online, some people agreed with you. But it set off all sorts of responses from other people.

.

“Fiction isn’t supposed to be moral; stop being the Hays Code.”

“Fiction shouldn’t have to appeal to morality, bad stuff doesn’t have to be punished, are you a puritan?”

“But remember, your trigger warnings are your responsibility.”

But you couldn’t help but ask yourself, “Do your friends' mouths come with trigger warnings?”

Yes, Y/N, why didn’t you check the trigger warnings? Why weren’t you careful? Why did you act like that? Why did you dress like that? Why did you go to that place? Why did you have that drink? Why did you talk to that man? It’s all your fault. You should have been more careful. It. Was. All. Your. Fault. 

You didn’t plan to read the book at all. You ended up wandering into a bookstore. Noting which section marked P for Perry, as in Sarah Perry, the author. You would lower your eyes and walk away. Or flip it off. That made you feel better. A little. 

But then came one comment. It completely changed your perspective. 

This one woman online. How odd, you never met her and she never met you, but yet you respected her opinion- was talking about book reviews. She began to note that there were people who left reviews who never actually read the book. That it was wrong. Rude. Unfair.

You paused. Could you say you hated the Essex Serpent if you never experienced it? How could you be mentally critiquing it…and all while knowing nothing about it? 

There was only one way to settle that. One way to justify your hatred of the book. To gain the right to say or feel anything bad about it.

You went to the library and got a copy. 

You sat down to read. But found yourself invested in it. Reading on breaks. Reading before dinner and delaying dinner further to read more. Yes, the writing was pretty. Sarah Perry is more of a poet than a storyteller.

But this wife…her name was Stella. Stella for star. And her husband did call her a star of the sea. (“Liar!” you thought, wanting to throw the book across the room).

She handed people flowers. Befriended everyone. Saw beauty and meaning in such ordinary things. Her mother said sex was only endured for the sake of children, but she had a wonderful sex life with her husband. In fact, she was always pregnant early in their marriage. She had borne five children and buried two. You were already dealing with bearing one child, but having five! That was quite a lot! And you couldn’t imagine losing the one you had. When you read that part, you put a protective hand over your belly as if to shield your baby from any harm. 

Yes, Stella got sick. Yes, she wanted her husband to be happy. Yes, that involved saying she was too tired to dance. That her husband should dance with Cora, the main female character. Instead.

But…Neither Cora nor Will seemed to know that Stella approved of the affair. They didn’t know her thoughts and feelings. Didn’t consider it.

And they didn’t seem to care.

Nowhere in the text did they ever stop and think about how this would affect Stella. 

Will was too happy masturbating (while “howling like a dog”) over the marshes to Cora. Cora was busy picking out postcards to send to Will. 

And as Stella got sick, she would write in her journal. Though, of course, she didn’t allow Will to see her journal. So how on earth could he ever know she actually approved of the affair! She could not want it for all he knew!

Stella called Cora Will’s “better helpmeet.”

That meant his better wife.

Despite everything Stella did. Having sex with her husband. Giving him children. Being a dutiful vicar’s wife. Leaving him alone on Saturdays to work. Being religious and feminine. Having no ambitions outside of marriage and motherhood.  Being loyal to him. Loving only him.

She wasn’t enough.

She never was. And she never would be.

You tried not to think about it. To distract yourself. To find things that preoccupy your mind. You turned on Netflix to binge-watch the Queen Charlotte spinoff. Only to find out with horror that, betrayal of marital vows did in fact exist in that world. The kind that was celebrated. Violet’s father had an affair with Lady Danbury. And by then Lady Danbury was a widow. 

It was like The Essex Serpent. And his kid knew and approved… because of love? And it implied the wife deserved it because she was mean and…racist. (She! A wealthy white woman in 18th-century England was racist! That never happened!)

The wife’s actions and behaviors didn’t matter. A wife betrayed is a wife betrayed.

You wanted to throw your remote across the room. You wanted to punch the television. You ended up sobbing, downing two soda cans, and not sleeping.

How often had this happened? Why did people have that fantasy? You knew the answer. It was the fantasy of being desired, of being chosen, of being wanted that badly that someone with enough want would cross that line for you. Isn’t that what all women wanted, after all? To be wanted.

It then struck you…why did Tom say yes to this role? Why did he seem so eager to do it?

Why didn’t he tell you about the affair?

Had he read the book before? What did he think? What did he feel? Did he not consider Stella? Stella, the lesser helpmeet? 

To think when you married him, you thought him better, nobler, higher? Was Tom really just a man? 

All that love, all that work…and there was nothing. Nothing at all. Was he…betraying you? Wouldn’t he…would he? He probably already did. The role of Will Ransome stirred excitement in Tom. 

One morning, you woke up, and you couldn’t get yourself out of bed. You felt spent. Empty. Nothing.

You couldn’t text Tom. He was too busy with the premiere. And maybe a woman who was a better wife than you.

And how alone you were. They would all say you were crazy. Getting this upset over a fictional narrative? You should have checked the trigger warnings.

I’m stupid, you thought, stupid, and I hate myself.

You wanted to yell, to scream. You typed out a text to Tom that was in all caps, but you deleted it.

You lay in your bed, staring at your ceiling, and sobbed.

You then got up. But your body felt heavy. You could barely eat breakfast. You had several tabs open on your phone of various stores online. You put items in your cart as “treat yourself” shopping days, and you purchased a lot. Money was flying from your bank account. You maxed out your credit card. But no matter how much you bought, there was that rush, that thrill…and then it went away. It didn’t stop the bad feeling. Only numbed it for a short while.

You weren’t good enough for him. And he didn’t keep to his vows.

You felt nothing but pain. There was truly nothing but pain around you. And you wanted the pain to stop. Anything to make it stop.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next thing you knew, you were in a hospital. The white, fluorescent light blaring in your face. The tall, white walls bleaching out the world around you. It smelled acidic, like hand sanitizer. You wore a blue hospital gown over your shirt and pants. Red socks with little white dots all over them were on your feet. You looked around, and there were nurses and doctors all around you. 

The shame felt hard. You didn’t know if it was shame or relief. You felt embarrassed. You felt weak. You couldn’t lift your arms or move your legs. You didn’t know what to think. But you were also scared. Open and vulnerable. Dragged to your lowest point. At your ugliest, rawest self…and what would you find? You felt groggy. You felt frightened. You shook. You were something cracked and open. Raw and bleeding.

There was a doctor who was on the phone, talking to someone. You couldn’t tell who.

“Yes…suicide attempt…she survived, she’s with us. Called us in time. We have to watch her.”

You turned your head to her. As you spoke, your voice felt hoarse.

“Is…is the baby okay?” 

The medical worker turned her dark head over to you. She put a hand over the phone.

“Yes. The baby is still there. You both are gonna be okay.”

They wheeled you over from the emergency room to a hospital room. It was yellow with a wide window showing a street. It was already night, and there were no stars in the sky from the fluorescent glow of the hospital’s lights. Attached wires around your body to measure your pulse and vital organs. Though you had to peel them off to use the bathroom on shaky legs. They assigned one person to watch over you, sitting in a chair next to you as they stared at their phone all day. Noticing a small black remote, you pushed the red button to turn on the television. 

You were changing the channel to a movie when Tom burst in. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair unbrushed. Scruff was all over his chin. He ran over to you and took your hand.

“Darling, darling- how are you? Oh God, thank God-I canceled everything- I had to go over- they told me everything- tell me, how are you now?” he went over and cupped your face.

“I’m…I’m alright…”

He kissed the top of your forehead and pulled you in for a hug. It was the longest, tightest hug you had ever received from him. He smelled of sweat. It had struck you-he was your emergency contact. And he dropped everything he had to go to you.

“What happened? Please tell me!” he said.

“Tom, I…I…I thought you didn’t love me. And…I was all alone. I thought the pain would never end. I thought all I did for you. All that happened…was for nothing…and I felt…felt nothing…nothing but sadness…and I wanted it to go away.”

“You are enough for me, my angel. What brought you to think there was no way out? Well, I’m here. And I’m staying. I’m staying until the sadness goes away. Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together,” he promised.

He stayed in that room all day. The TV screen played a movie from your childhood that you both watched together. Tom was there to hold your hand. He spoke to the nurses and made sure you got your meals delivered. He was there for checkups. He even sat on the bed and let you curl up next to him.

Once enough time had passed, the hospital declared you to be stable. They brought you to a crisis center to recover. They took your phone and placed it in a bag, putting it in a closet where you couldn’t access it. The days felt like a boarding school. You changed into a large grey sweatshirt that covered your belly and long pants with green socks. It was so cold in the building. You requested having an extra blanket that always had to stay in your room. They made sure you had the right medications that would not harm your baby. And you spent your days coloring, doing word searches. Walking the halls for exercise, staring out the window. Watching television and waiting for your next meal. God, it was boring. People in movies and media always made psych wards way scarier than they actually were. The other people in there didn’t threaten you. They usually slept all day. Taking all the comfortable couches, so all you had left were hard chairs to watch the current movie with.

You looked forward to the hour when they allowed you to call Tom. Guests and visitors weren’t permitted. But you could call. So you scrawled up his number on a piece of paper you always had with you. Then lay the scrap next to your bed as you slept. Dreaming of seeing him, touching him, being with him in every way a wife could. You would call and talk to him. He would discuss doing various chores around the house. Cleaning his office or a new recipe he tried, and he wanted to hear about all that you were doing. 

He even commented, “You’re already improving, my love. Keep at it. You’re starting to sound like yourself again.”

Then one morning, you walked into the main room before breakfast. A sitcom came on. On the show, a husband and wife were debating an issue. But then the wife proved her point with several quips. In the style of the sitcom, some words on the screen pointed to her and said: “Just got him.” Then the words pointed to the defeated husband and said: “hates being got.”

It made you laugh. Yes, laugh. It came out small, but then it poured out of you like singing, like a water fountain, like the stretch of a rainbow. Laughter. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed.

From then on, you made sure to make the most of your time. You talked with the social worker. You took your meds. You used the back pages of the word searches and coloring pages to journal with crayons. You made sure to watch every tv show and movie and take note of it to tell Tom all about it. Meals regained their taste. Everything was…interesting. You even made lists of everything you were going to do once you were out.

You were going to go to the park and walk for thirty minutes every day. You were going to reread all your favorite books. You were going to go eat ice cream. You were going to watch all these movies.

Soon enough, they put you in the room and announced that you would be heading home in two days.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That morning, the crisis center gave you your phone back and a bag. On it was a 90-day supply of your medications. There were cards reminding you of your first therapy and doctor's appointment. You gave them the address, and they put you in a car and drove you over. It was parked before your place. You got out, still in the grey sweatshirt and pants. Feeling like the final girl crawling out of the horror movie. Now that the horror was over…now what would happen? 

Once you arrived at your home, Tom immediately ran to the door. He embraced you and kissed you.

“My dear, we need to celebrate. What would you like to do? Anything you want to eat?”

“You know what I’m craving? Buttered popcorn. The kind from the movies,” you said.

After you changed out of your grey shirt and sweatpants, you and Tom saw a matinee at the local theatre. Damn the press, he was going to be out with his wife. You both saw something you’ve been curious about. Something you could handle. You munched on popcorn and let the butter get beneath your fingernails. As you walked out, you had to squint because the light of the day was shining right in your face. Your belly was so full you felt as if popcorn could spill out of it. Tom held your hand and walked you over to the car. He drove home, as you both discussed the movie. Tom went on about the acting. You pointed out what you liked and what you didn’t like.

But the time had come to finally bring up the subject. Now that you have privacy. It was easier while driving. Tom was looking at the road and getting close to parking the car at home.

“Tom, I know that the Essex Serpent is a cheating story. And your character cheats on his wife.”

He frowned. He turned a corner to the right.

“You know I’m not my characters.”

“Why did you agree to do it?” you asked.

“Let me park first.”

He pulled the car up to the spot where he always parked. He then put it in park and turned it off. He looked over at you.

“I don’t think cheating is an okay thing. And the book is beautiful. And I want to play complex characters. I want challenges. I love Loki, I always will, but I want to try to challenge myself.”

You folded your hands in your lap. You looked down over your swelling belly. Tears began to well up, and your face felt hot.

“But Tom…has there…has there been anyone…with you being so enthusiastic about this role, I…I…”

A tear rolled down your cheek despite yourself.

“Because you wanted to cheat on me!”

The sobbing began. Uncontrollable. A dam built up now broken. He held you and rocked you back and forth.

“Oh, my poor dear, oh sweet angel, darling Y/N…shhh, shhhh…” he said.

He then held your face, looking into your eyes. Wiping your tears with his thumb.

“No. There was no one. Not during filming. Not during the premiere. And there will be no one. There hasn’t been anyone since we met. I saw you, spoke to you…and when I realized I loved you, there was no one else for me. I wanted you for my wife, or I wouldn’t have one at all. I made you a promise-until death do us part. And I intend on keeping it.”

You wrapped your arms around him and kissed his cheek. He held you for a while. Outside, you heard birds chirping. The cool air from outside seeped in through the windows. But you had your husband to keep you warm.

“I-I read it, and I hated it. You may have gotten something out of it, but I…I respect you as an actor, but that story and Will make me so angry! You should have told me what it was about?” you asked.

“I…I didn’t want to spoil it for you!”

“I’d prefer to know what happens when you take something! I can handle spoilers.”

“Darling, I…I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

He released the hug. You sniffed back a few tears. A smile broke on you despite yourself. There was something inside of you bursting. But instead of feeling hopelessness, there was something else. Something growing- something pure.

“Tom…I know you’re not your characters. I don’t want your characters. I want you…But it’s been tough, the things- the things people online have said about me!”

“What do they say?” he asked.

You told him. His face turned red, and there was a flare in his blue eyes.

He took your hands in his own. They were large, soft, and warm, completely covering your own.

“And I promise, from now on, I will do everything in my power to protect you and the baby…I will be right here. And…if you ever want to speak. About anything. Anything at all…I promise you, I will not judge you. I am here, and I am listening.”

You both hugged each other. You felt a tear slide down from your eyes. He then gave you a little kiss on your forehead, and you smiled.

That night, he made a special chicken dinner. He put his hand on your thigh and smiled at you. He would whisper things to your ear. And you felt desire bloom in you like a flower. You both went to bed. And enjoyed each other’s bodies until it was very late, and you were crying his name aloud from pleasure.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the next week, he was attentive. He made sure to cook all your meals, he let you rest, and you watched movies and television together. Even doing each other's tasks on the computer in each other’s presence. You never left each other alone. 

On a Thursday, Tom got out the ring light. He adjusted the brightness and then got his phone out. He pressed a button, and soon the live video camera was on.

“Hello, this is Tom, and I have a message for you fans…”

You stood by, away from the camera. Tom didn’t believe in social media. He thought it was too much of a distraction. But yet here he was- going live on Instagram. His message was that important.

“I have heard some of you disrespecting and insulting my wife. Mocking her, being cruel to her- and this I cannot tolerate. I must ask that this stop now.”

You knew it might not be a perfect response. There will still be some comments that got to you, but you were going to practice as Tom did. Spending less time on social media. Setting your accounts to private. Spending more time in the real world, enjoying real things. Things like ice cream, books, movies, and warm drinks. You still had nightmares sometimes about what happened. Surviving a suicide attempt meant that now everything was a threat. You went to your ultimate low. And it struck you that you could go there again. 

Yet again, it only meant you saw your life as precious again. You were taking your medications at the same time every day. And you were getting therapy. With someone who wouldn’t cry, “Why didn’t you check the trigger warnings!” when you explained what happened. You continued to watch Tom.

“From now on, we’re going to take regular sabbaths from social media. But comments that dare to harm my wife, I will block and report.”

Tom then finished his message and signed off. Wishing love and a good day to all watching who would still support and love you both. It was wonderful- Tom couldn't help but be Tom. Even if he was angry, the rare times he was, it was full of love.

He turned off the ringlight and set his phone down. He then smiled at you.

“Have you heard of the Ariadne Project?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t,” you said as you walked closer to him. Putting a hand on your belly to steady yourself.

“It’s a charity. For women whose husbands or families have abandoned them. Give them food, water, things they need.”

“Oh, they sound lovely.”

“My dear, I took the rest of my check from the Essex Serpent…and I’ve donated it to this charity,” he said.

Your jaw dropped. You walked up to him, grabbing his hand.

“Tom, are you sure?” you asked.

“Of course I’m sure…”

You leaned your head against him in a hug. 

“Let’s never discuss that show again, Tom.”

“Alright. Only if you prompt it,” he said.

“Tom, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He put a hand on your belly. And you felt a kick. Letting out a gasp, you grabbed Tom’s hand and put it on your belly. A smile burst on him as he felt the baby kicking.

“Why, hello!” he said.

He leaned down, talking to the child inside as he placed both hands on your stomach.

“Your mother is the bravest person I’ve ever met. I can’t wait for you to meet her, little one.”

You were officially past due. Your belly hung heavy like overripe fruit on a branch, ready to snap at any moment. 

In the week leading up to your due date, you had tried everything to induce labor. A vast array of spicy foods. As much exercise as you could endure. A desperate prayer to any god who would hear you. None of it worked. Your prayers seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The Asgardian midwives you had trusted to care for you and guide you through your pregnancy assured you that you were perfectly healthy, that your daughter was safe in your womb, and that she would make her glorious appearance when fate decided it was time.

But that didn’t help the dull ache in your ribs that flared whenever your daughter squirmed inside you.

You had almost rolled your eyes during the midwives’ last visit, but Loki had placed a consoling hand atop yours. 

“I am not trying to silence you,” He reminded you gently after they’d left, brushing his thumbs tenderly over your cheeks. “I am simply trying to protect your peace. Now, please tell me all of your worries, that I may listen and alleviate them.”

You burst into tears against his chest.

Now nearly a week past due, Loki insisted on you resting as often as you could. He stood straight as an arrow at the kitchen counter, preparing dinner. You envied his perfect posture now more than ever.

You sat at the table, your swollen feet propped up on an ottoman. You rubbed the stretched expanse of your stomach absentmindedly. As you looked out the window into your garden, you realized how much you had neglected it over the past few weeks. Your flowers wilted lifelessly. Your vegetables had developed leathery, rotting patches at their bases. Weeds were beginning to creep up your trellises. 

It didn’t help that it had been an unusually dry Autumn. New Asgard hadn’t seen so much as a sun shower in days.

“We could really use a good storm.” You mumbled to yourself. 

“Did you say something, darling?” Loki turned to face you, concerned and doting.

Then, the thought struck you like lightning on a distant prairie. An old wives’ tale. 

Babies are often born in storms.

You looked up at your husband with a mixed expression of desperation, conviction, and hope. 

“Call your brother.” 

With the promise of a home cooked meal prepared by his dear brother, Thor made his way to your cottage in the hills. His hearty knock rattled the doorframe. 

“Come in!” You called urgently from the kitchen table. The door creaked open. Thor ducked as he crossed the threshold and smiled sympathetically at you. 

“Hello, sister.” He leaned down to wrap you in a brotherly embrace.

“Thank you for coming.” You draped your arms around his broad shoulders and gave his back a pat. When he pulled away, you motioned to the empty seat beside you. “Please, sit.” 

Loki placed a colorful, well-balanced plate in front of his brother. A seasoned salmon filet, mixed vegetables, and crispy potato wedges sprinkled with herbs. Adjusting to life without servants preparing meals had been a bit of a struggle, but you had taught him well. 

“Thank you, brother.” Thor grinned teasingly up at Loki. 

“You’re very welcome,” He answered curtly. “Though I advise you not to expect this treatment in the future. I am only doing this to ease my wife’s burdens.”

Thor chuckled in response and began to eat. “So,” He said in between chewing. “Why have you summoned me, sister?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off by a sharp kick, which caused you to gasp. Your daughter, startled awake by the voices around her, was seemingly expressing her frustration the only way she knew how. You winced and rubbed your stomach, trying to appease her.

Loki noticed. He always noticed. He reached down and pressed his palm to your side, a warm light emanating from his hand. A tingling sensation spread like carbonated bubbles through your torso. You exhaled slowly as the pain dissolved. Your daughter stretched, then settled. Like balm to a wound.

“Thank you.” You whispered and gave his arm a grateful squeeze. You steeled yourself and returned your attention to your brother-in-law, who had nearly cleared his plate at this point. 

“Could you please summon a storm for me?”

“Of course, but…”—He paused to swallow a bite—“Whatever for?”

“It’s an old wives’ tale,” You began. “Some people believe that the drop in barometric pressure during a storm… can… induce…” You gestured vaguely, hoping Thor would catch on. Unfortunately, he only stared at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Induce… what?”

Your face fell. 

“Labor, brother.” Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. 

“Ah!” Thor broke into a wide, delighted smile as understanding dawned. “You wish to evict the child!”

“Something like that, yes,” You laughed, despite yourself. “I don’t need a hurricane. Just a few hours of rain and thunder. Worst case scenario, the baby resists and my hydrangeas get the water they desperately need.” 

Thor laughed, his booming voice shooting up to the weathered ceiling beams. Your daughter jumped inside you.

“The child will be in your arms by this time tomorrow. You have my word.” He vowed, his eyes sparkling with determination. 

“I’ll hold you to it.” You gave him a watery, cautiously optimistic smile—but optimistic nonetheless. 

Shortly after Thor left, the storm began. It started with a light patter of rain against the roof and windows, which quickly turned into a downpour. Eventually, the thunder began its slow descent over the hills, echoing through the peaks and valleys. 

“I should warn you,” Loki drawled as you both climbed into bed. “If this plan of yours works, my brother may request to have the child named after him.”

“If it works, I just might grant that request.” You huffed as he pulled the quilted blanket over your shoulders.

He chucked and leaned in for a kiss, which you happily returned. 

“This may be our last night as a duo.” He said softly, running his fingertips along your arm. Your eyelids began to droop with bone-deep exhaustion. 

“Here’s to hoping.” You murmured, your vision dimming like a flickering candle.

He pulled you close, the swell of your bump pressed carefully against his midsection, as rain poured down the window in a rippling current.

In the deep hours of the night, you jolted awake to a rolling sensation that crested at the highest point of your belly and tightened in your pelvis. 

You reached over and shook Loki awake. He was instantly alert, his hand flying to your stomach, protective magic sparking from his fingertips.

“It worked. It’s starting.” You whispered breathlessly in the dark. 

“Nothing was broken,” he replied casually. “I was going to wait outside, but then I found your spare key and I thought I’d wait in here and surprise you.”

You were astounded by his audacity. “We haven’t even seen each other for over two years, and you think you have the right to just walk right into my house?”

“I thought you’d be pleased to see me. I mean, you clearly wanted to get my attention with that laughable display James witnessed the other day, so here I am.”

Fuck. You folded your arms and leaned against the doorway in an attempt to hide your growing panic. “A bit narcissistic of you to assume I was trying to get your attention, isn’t it? Is it so hard to believe that I was simply getting coffee with my boyfriend?”

“Please,” Bryan scoffed. “You knew full well that James was going to be at that café at that time. I also did some research on your guy Cal, and there’s no way you would date someone like that.”

“People change,” you said with a shrug. “And cyber stalking is very different from actually getting to know a person, Bryan.”

“James also told me that Cal didn’t put on a very convincing performance.”

“He’s quirky is all,” you lied, making a mental note to get your money back from Cal.

Bryan rose from the chair and walked toward you. “You’re not a very good liar, Peach.”

“Stop calling me that,” you said through gritted teeth as you slowly backed away from him.

He just kept advancing toward you, with an smug smile on his face. “Just admit you miss me and we can go back to the way things were.” 

“I’d sooner die alone,” you hissed as your back met the wall behind you.

His smile didn’t falter. “Oh, I have missed that spice of yours.”

Before you knew what was happening, he grabbed you by the waist, pinned you to the wall, and kissed you hard on the lips. You quickly pushed him away, and without thinking, slapped him across the face. 

Slowly, he turned his head back to you, anger in his eyes like you hadn’t seen before. Then he retaliated with his own slap, causing you to gasp from the pain and shock. 

You brought your hand up and lightly touched your stinging cheek, and then glared at him through the tears welling up in your eyes. “Get the fuck out of my house,” you warned in a low voice. 

“Gladly,” he replied as he threw your spare key down on the floor by your feet and stormed out. When he slammed the door behind him, you flinched and then sank down to the floor and cried. 

It wasn’t just the violation of Bryan invading your home, or forcing himself on you, or even the slap, though all of that definitely had you shaken. It was the realization of what this meant for you and Tom. Clearly, Bryan still had feelings for you, and now, thanks to your stupid idea, you were back on his radar. He was a powerful man with virtually endless resources at his disposal, so it wouldn’t be hard at all for him to find out who you were dating, and given what he did tonight, you knew he wasn’t going to respond rationally if he did.

You weren’t sure how long you had been crying by the time your phone rang. It was Tom. Shit. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew you had to answer him. 

“Hey,” you greeted him dejectedly. 

“Hi,” he replied. “I just got home. Are you still out with Kaitlyn?”

“No, I’m at my place.” You tried to hide the shakiness in your voice, but you couldn’t. 

“Are you okay, darling?” he asked, immediately concerned.

“I’m fine. Look, something came up and I have to stay here tonight.”

“You don’t sound fine. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I, erm– fuck.” You couldn’t hold back your tears any longer. 

“Hey, it’s alright. I’ll be right there. Just–”

“No!” you interrupted him. “You can’t come here.”

“Why?” He sounded suspicious. “What’s going on?”

You let out a shaky sigh. “Bryan was here.”

“What?” he asked, the alarm in his voice quite apparent. “When?”

“When I got home a little while ago,” you explained. “He was in the house waiting for me.”

“What the fuck? That’s trespassing! Did you call the police?”

“No, but it’s fine, Tom. He’s gone now. I handled it. I’m just a bit shaken up is all.”

By now he was surely pacing, like he always did on a stressful call. “What did he want?”

“He knew the Cal thing was fake, but he thought I was trying to get his attention. I tried to convince him it was genuine, but he knew I was lying. He wanted me to admit I missed him and we could go back to the way things were. I told him I didn’t want that, but then he kissed me.” 

“What?!”

You winced. “I promise you, I immediately pushed him away and slapped him, but then he slapped me back and–”

“He did what?!” Tom shouted. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Baby, I swear, I’m fine,” you quickly attempted to reassure him. “It just stings a little. And I told him to leave and he did.”

“That’s not the point. He hurt you!”

“Yeah, but I slapped him first–”

“Because he kissed you when you didn’t want him to! Your slap was self-defense, his was assault.” You could practically hear the vein in his temple protruding from rage. “I’m coming over, and we're calling the police.”

“Tom, no!” you objected. “It was just a slap! And what do you think will happen if we report Bryan fucking Romley to the police? It’s my word against his and we both know how that’s going to go.”

“Y/n, the man broke into your house, waited for you to come home, forced himself on you, and then physically assaulted you when you tried to defend yourself. If you don’t want to report him, that is your choice, but I’m not going to let you spend the night alone in that house.”

“Believe me, I want nothing more than to be with you right now, but we can’t risk Bryan or someone who works for him catching you coming here or following me to your house.”

You heard him let out a frustrated sigh. “This isn’t negotiable, love. I need to know you’re safe.” He paused to think. “What if I send a car to come get you and bring you to a hotel and I can meet you there, discreetly?”

You hesitated. There was still some risk with Tom’s plan, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to let it go, and you needed to be with him, so you gave in. “Alright, yeah.”

“Okay,” he replied with some relief. “I’ll have the driver come to your door so you don’t have to leave your house alone.”

“Thank you,” you said sheepishly.

“Of course, my darling. I’m going to head to the hotel now and call the car on the way, alright? I’ll see you very soon.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After he hung up, you picked yourself up off the floor and went to your bedroom to pack an overnight bag, and by the time you were finished, the driver had already arrived. 

On the way to the hotel, you were constantly looking out the back window to see if anyone was following. Luckily, it didn’t appear that way.

Tom had texted you the room number, so when you arrived at the hotel, you went straight up to the room. Almost immediately after you knocked, he opened the door, pulled you in, and quickly shut it behind you. 

“Thank god you’re alright,” he said as he pulled you in for a hug. 

As soon as you felt the warmth of his embrace, you broke down crying again.

“Oh, my love,” he consoled you softly, stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, darling. You’re safe.” 

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed into his chest. 

He pulled back slightly to look at you. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“I fucked it up. I made this situation with Bryan worse.”

He cradled your face in his hands and looked into your eyes. “Sweatheart, you haven’t done anything wrong, understand? Romley’s actions are his own, and now we at least know what we’re dealing with.”

“What are we going to do?” you asked, searching his misty blue eyes, as if you’d find the answer there.

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out, okay?” he told you earnestly. “We’re not going to let him win.”

“Okay,” you replied meekly as more tears fell down your cheeks. 

Tom wiped your tears away with his thumbs. “Let’s get you to bed, love.”

Once the two of you were in bed, Tom held you tight against him, stroking your back while you nuzzled your face into his chest, until, eventually, you fell asleep.

…

The next morning, you woke with a slightly clearer head than the night before. You decided that the best thing for you to do for the time being was keep busy with work. Tom was less than enthused about the idea, to say the least.

“You can’t be serious,” he said as he sat up in bed. 

“Baby, I can’t just put my whole life on hold hiding from Bryan,” you told him as you got dressed. “Even if he were to track me down at work, he wouldn’t dare do anything remotely untoward in public. He cares far too much about his reputation. Honestly, I’m much more concerned about him finding out about you, and the more time we spend together in this hotel room, the more likely that is to happen.”

Tom sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to go to work no matter what I say, so I don’t know why I even bother.”

You sat down on the bed facing him and cupped his face in your hand. “I promise I’ll be careful, Tommy. I’ll make sure I’m never alone, and I’ll check in with you as often as I can, alright?”

He gave a weak nod, but there was still so much worry in his eyes. “I’ll call Luke. See what he thinks we should do.”

You dropped your hand from his face and looked down at your lap. “I have a feeling I know what he’s going to say.”

“And I’ll tell him that’s not an option,” he tried to reassure you.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely convinced that Luke would be able to come up with a better solution than breaking up your relationship, or would even want to for that matter. But you didn’t have time to think about that at the moment. “Right. Anyway, good luck with Luke. I’ve gotta go. I love you.” 

“Love you too,” he replied with a brief kiss. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will.” And with that, you got up and left.

…

When you arrived at work, you told Kaitlyn what happened, and she became almost as protective as Tom. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay? Should you even be here right now?” she asked in a panic.

“I’m fine, Kait. Really,” you assured her. “I was more shocked than anything. And I need to be here. I have no idea what this means for Tom and I going forward, so I need to work in order to keep my mind from spiraling to the worst possible outcome.”

Kaitlyn looked at you hesitantly. “How does Tom feel about you being here?”

“How do you think?” you replied. “I hate causing him so much worry, but he needs to trust that I know what’s best for myself.”

“I don’t think it’s you he doesn’t trust, love,” she told you. 

“Be that as it may, I can’t hide from Bryan forever. And for all we know, last night might have been the end of it.”

Just then, your phone rang, and when you saw it was Tom, you realized you hadn’t told him you’d arrived safely, so you quickly answered.

“Hi, darling. Sorry I forgot to text you, but I’m at work with Kait–”

“Sweetheart, you need to come to Luke’s office,” Tom said. He sounded off.

“Now?” you asked, confused. “Can it wait?”

“I don’t think so, darling, no. Is Kaitlyn able to cover for you again for a bit?”

Fuck. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t good. Your heart started pounding. “Erm, yeah, she should be able to.” 

You looked at Kaitlyn who mouthed the words “Go! Go!” while making frantic shooing motions at you.

“Alright, I’ll be right there,” you told him as you gathered your things. After you hung up, you thanked Kaitlyn, and then rushed out the door.

…

When you walked into Luke’s office, Tom was standing by the desk, holding some paper in his hand and looking at you with a morbid expression. 

“What’s going on?” you asked him urgently.

“Have a seat, Y/n,” Luke said as he closed the door behind you. You ignored him, continuing to look at your boyfriend for an answer.

Tom cautiously stepped toward you. “We’ll figure this out, okay?” he said gently as he handed you the papers and put his hand on your upper arm.

At the top of the first sheet of paper were the words ‘DO NOT HIRE’ in big, bold letters. Your heart rate skyrocketed as you looked at the list. 

“Third page,” Luke told you. 

You flipped to the third page to see that there was a name circled at the bottom of the list, but it wasn’t Tom’s, like you’d expected.

It was yours.

“There is no need to worry yourself, darling,” you told him. “We’re both working that day anyway.”

He lifted his head and you could see out of the corner of your eye that he was looking at you puzzled. “You haven’t taken the day off?”

“No, because I haven’t even thought about it really.” You turned around to face him. “I’ve been a little preoccupied by other matters, if you recall.”

“Well, I’d really appreciate the opportunity to spend some time with my girlfriend on her birthday, and since I can’t exactly take the evening off…” he trailed off, looking at you expectantly.

“Alright,” you conceded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Atta girl,” Tom said with a grin.

“I have to check the schedule and see what scenes we’re meant to shoot that day, though.” You informed him. “As long as it’s a relatively easy day, Kaitlyn should be able to manage the team without me.” 

“Lovely! Now, do you have any requests for your birthday?”

“Not really,” you replied thoughtfully. “No cards or gifts or anything, though, please.”

“Wow. You really aren’t giving me anything to go on, are you?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “All I want is to spend time with you, okay?”

“That’s very sweet, darling,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your sides. “Unhelpful, but sweet.”

“Kind of like the way you’re distracting me from cooking?”

He laughed. “Touche.”

…

A few days later, on the morning of your birthday, you woke to the feeling of Tom’s soft lips gently kissing your cheek.

“Good morning, birthday girl,” he cooed softly, causing a small, sleepy smile to creep onto your face, though you weren’t ready to open your eyes yet. You felt his hand stoke your hair as he moved his lips to your ear. “There’s chocolate chip pancakes and crispy bacon waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“Ten more minutes,” you mumbled sleepily. 

He chuckled softly. “It’s going to get cold, love.”

“Then why’d you make it before I woke up?”

“Because I wanted it to be ready right when you woke up, and I thought you’d be up by now, sleepy head.” He began kissing down your neck and across your collar bone.

“You know this is just making me want to stay in bed even more now, right?” 

He chuckled again as he got under the covers and continued kissing down the center of your body. When he got to your pelvis, he gently spread your legs, leaned his head down, and licked a long, slow stripe up the length of your slit, lingering on your clit. You hummed with pleasure as you melted further into the mattress. Then he retracted his tongue and swiftly sat up, throwing the covers back behind him. “Birthday breakfast first, then we can continue.” He winked down at your now scowling face.

“Rude,” you replied simply.

Tom leaned forward, bringing his face close to yours. “But effective,” he countered with a smile before giving you a quick kiss on the lips and then climbing out of bed and exiting the bedroom. 

You let your glower turn to a smile as soon as he disappeared. Then you got up and quickly used the toilet and brushed your teeth, before slipping on one of his t-shirts and heading to the kitchen. 

As you were walking through the dining room, you heard Tom’s soft voice from the kitchen.

“Mum’s up, Bobby,” he said in the sweet, gentle voice he always used when he talked to his pup. As soon as he said it, you heard the rapid clicking of claws on the tile before the excited brown cocker came barrelling around the corner towards you. 

Your heart leapt. You’d never heard Tom refer to you as Bobby’s mum before, and it was just about the sweetest thing you’d ever heard. Grinning from ear to ear, you knelt down to greet Bobby, scratching his ears as he licked your face. “Good morning, my sweet boy!”

“Oh, so he gets a ‘sweet boy’ when he licks you, but when I do it, I’m just rude?” called Tom from the kitchen. 

You stood back up and walked into the kitchen smiling. “Well, if you’d just finished what you sta–oh fuck…” You stopped in your tracks. There was Tom, standing at the stove, wearing an apron and absolutely nothing else. “Weren’t you wearing pyjamas a few minutes ago?” you asked after you picked your jaw up off the floor.

“Happy Birthday, darling” he said with a grin as he turned to face you. 

“Indeed.” You bit your lip as you stared at him shamelessly. “Could you do me a favor and get me some coffee?” 

“Sure…” He looked at you with a hint of skepticism, then turned around toward the coffee maker on the counter behind him. Just as you planned, it gave you a gorgeous view of his perfect ass.

“There’s my sweet boy,” you mused.

Tom chuckled, and when he turned back around, you could see that he was blushing slightly. As he handed you your coffee, he kissed you on the cheek. “Go sit down. I’ll bring you your food.”

With your free hand, you grabbed him by the apron. “You’ve not kissed me properly yet today,” you told him in a sultry tone. 

His gaze softened as he looked down at your lips and smiled. “Well, that just won’t do, will it?” Wrapping his arms around your waist, he leaned down and kissed you softly and sensually. “Better?” he asked after hesitantly pulling his lips away from yours.

Slowly opening your eyes, you smiled up at him. “Much.”

“Good,” he replied as he let go of your waist. “Now go sit before the food gets cold.”

As you turned to make your way to the dining room, he gave you a playful swat on the butt, causing you to giggle as you walked away.

…

After you both finished eating, Tom brought the plates back to the kitchen, and when you heard the water start to run, you followed suit. When you walked in, you were greeted by the sight of Tom’s bare ass again as he stood at the sink, washing the dishes. With a smirk, you walked over and pinched his butt, which made him jump slightly. 

“Can I help?” you asked, placing a kiss on his shoulder as you moved to stand next to him.

“Absolutely not,” he replied in a playfully stern tone. “You are forbidden from doing any chores on your birthday.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “I’m forbidden, am I?”

“Yep. You are allowed to sit on the counter and look pretty for me while you wait.” He gave you a wink.

You gasped, but there was a hint of laughter in it. Then you quickly put your hand under the water and splashed him on his apron. He looked at you in surprise before sending a bigger splash in your direction, which got you in the chest. Foolishly, you responded by cupping both hands under the water and splashing him right in the face. 

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” he said, as he swiftly grabbed the spray hose next to the faucet and attempted to spray you. With a high-pitched shriek, you dodged behind him, but then he sprayed it over his shoulder and soaked you, causing you to scream and run to the other side of the kitchen. Pointing the sprayer at you, he extended the hose as long as it would go and attempted to spray you again, but it didn’t reach far enough. You laughed and stuck your tongue out at him, but that was another foolish mistake. He dropped the hose and lunged for you, chasing you around the kitchen island as you shrieked and giggled. Soon enough, he caught you, grabbing you with one arm firmly around your waist. You kicked, and screamed and laughed as he carried you back to the sink and sprayed you relentlessly until the t-shirt you wore was completely soaked.

“Okay, you win!” you shouted. 

He laughed as he set you and the sprayer down. 

You looked down at your sopping wet body. “This is your shirt, you tosser,” you said with a chuckle. 

When you looked back up at him, he was staring at you with a sly little smirk on his face. “You know, I never really appreciated wet t-shirt contests until now.” 

You looked down again, this time with his perspective in mind. The white fabric had become slightly translucent now that it was wet, clinging to your skin, and revealing your nipples underneath, which were hard from the cold water. When you looked back at Tom, you noticed that his apron did nothing to hide his sudden arousal. “Enjoying the view, are you?”

His eyes shot from your breasts to your face. “I really am,” he said, clearly pleased with himself for being the victor in more ways than one.

“You know, I’m still waiting for you to finish what you started in the bedroom,” you told him as you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You don’t suppose the dishes could wait until after, do you?”

“What dishes?” he asked with feigned confusion. Then he smiled as he leaned his head down and captured your lips in a deep kiss. You plunged your tongue in his mouth and he responded in kind, the taste of maple syrup, chocolate, and bacon still lingering. 

With his hands on your waist, he lifted you up onto the edge of the kitchen island and stood between your legs. As the two of you continued your feverish kissing, his right hand slid down to your wet cunt, gliding his finger up and down between your delicate folds. You hummed with pleasure, encouraging him to keep going, at which point he released your lips from his and watched your face contort as he slowly inserted his index and middle fingers inside of you. 

While his fingers began massaging your g-spot, he took one of your breasts in his left hand and leaned his head down to lick your nipple through your soaked shirt. You let out a short, breathy moan, and watched as he then wrapped his lips around that same nipple and began sucking on it. The way he sucked through the thin, cold, wet fabric made for an incredible sensation that made you gasp, and gush with more arousal. Your reaction made the corners of his mouth curl up in a small smile as he expertly continued what he was doing.

By the time Tom was finished with your nipples, you were a panting, whimpering mess, but it was all just the warm-up. With his fingers still deep inside you, he lowered himself onto his knees and looked up at you through his long lashes while he gently kissed your clit. When he began circling his tongue around it, you sighed heavily, lacing your fingers in his hair as you leaned back on your other hand. Then he started alternating between sucking on your clit and flicking it with his tongue, all the while watching your reaction. You stared down at him, eyebrows knitted together, mouth agape, quietly whining and moaning, pleading for your release. Finally, he sucked hard on your sensitive bundle of nerves without letting up, while his fingers continued to work their magic on your g-spot. You threw your head back, letting out a piercing moan that echoed through the kitchen as your orgasm washed over you. Your thighs clamped around his head like a vice, but he didn’t stop until he was sure you were finished.

When you finally relaxed your legs and released your grip on his hair, he removed his fingers from your dripping pussy, sucked them clean, and stood back up. Then he took off his apron and used it to wipe his chin, revealing his massively hard cock, already leaking precum.

“Are you up for more, my love?” he asked you as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Not really,” you replied with a shrug and a feign apologetic look. 

A mix of surprise and disappointment spread across his face briefly, before he quickly tried to hide it. “That’s alright, darling,” he told you, clearly flustered. “Another time.” He began to turn away, but you grabbed his face to look at you.

“Baby, I’m taking the piss,” you said with a chuckle, as if it was obvious. 

He glared at you, but there was a smile playing on his lips. “Now that was just cruel.”

You smirked at him, your hands sliding down from his face to his pecs. “I had to get you back for this morning.” 

“It was worth the wait, wasn’t it?” he asked as he leaned his face close to yours, his hands lightly caressing your thighs. 

You leaned in too, until your lips just barely grazed his. “Just fuck me already, will you?”

He kissed you hard on the lips, grabbing your face with one hand and his own cock with the other. After nestling the head in your entrance, he thrusted into you, knowing you were more than ready to take him. Then he hooked his arms under your knees and began rutting into you. You clung to his shoulder with one hand while bracing yourself with the other hand on the counter behind you. The kitchen echoed with the sinful sounds of panting and moaning, growing louder with every snap of Tom’s hips, until you both finally cried out in ecstasy upon your simultaneous climaxes.

“Holy shit,” you huffed as you leaned forward and rested your forehead on Tom’s shoulder. 

He chuckled. “I wholeheartedly agree.” After stroking your back for a moment, he spoke again. “When you’re ready, why don’t you go change into some dry clothes while I clean up in here.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” you asked, lifting your head to look at him. “It is kind of my fault that there’s water everywhere.”

“I’m positive,” he replied with a smile as he helped you down from the counter. “Besides, you’ll only distract me anyway.” He lightly flicked your nipple, causing you to jump slightly. 

“Fine, cheeky boy.” You gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Then I’m going to have a quick shower.”

“Okay, love. Take your time.” He gave you a warm smile before you turned and left the kitchen.

…

When you came back to the lounge after your shower, you found Tom sitting in the arm chair reading, a colorful envelope with your name on it sitting on the side table.

“I seem to recall saying no cards or presents, sir” you scolded him playfully as you approached him. He set his book down and you sat down in his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders.

“Did you honestly expect me to listen?” he retorted. He grabbed the envelope and handed it to you. “If it makes you feel better, this gift is fun for both of us.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Oh, it’s that kind of present, is it?” You flipped the envelope over a few times, inspecting it. “Seems too small for a sex toy,” you joked.

“Just open it, love.”

You did as he said, revealing two plane tickets to Honolulu inside. “We’re going back to Hawaii?” you asked excitedly.

“In a few months, after the play is over and your project is finished. We had so much fun last time, but obviously we left a lot of things unsaid. I want to do it as a proper couple this time.” 

“But what if we can’t be seen together in public by then?“

“It’s been a few days and we haven’t heard anything about Bryan, so I’m optimistic,” he said as he brushed your hair behind your ear. “But just for good measure, even though on principle I try to avoid flying private…”

“We’re taking a private jet there?!”

“I take it you’re not opposed?”

“Are you joking? This is amazing! Thank you!” 

He chuckled as you hugged him tight. “You might want to inspect that envelope further, darling.” 

Releasing him from the hug, you picked the envelope up off of your lap and opened it wider. At the bottom, you saw a shiny silver key, which you pulled out and held up to examine. 

“I know we can’t move in together right now, but I think it’s at least time you have your own key to this place, considering you spend most of your free time here anyway.”

You looked at the key and the tickets, biting your lip to attempt to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot, your eyes beginning to well with tears. To an outsider, it might not have seemed like much. You’d technically been on holiday together before, and you were already coming and going from Tom’s place as you pleased, using the spare key he kept hidden in a lock box. But to you, it was physical proof that he was in it for the long haul, no matter what happened.

“Shit. I haven’t just freaked you out have I?” Tom asked apprehensively. 

You looked up at him and shook your head. “Not at all. I’m just so incredibly happy right now.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” He smiled as he leaned in and kissed you softly. 

…

The rest of your day with Tom was very low-key, apart from his very dramatic rendition of "Happy Birthday," but blissful all the same, and when it was time for him to leave for the theatre, you didn’t want to let him go. 

“Come home as soon as you can, okay?” you said as the two of you were standing by the front door. “I’d like to get in one more round of birthday sex before it’s not my birthday anymore.” 

“Yeah, after midnight it’ll just be regular sex. What’s the fun in that?” he teased. Before he leaned down and kissed you goodbye. “I’ll see you later. Have fun with Kaitlyn, okay? I love you.”

“Break a leg as always, Tommy. I love you too.”

After Tom left, you got ready, and went to have dinner and drinks with Kaitlyn. You were pleased to hear that everything went well at work, but you were missed. And Kaitlyn was pleased to hear every detail of your day as well. 

The two of you went to a couple of pubs after dinner, but you didn’t stay out too late. You wanted to make sure you had time to pick up a few things at your place on the way back to Tom’s before he got home. So, after saying goodbye to Kaitlyn, you left for your house.

When you arrived outside, you noticed that a few of the lights were on, which was odd considering you were almost certain you turned them all off the last time you left. You looked at the time. Tom’s play had finished by now, but if it was him in your house, he would have had to race out of the theatre as soon as the curtain closed, and it wasn’t like him not to greet his fans afterward, even for a few minutes.

Cautiously, you walked up to your house, put your ear to the front door, and listened. To your surprise, you could hear jazz music playing softly inside. Surely if it was an intruder, they would not be casually listening to Miles Davis. Against your better judgement, you quietly entered your house, keeping your keys between your knuckles just in case, but when you turned the corner into your living room, you froze, dropping them on the floor. Your throat suddenly felt incredibly dry, but you managed to croak out one word. 

“Bryan?”

Didn’t understand why your wrists were tied to a chair. Didn’t understand why the room smelled like metal and something sharp and wrong. Didn’t understand why the men in front of you kept asking about Loki.

Your Loki. Your husband who kissed your forehead every morning, who brought you tea when your migraines got bad, who listened to you ramble about books like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“C’mon,” one of them sneered, crouching in front of you. “You really expect us to believe you don’t know what he does?”

Your throat felt tight, frantically looking around the room. You had no idea where he had taken you. Or who this man was. Or what he was talking about. “He—he works in business.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Then laughter. Harsh. Mocking. “Business,” another echoed. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

You shook your head, panic starting to claw its way up your chest. “I don’t understand what you want from me. I told you—I don’t know anything.”

The first man sighed like you were inconveniencing him. “Your husband runs half this city. Weapons, money, people. Nothing moves without his say-so. And you're telling us you have no idea how diabolical he is?”

Your heart stuttered. “No,” you whispered, because that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. “No, you’re wrong. Loki wouldn’t—he’s—he’s—”

Kind. Gentle. Careful with you like you were something fragile.

The man grabbed your chin suddenly, forcing you to look at him. “He’s a liar. And you’re either stupid… or you’re lying for him.”

Tears blurred your vision. “I’m not lying…” Your voice cracked, small and helpless in the cold room. “I swear, I don’t know anything.”

There was a beat.

Then a sound echoing in the ditance. A thud. Another. Raised voices outside. Shouting. Something breaking.

The men froze. You felt it before you understood it—the shift in the air. Like a storm rolling in. Heavy. Inevitable.

One of them cursed under his breath. “Shit—”

The door burst open. And everything stopped. Because Loki stood there. Not your Loki. Not the man who brushed your hair out of your face while you read in bed. This Loki was dressed in black, coat immaculate, eyes cold and sharp like cut glass. There was blood on his knuckles—fresh blood—and men behind him who looked just as dangerous.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Loki’s gaze found you. And everything—everything—in his expression shattered. “Darling.” His voice dropped, softer than you’d ever heard it, like the word itself might break you further.

Your breath hitched. “Loki…?”

He crossed the room in seconds. The men didn’t even try to stop him. Didn’t dare. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands suddenly so careful as they hovered over your face, your shoulders, like he was afraid to touch you too roughly. “Are you hurt?” he murmured, frantic now. “Did they—did they touch you—?”

“I…” Your voice trembled. “They said—”

You looked at him—really looked. At the blood. At the men behind him. At the way everyone else in the room refused to meet his eyes. “…they said you’re… in the mafia.”

Silence. It stretched. Heavy.

Loki closed his eyes briefly, like he’d been dreading this exact moment for a very long time. When he opened them again, the softness was still there—but underneath it was something darker. Something powerful. Something real. “Yes,” he said quietly.

The word felt like it split the world in two.

You flinched. Not away from him—never that—but from the truth itself. “…you lied to me.” It wasn’t angry. That made it worse.

Loki’s face crumpled just slightly, guilt flickering through all that control. “I protected you.”

“By lying?”

“By keeping you safe,” he corrected, sharper now—but the edge vanished the second your eyes filled again. “By making sure you never had to see this part of me.”

Your lips trembled. “But it’s still you.”

That hit him. You could see it. He swallowed, something raw breaking through his composure. “Yes.”

Your gaze dropped to his hands—the same hands that held yours so gently—now stained with blood. “…did you hurt them?” you whispered.

Behind him, one of the men shifted nervously.

Loki didn’t look away from you. “Yes.”

The honesty was terrifying.

And yet still, he reached for you slowly, like approaching a frightened animal. “But never you. Never anything that belongs to you. Never anything that breathes near you.” His voice dropped, something dark curling through it now. “They took you.” The room seemed to shrink around those words. “And for that,” Loki continued softly, “they don’t get to keep breathing.”

Your heart pounded. You should’ve been scared. You were scared. But not of him. Never of him. Your voice came out small. “…you still love me?”

Something almost offended flashed across his face. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours despite the blood, despite everything. “You are the only thing in this wretched world I have ever loved,” he whispered.

Your breath caught.

“And I would burn every empire I’ve built to ash before I let harm come to you again.”

Your eyes closed, tears slipping free. “…okay.”

It was quiet. Fragile. But it was enough. Loki exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the moment you were taken. Carefully, gently, he untied your wrists—his fingers trembling just slightly as he checked for marks. “I’m taking you home,” he murmured.

Home.

The word felt different now.

He stood, then hesitated… before shrugging off his coat and draping it around your shoulders, shielding you from the room, from the men, from himself. From what he was.

But as he helped you up, your hand clutched his sleeve.

He paused. “…you’re still my Loki,” you said softly.

It had all happened so quickly, and unexpectedly. Sarah had seemed to have a stubborn cold with a cough that just never seemed to stop for some time now. When she eventually agreed on seeking medical attention for it, it turned out that she had developed pneumonia. But that wasn’t the only problem. Her gradually increased hoarseness, stubborn cough and growing pain in the throat were not only the results of a common cold, but it was a whole lot worse than that. Sarah was very ill, but still in complete denial of it. It was as if she thought that if she only acted like it wasn’t real, that she didn’t have laryngeal cancer, just like her uncle had once had years earlier, then it would somehow magically just go away. She had refused to give Tom her blessing of telling Norah anything at all about it. Not even the pneumonia.

Tom took a seat in an armchair inside the room and proceeded to skim through the book before moving on to read the printed reports he had received from Willow’s Creek on Norah’s stay there this far. Maybe some kind of distraction from all those difficult medical oncology related linguistics would be good for him. After all, he did want to help Norah too. There wasn’t much he personally could do for Sarah at this point other than just being there for her and making sure she didn’t overstrain herself by doing too much or worrying too much about her little sister.

Tom felt horrible for not being able to just tell Norah the whole truth about Sarah’s current health condition, but the doctors in the hospital had convinced him that putting Sarah under as little pressure as possible at the moment was for the best. Also, Sarah had gotten him to swear not to, under any circumstances, tell Norah about the cancer in her throat until they knew more about her prognosis. If her uncle had been able to pull through it all at an older age than she was now, surely Sarah would be able to survive something like this too. At least that’s what Sarah kept telling herself and Tom.

Before leaving Willow’s Creek earlier that evening, Tom had spoken with Doctor Sharpe as Norah was fast asleep in her room, seemingly almost as exhausted as her older sister. Tom had been transparent with the psychiatrist in charge of Norah’s care about Sarah’s medical condition, that it appeared to be quite serious, and Doctor Sharpe had seemed very keen that the news should be delivered to Norah in a pain free way as possible, and not prematurely. It was imperative that she should be in a stable enough mindset to be able to process the news when she received them. Like so many others, Doctor Sharpe had been very determined that Norah wasn’t ready to receive such news yet, at least not until they knew more about the cancer, and the pneumonia. Right now, getting the pneumonia in check was a priority. They had decided that Tom should return during the weekend to visit Norah at Willow’s Creek. Depending on Sarah’s health status and other factors, Tom might take Norah on a leave some time soon to ensure her that she was still very much loved and prioritised by him and Sarah. That they truly hadn’t abandoned her, even if it understandably felt like it to her. While Norah had been sleeping, Tom had written her a letter by hand and left it on her desk before leaving the treatment facility to go back to Sarah.

Being exhausted, Norah slept soundly all through the night and groaned when she was woken up by the staff in the morning.

“Come, you’re going to see Doctor Sharpe now,” Max informed her and she frowned at him.

“What? Now?” Norah questioned and he nodded at her. “But I’m not dressed yet.”

“You don’t have to be. You’re having a medical checkup this morning and can get dressed and ready for the day afterwards,” Max told her.

“I really don’t want to,” Norah mumbled, but put her morning gown on over her pyjamas and slipped her feet into a pair of slippers.

“I know, but I’m glad you’re being compliant anyway,” Max commended her with a bright smile. “I’m proud of you, Norah. We all are. We can see that you’re trying really hard.”

Norah held back the strong urge to roll her eyes at Max’s words. She knew he wasn’t being sarcastic, but his enthusiasm was sometimes difficult to stand. Especially in the mornings. He was so annoying with his weird positivity at the same time as he was a bit of a… she wasn’t quite sure how to describe him actually. He was strange, and not entirely benevolent. He could be very strict in ways that didn’t really match with his otherwise rather upbeat and positive attitude.

After Norah had at least gotten to use the toilet, they went downstairs into the physical examination room where Doctor Sharpe was waiting for her. Norah felt uneasy and flinched when Max shut the door behind her from the outside to give them some privacy.

“Please, undress down to your underwear and let me check your weight,” Doctor Sharpe instructed her in a neutral voice. Tears instantly filled Norah’s eyes at his words and her hands were shivering as she reluctantly did as instructed. She knew from earlier experiences, she had tried so hard to forget about, that when it came to the treatment of eating disorders, asking a patient to undress for a weigh-in was not an uncommon request from health staff since they wanted to get an as accurate reading of the patient’s weight as possible.

Norah stepped up on the scale and frowned. Those numbers couldn’t possibly be right. She had been eating a lot and she had had quiet time after nearly every meal just like she had been instructed, but still, according to the numbers on the scale, she had lost a significant amount of weight in quite a short time span. Sure, she had thrown away some food, but not to the extent that it should make her lose this much weight in this little time.

“I haven’t had anything to drink since yesterday afternoon. I’m probably a bit dehydrated,” Norah said as she stepped back down from the scale, still covering her chest with her arms and trying not to shudder too much from the cold which the absence of clothes made her feel.

Doctor Sharpe poured her a glass of water and handed her her morning medications. Norah compliantly swallowed the pills and thirstily drank the water.

“You may put your pajamas back on and sit down in the test-taking chair over there,” Doctor Sharpe instructed her. He was very straight to the point and didn’t bother exchanging any pleasantries with her the way people usually would with phrases such as ‘good morning’ or ‘how are you doing?’ At least he should be asking her that question, right? Being her psychiatrist and all. He should be interested in how she was feeling. Shouldn’t he?

Norah sat down in the test-taking chair and allowed him to take blood samples from her while she was spacing out a bit. She still felt impossibly tired. It was as though she was just crashing, energywise. Having this many people around her on a daily basis was a great change from mostly being alone with Sarah and Tom. Of course it was taking a toll on her to have to socially interact to this extent all of a sudden and never know for sure for how long she would be left alone, even when spending time in her room.

“Have some juice and wait a moment before you stand up,” Doctor Sharpe instructed her, handing her a juice box with a straw in it. Norah reluctantly drank some of the juice.

“When is Tom coming back to see me?” Norah wondered.

“Tomorrow,” Doctor Sharpe replied.

“Will Sarah be coming too?” Norah asked him hopefully.

“I don’t think so,” Doctor Sharpe said.

“Why not?” Norah questioned with a frown. She had anticipated his answer, but didn’t understand why they had to be so damn secretive about it all. Surely she must have a right to know what was going on with her own sister.

“Your sister very much wants to see you, Norah, but right now, she’s not able to. She needs to get some proper rest and part of that entails not having to worry about you all of the time,” Doctor Sharpe told her. Norah tried not to feel hurt but his frankness. He certainly wasn’t treating her with great care, still he seemed to regard her as fragile. Was his intention to break her after all? Or was it to make her more resilient with some ridiculous tough love kind of concept? It sounded very unscientific in her ears. But still, she had asked him to treat her like a grown up rather than a child. Maybe this was just the way it was like to be grown up? Not being treated with uttermost care as if you couldn’t take hearing some uncomfortable truths.

“How ill is she? Is it something very serious?” Norah asked him. If she convinced him she could handle the truth, or hurtful words directed at her, maybe then she would also convince him to tell her the truth about what was going on with Sarah.

“Your sister’s condition doesn’t necessarily have to be very serious, Miss Collins. But right now, your sister needs a lot of rest and the last thing she needs is worrying about you,” Doctor Sharpe told her seriously.

Norah’s heart sank and she remembered that there had been an eerily similar way of reasoning behind the decision when her uncle finally agreed to let Sarah take over the custody of her some time after their parents had died. Their uncle had been quite ill by then and the last thing he needed then was a troublesome orphaned niece to worry about.

“Is it my fault she’s ill? Is it something related to all the stress I’ve caused her over the years?” Norah wondered, her voice serious as she looked into the doctor’s eyes.

“No, you have nothing to do with it,” Doctor Sharpe told her honestly. She felt a bit relieved, because she actually believed him. “Trust me on this, Miss Collins, you are in no way to blame for your sister’s current health condition. All I’m trying to say is that right now, she needs space to focus on her own treatment and the best way to ensure that she does that is to convince her that you are doing okay. I don’t mean that you should mask your feelings altogether, and you don’t have to pretend that you’re happy about being here. I just think it’s in your own and your sister’s best interests that you keep up a little bit of a façade for her for the time being. Do you understand my reasoning?”

Tom rang the number a secretary at Willow’s Creek had provided him with after he had voiced his concerns to her about Norah and how her new doctor was treating her. To his surprise, the secretary had provided him with a reference to one of Doctor Sharpe’s former patients who had volunteered to answer questions about her own treatment at Willow’s Creek under Doctor Sharpe’s care. The woman’s name was Josephine and she told Tom with a surprising openness about her time at Willow’s Creek. She said that she had loathed Doctor Sharpe in the beginning, but that she now was grateful for his strong headedness since that had been one of the things that had motivated her to keep herself in check after being discharged. According to Josephine, Doctor Sharpe was very dedicated to his cause and would sometimes check in on former attendants, herself included. She said that she in a sense regarded him as a father figure of sorts and that it had instilled a sense of safety in her otherwise chaotic life to know that at least he was a stable person for her to turn to when things got difficult and life felt overwhelming. She told Tom about how there was a booster programme available for former attendants of Willow’s Creek to partake in if they felt like they needed the extra help to get their lives back on track again. Josephine had attended it once and she recalled how relief had just washed over her the moment she had been greeted by Doctor Sharpe, because she knew from previous experiences that he would be honest and clear with her about what he expected of her, and most importantly, he wouldn’t give up on her, like so many other people had done over the years. He had a way of bringing out a sense of determination in Josephine to become an active agent in her own life, rather than just passively letting life pass her by and being overtaken by a sense of hopelessness and apathy.

Tom thanked Josephine for taking her time to speak with him and he actually felt a bit lighter at heart when he hung up the phone. Judging by her testimony, Doctor Sharpe may not have been the easiest person to like or get along with at all times, but he appeared to be trustworthy and dedicated to his cause in ways most people weren’t. It seemed to be more than just a job to him, but rather a mission to truly help people in the long run from not getting stuck in a view of themselves as useless or completely powerless in their own lives. If this was all true, it surely sounded like Norah was in good hands, even if it was difficult for her to be at Willow’s Creek and for Tom and Sarah to let go for a bit and allow them to help Norah in ways they simply weren’t qualified or had the resources to do.

Tom went back inside the hospital and took an elevator up to Sarah’s room there. She was reading through the reports on Norah’s progress at Willow’s Creek and had tears in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Tom wondered with a slight frown. Sarah nodded at him and smiled as he sat down in a chair next to her bed. She pointed at the riding teacher’s words on how well Norah had been doing in the few lessons she’d had with him. Tom smiled. “You’re proud of her,” he said and Sarah nodded agreeingly.

Tom felt a little bit guilty about having agreed with Doctor Sharpe to only let Sarah take part of the more positive notes on how Norah was really doing at Willow’s Creek. That the printed copy of the records Sarah received would one-sidedly focus on the good things and Norah’s progress, completely excluding her misdemeanours and setbacks. It was for the best, at least for now, Tom reminded himself, that Sarah didn’t know about all the difficulties Norah was experiencing in adapting to her new environment. How she had apparently failed to eat properly when given the chance to step up and prove to everyone that she was ready to independently manage her food intake, and as a consequence of her failure to do so, she had exhausted herself and lost more weight than was deemed acceptable for a patient with a history of eating disorders in such a short time span. There really was no wonder why Norah had been so tired and emotionally unstable after the riding lesson that Tom had picked her up from when he had been there to visit her. And there really was no wonder that she had been exhausted enough to fall asleep at dinner with him and Doctor Sharpe.

Norah spent most of her Friday in her room, in her bed with a staff member keeping watch on her. She had been ordered bed rest and the only thing she was allowed to do at this point was school work, read a book or rest. She was bored and couldn’t really focus on doing any of the things she was allowed to do, so she settled for sleeping most of the day in between meals.

In the evening, after she had finished her dinner, there was a knock on her bedroom door. The staff member in the room with her opened the door and Norah tried not to smile surprisedly when she saw who it was. It was Doctor Darius Fereshteh, the only one at her last meeting with her opencare psychiatrist who had spoken up for her and insisted that it was important that she shouldn’t be forced to go to Willow’s Creek, but was old enough to make her own decisions in regards to that. At the same time, he had admitted to advocating for her going to the treatment facility in the first place, only that he wanted it to be of her own accord and not a forced admission as it unfortunately had more or less become, even if the paperwork categorised it as voluntary since Sarah, as her legal guardian, had agreed to the admission.

“Good evening, Norah. May I come inside for a moment?” Darius asked her.

“Okay,” Norah replied. Darius stepped inside, showed the staff member a piece of paper along with his ID before the staff member left the room. “What was that?” Norah asked Darius amusedly.

“Doctor Sharpe had to write a note to verify that I’m allowed to visit you without any staff members present. It’s because I’m not family and you apparently currently have some restrictions on you,” Darius explained.

“A note?” Norah asked him with raised eyebrows and he smiled as he handed over the paper to her to let her see it. The paper was of good quality and even had a letterhead to it with the logo for Willow’s Creek. “So they even have their own letterhead and Doctor Sharpe writes neat notes in calligraphy. This feels so bizarre,” she commented amusedly.

“Well, he is one of the original founders of this place and has put his heart and soul into making it successful,” Darius told her. “He was the one who pushed for it to be made available to not only rich people, but to those who fulfilled the criterions and was deemed good candidates to actually benefit from their treatment here and turn their lives around.”

“How did you even find out about this place?” Norah asked him curiously. “I’ve never heard of it before, and I don’t think Sarah had either.”

“My wife is one of Willow’s Creek’s former attendees and she really did turn her life around with the help she received here. Even after she was discharged, Doctor Sharpe helped her and followed up on how she was doing and put in a good word for her to help her get into the education at university she wanted to pursue,” Darius explained to her. “That’s why I thought it might be a good idea for you to give this place a chance as well. The people financing and being in charge of this place are very well respected and have quite some influence in the academic world.”

“Oh,” Norah uttered and looked pensive for a moment. “Maybe that’s one of the reasons Sarah agreed on making me come here even if I didn’t want to. She really wants me to get a proper education and have a good life,” she speculated and sighed heavily.

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing,” Darius said and sat down in the seat next to her bed. “Why is that?” he wondered.

“I don’t even want to be alive, so why would my educational level even matter?” Norah questioned and dejectedly laid back down in her bed.

“Is that how you feel all the time or only sometimes?” Darius wondered.

“Not all of the time,” Norah replied. “Not when I’m with James or when I’m on a horseback or when I see Sarah happy or when I see Tom happy.”

“I see,” Darius said and looked thoughtfully at her. “I’m really sorry you didn’t get to come here on your own terms. I didn’t mean for anyone to make you come here before you felt ready to do so yourself.”

“I know. It wasn’t your fault,” Norah assured him. “Thank you for caring enough to come visit me. Are you here with your wife? Or on other business?”

“No, I actually came here to see you,” Darius said. “I am, as you already know, very interested in this place, but right now, I’m more interested in how you’re doing here. You can be completely honest with me, Norah. I want an honest answer, okay? How are you doing?”

“Today has been very difficult for me, but other than that, I think I’m doing pretty okay,” Norah replied, then her eyes filled with tears. “I just really worry about Sarah. I miss her so much and I would die if something happened to her. They won’t tell me what’s going on with Sarah, but I know that she’s not well and needs to rest. That’s why she can’t come and see me or even speak with me on the phone.”

“It’s very understandable that you feel that way,” Darius said and gave her a sympathetic look. “I did actually meet with Sarah earlier today, Norah. A very short visit. She’s okay, but she is very tired. She wanted me to check in on you and tell you that she’s really proud of you. She’s especially happy about the fact that you seem to enjoy horseback riding too. Apparently she loved doing that many years ago.”

“Yeah, she did,” Norah realised. “She was really good at it too, but after she got injured at a competition once, our mother forbade her from riding anymore because it was too dangerous. Sarah got a concussion and Mom made a huge deal out of it, because her talented daughter couldn’t possibly risk compromising her excellent cognitive abilities by getting head injuries from riding horses.” Norah sighed heavily. “Our mother never really cared about me the way she cared about Sarah. When I got a concussion from falling off a roof, Mom said I was an idiot for getting up on the roof in the first place. She never called Sarah an idiot for getting up on a horse. Instead, Mom got all melodramatic and said that it was her fault Sarah got injured, because she hadn’t realised just how dangerous horseback riding could be. When I got hurt, Mom never blamed herself for not paying enough attention to me and what I was doing, she just said that it was typical of me to complicate things by being so careless and irresponsible all the time. I always felt like an inconvenience when I wanted my mother’s attention, or when something happened. I sometimes wonder if she secretly wished I was never born.”

“I’m sorry to hear that your mother treated you differently from how she treated Sarah. It sounds like she assigned you a role as a troubled child, rather than actually acting emotionally responsibly enough herself to treat you with the respect you deserved,” Darius reflected and gave Norah a compassionate look. “That wasn’t fair of her, and it’s okay for you to be upset about that. You have every right to be.”

“But maybe I didn’t deserve her respect or attention,” Norah replied. “Maybe she didn’t want me because there was something fundamentally wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing fundamentally wrong with you, Norah,” Darius assured her with a gentle smile. “Sometimes parents treat their children differently. My mother, for an instance, is a whole lot harder on me than she is on my older sister. My mother was furious when she found out I decided to specialise in psychiatry instead of picking some more prestigious medical field. She said it was a complete waste of all my years of education.”

“That must have been hurtful. Why did you decide to specialise in psychiatry of all medical fields?” Norah wondered.

“Because I believe I can do a good job at it,” Darius told her. “I really want to help people who are struggling with their mental health, because they’re just as important and valuable as any other patient groups. I hate the stigma surrounding some patient groups and I want to fight it. I want to stand up for something I believe in and I insist on being proud of myself for doing it, no matter what my mother says. I might never get her approval or validation, but I won’t let that hold me back. I won’t let that get in the way of me doing something I find to be truly meaningful. Things need to feel meaningful to me, and I can’t think of doing anything more meaningful than helping others find meaning in their own lives.”

“You’re pretty cool,” Norah uttered and they both laughed at her comment. “I mean it. I’m really glad that you found something meaningful and the strength to pursue a career in it, in spite of your choices being challenged by someone who’s important to you. And when it comes to the way you look at people with mental health problems, I’m truly glad that at least you can see it that way. Most of the time I just feel like a burden that’s unworthy of help from the health care system,” Norah replied and looked thoughtfully at Darius for a moment. There was something about him that made her feel like she could trust him. “I really don’t like Doctor Sharpe, you know. Can’t you work here instead of him? You look relatively young, but yet, you seem a whole lot wiser than he does.”

“I haven’t finished my specialisation training yet, Norah. And I couldn’t possibly take his spot unless it was offered to me,” Darius told her with a gentle smile. “But if I ever get the opportunity to work here, I will gladly do so.”

“If Doctor Sharpe was to be mysteriously assassinated or just disappear or something along those lines, could you take over for him then?” Norah asked him with a smile.

“Probably not,” Darius said, returning the smile.

“How unfortunate,” Norah told him and sighed heavily.

“Is Doctor Sharpe really that bad?” Darius wondered.

“I think so,” Norah replied and shrugged at him. “I don’t know. I don’t really like how he treats people and how entitled he is.”

“Could you give me an example of how he treats people?” Darius wondered.

Norah shook her head in response as her eyes filled with tears. “Please, don’t tell him I said anything bad about him. I don’t want him to be angry with me.”

“I won’t,” Darius assured her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s understandable that you feel sad and confused right now, Norah. But it won’t always feel like this. Okay?”

“Okay,” Norah mumbled in response, leaning her head against his hand, finding some comfort in his presence.

Before leaving, Darius handed Norah a piece of paper with his number on it and told her she could contact him if anything happened or if she just needed someone to talk to about things.

“Can you please just tell me about what’s going on with Sarah?” Norah asked Tom straightforwardly the moment they had seated themselves in Doctor Sharpe’s office.

“Okay,” Tom said and took Norah’s hand in his. “Sarah has pneumonia, but she’s getting care for it in the hospital right now.” At least he had received Sarah’s permission of telling Norah that much, which was at least a small progress from keeping Norah completely in the dark.

“And is she responding well to the treatment?” Norah wondered.

“Her pneumonia is quite severe, Norah. But she is responding to treatment,” Tom replied.

“So she’s not responding as well to the treatment as she should be doing. Have I interpreted your evasive response correctly?” Norah asked him brittly, pulling her hand out of his grip.

“Umm, Norah, I…” Tom said but trailed off as Doctor Sharpe raised his hand to silence him.

“Miss Collins. Do you think it’s in your own best interest to know exactly what your sister is currently struggling with?” Doctor Sharpe asked her and she frowned at him.

“Of course I want to know what’s going on with my sister!” Norah told him frustratedly.

“And do you want your sister to know about everything going on with you right now? Like when you pulled the steering wheel?” Doctor Sharpe wondered.

“No! Of course not! That would only freak her out,” Norah replied. “But that’s not the same thing as her being ill! Because she can’t help it, whereas I can control my actions.”

“Even if you know it would freak her out, why do you think it’s such a bad thing if she found out about it?” Doctor Sharpe asked her. He completely ignored the point she was trying to make. Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as it had seemed in her own mind. Maybe the differences between hers and Sarath’s situations weren’t as great as she told herself they were.

“Because I don’t want her to worry about me. Obviously,” Norah said dejectedly. “I want her to focus on getting well and have all the energy she can get to do whatever it is she and her body need to do to get her well again.”

“And don’t you think your sister wants the exact same thing for you?” Doctor Sharpe questioned. “Why should she be kept in the dark in order to be protected, whereas you shouldn’t? Isn’t it only fair that the weights are placed equally on the scale?”

“Not if she’s dying,” Norah replied and frowned at him. “Not if it’s a life or death situation.”

“You and Tom both could have died when you pulled the steering wheel the other day,” Doctor Sharpe remarked. “You do realise that, don’t you? It was a life or death situation that you caused, because you’re obviously not as mentally stable as you seem to think you are.”

“I know it was dangerous, but can you please stop bringing it up?” Norah requested irritably.

“Can you please respect the boundaries Tom and your sister are trying to set for you right now by limiting your insight into her illness? You do realise that they’re doing it in order for you to better focus on your own recovery, right?” Doctor Sharpe asked her.

“This isn’t fair!” Norah said angrily as her eyes filled up with tears. She stood up from her seat and ran out from the office, slamming the door shut behind her. She ran out through the main entrance of the building and towards the woods.

Norah ran as fast as she could muster, but eventually fell over a tree-root and that was all it took for Tom to catch up on the head start she’d had on him. She cried hard as Tom knelt down on the frozen ground next to her to check on her injuries. Her jogging pants had a hole around her right knee and she was bleeding from the scrape wound her fall had caused. Tom pulled out a paper tissue from his pocket and pressed it against the wound. Norah gasped in surprise at the sharp pain in her knee.

“I’m sorry,” Tom told her and gave her an anxious look as he carefully decreased the amount of pressure he placed on the wound.

“Let me do it myself,” Norah muttered and took over holding the paper tissue against her knee. Tom looked into her eyes, his own blue eyes becoming a bit glazy. He took out another tissue and carefully wiped the tears from her flustered cheeks. Norah instinctively moved into his gentle touch and he cupped her cheek with his hand. “You know I really love you, don’t you?” she asked him. She wasn’t sure why she brought it up right there and then, but she could tell by the serious look in Tom’s eyes that he knew what kind of love she meant.

“I really love you too, Norah,” Tom said earnestly and then quickly pulled his hand away from her as though he had burnt himself. He seemed startled, possibly by his own words and just how easily they had slipped out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled and lowered his gaze to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Norah. This is so inappropriate of me. I shouldn’t…”

“You shouldn’t what?” Norah wondered.

“Norah, you’re only seventeen,” Tom told her and looked regretfully at her. “It would be horribly wrong of me to encourage… this,” he said and motioned between them. “To encourage us, because I’m twice your age, and I really love Sarah. I really do, but I love you too. But you’re too young, Norah. Much too young. I didn’t know it was possible to love two people at the same time like this, and maybe it’s more of a matter of the taboo of it all that makes it all the more exciting and the attraction I feel towards you so unfairly and unreasonably strong.”

Norah stared at him in shock for a moment. He had actual feelings for her? Romantic feelings? A physical attraction? A strong one at that, according to his own words. She felt an intense lust she knew was completely inappropriate as she looked at him wantingly.

“Can I kiss you? Just this once?” Norah asked him and looked pleadingly at him.

“Just this once and then you’ll move on, right?” Tom wondered and she nodded eagerly in response. She couldn’t believe this. They stood up from the ground, Tom helping her get up.

Norah let go of the paper tissue and placed her hands on each side of Tom’s face, pulling him closer towards her. He looked expectantly at her for a moment before she gave into the urge to finally kiss him. Their lips collided and to her surprise their tongues, seemingly by a force of their own, met. It wasn’t just a chaste, innocent kiss like she had originally intended, but they actually proceeded to make out with such passion that she felt overcome with sexual arousal. Curruptuous lust. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t resist the urge to impulsively touch Tom over his jeans, cupping his hardened penis and gasping slightly as she felt a firm slap land across her buttocks.

“No,” Tom told her firmly and gave her a warning look. The assertiveness in his voice and the stern look on his face turned her on even more.

“I want you,” Norah panted, but reluctantly moved her hand away from Tom’s private area.

“I can’t have sex with you, Norah,” Tom said seriously, but his eyes were darkened by sexual arousal. “I really want to, but I can’t. You understand that, right?”

“I understand. But… Can you at least touch me?” Norah wondered and guided his hand towards her own private area between her legs. “Just this once? Please?”

“Only on top of your clothes,” Tom negotiated and touched her between her legs with two layers of clothes in between his hand and her vagina. Norah moaned and moved into his touch, encouraging it. Tom had a sinister smile on his face that she associated with his characterisation of Loki, turning her on even more. He rubbed her clit with his thumb and pushed the fabric of her panties and sweatpants a fair bit inside of her, feeling her warm, welcoming wetness soak through them.

“Fuck,” Norah uttered. “Please, don’t stop. Give me an orgasm. Please.”

“One orgasm and then you’ll move on, right?” Tom asked her, his own voice a bit darkened with arousal.

“Absolutely,” Norah replied and began to kiss him again. Tom continued to rub her clit with his thumb more intensely and pushed three fingers further into her, still with the warm, wet fabric in between. Tom used his other hand to roughly massage and firmly slap her buttocks, alternating between them.

“You’re a very naughty girl, do you realise that, Norah? Just how naughty you are?” Tom asked her after breaking their kiss, his voice slightly darker than usual and again, he had that sinister smirk on his face. “You’re an incredibly audacious, naughty little minx, seducing men twice your age,” he whispered huskily into her ear, his breath hot against it as he intensified his rubbing of her clit and massaged and slapped her ass even harder than before. Norah gasped at his words and his touch and moaned as she was brought over the edge, into an intense orgasm. Tom looked attentively at Norah as he continued to touch her, reading her facial expression and her body language, making sure to let her ride out her orgasm before he moved his hands away from her, where they should be. Not touching her. She was absolutely beautiful and there was something very intimately vulnerable about the expression she made during her orgasm; there was a mixture of ecstacy and what seemed like a kind of sadness. Her mouth was slightly open as she panted heavily and her eyes filled with tears.

“Fuck,” Norah uttered and her legs felt a bit weak as her intense orgasm finally came to an end. Shame overtook her and she abashedly turned away from Tom, wiping the tears from her eyes and adjusting her sweatpants and panties. She felt the wet fabric growing cold and instead of increasing her arousal, that wetness now felt like a shameful proof of just how selfish she was. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled to Tom. Maybe to herself as well, because she had let herself down by giving into those stupid urges she had desperately wanted to just go away. She could tell right away that this hadn’t cured her of her painful attraction towards Tom. This wasn’t something that would magically enable her to just let go of her yearning for him and move on, like he had requested her to.

“I’m sorry too, Norah. I-” Tom began to say.

“This never happened,” Norah quickly interrupted him and turned around to give him a serious look. “This never happened. We have to agree on that. Just like the incident with the steering wheel, this never happened, Tom. Okay? And no one will ever have to find out about this. Most certainly not Doctor Sharpe. Can we agree on that?”

“Okay,” Tom replied and handed her a new paper tissue. “For your knee,” he said. Norah nodded appreciatively at him and pressed the clean paper against her bleeding knee as she began to walk back towards the houses at Willow’s Creek with Tom behind her.

“Are you still upset?” Doctor Sharpe asked Norah as he met them by the entrance to the woods. Norah sighed heavily and lowered her gaze to the ground in shame as his words reminded her about how Sarah was struggling, possibly for her life, while Norah was trying to steal her boyfriend. While Norah actually managed to get her ill sister’s boyfriend to pleasure her.

The wetness in her panties clinging to her skin made her hate herself. She thought she could even smell the scent of her sinful actions as she stood there in front of the psychiatrist. Maybe he could feel it too? Norah clutched her stomach and stepped aside to lean over a fence and vomit on the other side of it. The overwhelming guilt of what she had just done, what she so deviously had convinced Tom to do for her, made her nauseous.

“You need to make sure to keep your meals down, Miss Collins,” Doctor Sharpe reminded her and handed her a napkin to wipe her mouth with. He noticed the crumbled red and white tissue in her other hand and looked down at her knee. “So hurt yourself after all,” he stated with a heavy sigh and placed a hand on Norah’s shoulder. She flinched away from him. Had he felt the scent of her arousal? Did he know what had just happened? How unclean she was?

“I wish I would have fallen and broken my neck to the extent that I died immediately,” Norah muttered and rested her forehead against the cold metal fence.

“Let’s get you inside so you don’t get yourself ill. It’s cold and your immune system is probably not as good as we would like it to be,” Doctor Sharpe told her. “We need to clean that wound properly so you don’t get an infection.”

“I don’t care if I get ill or if my wound gets infected,” Norah said in a distant voice. “In fact, I wish I got ill enough to die from it.” Doctor Sharpe frowned slightly at her words and glanced over at Tom, who was lighting up a cigarette at the edge of the woods. Tom didn’t look particularly cheerful either.

“Have I missed something?” Doctor Sharpe asked Norah and she looked flustered.

“No, not really,” she replied brittly and hastily headed back to the house.

“Wait for us inside,” Doctor Sharpe called after her. Norah turned around towards him, grimaced slightly and made a rude gesture at him by extending her middle finger. The doctor raised an eyebrow at her blatantly rude defiant behaviour, but decided to have a chat with Tom instead of giving her a piece of his mind about her problematic attitude.

“I hope you don’t mind that I smoke here,” Tom said as Doctor Sharpe walked up to him.

“It’s fine, for as long as you don’t leave your cigarette butt on the ground,” Doctor Sharpe assured him and motioned to the cigarette trash can placed only a few metres from where they were standing. He gave Tom a pensive look. “Did you and Norah talk some more just now in the woods?”

“A bit, but not about Sarah,” Tom said. “But I do think Norah understands why Sarah doesn’t want her to know everything about her current health status. I think you might have gotten through to her with your way of explaining it to her.”

“I should hope so. It’s really important that she understands the reasons, even if she’s unwilling to accept them,” Doctor Sharpe replied. “She’s quite a troubled young woman, and at times a bit misguided, but I very much believe that she has a lot of potential and that this is the perfect place for her right now to discover and begin to fulfill that potential. She’s really bright and appears to be thriving with her school work in certain subjects. Hopefully that will give her more confidence and help her realise that she does have a lot to offer this world.”

“I would be very happy if she realised that. As far as I know, Norah has always felt inferior to Sarah in pretty much every aspect of life,” Tom told him and sighed sadly.

“Could you elaborate on that? Inferior in what ways and why?” Doctor Sharpe wondered.

“Norah loves Sarah with all of her heart, but I believe their sibling rivalry makes things a bit more complicated than they have to be. It’s very difficult for Norah to handle feeling conflicted about things, and she often feels conflicted about Sarah. She loves her, but at the same time, I think she envies her,” Tom said. “My understanding, which has at least partly been acknowledged by Sarah too, is that their mother seemed to favour Sarah in relation to Norah. Their mother would commend Sarah’s achievements, but show little interest in Norah’s achievements and interests. It’s a difficult subject for both of them to talk about. Sarah has confirmed that Norah’s feeling of never being good enough for their mother was called for, because they were in fact treated differently and Norah was unfairly compared to her eight years older sister by their mother. Sarah seemed to feel very guilty about that, even though their mother’s actions weren’t really her fault.”

“What’s your impression of what their father was like with them?” Doctor Sharpe wondered.

“Their father never treated Norah badly or unfairly the way their mother did,” Tom replied. “In fact, according to Sarah, their father absolutely adored Norah. But he had his problems and would not always be around during their childhood. He could be away for long periods of time, putting all the responsibility on the mother to keep their family together and keep up appearances to the rest of the world, since that was apparently important to her. The mother was a high-achieving woman and much too proud to ask anyone for help. Sarah believes that since Norah reminds her a lot about their father, that might be a reason why their mother took out her frustration on Norah when she was in fact disappointed in their father.”

“I can see why that would make her feel confused and conflicted about things,” Doctor Sharpe replied and looked pensive for a moment. “She lacks self-confidence, but I can tell that at times she is vastly aware of her own intelligence and the capacity she holds. I’m trying to help her fully realise and embrace that about herself, instead of her being so ambivalent about how she feels about herself, and everyone else too for that matter. In her case, it appears that the ambivalence is much too strong to be functional. Instead, it makes her life a whole lot more difficult than it has to be.”

“I agree with you on that,” Tom said and put out his cigarette against the ground before demonstratively placing the cigarette butt in the outdoor cigarette trash can. “Like you said yourself, sometimes I’m pretty certain that Norah is quite aware that she’s not unintelligent at all, but she would of course never admit to it. It’s like having self-confidence frightens her for some reason. She’s very ambiguous.”

“Precisely,” Doctor Sharpe agreed as they walked back towards the house together. “She is very ambiguous,” he smiled slightly to himself as he paused outside the door. “Sometimes I do catch a glimpse of that youthful overconfidence in her, when she thinks she’s got it all figured out. It may be overconfidence, but it’s perfectly normal and dare I say healthy, in moderate amounts of course, for a young person who reflects a lot about their own impressions of the world they live in and the people in it. She does not know what she wants yet. She has to find the courage within herself to try and fail at things, not hold herself back from even trying because she’s too afraid of failure.”

Doctor Sharpe opened the door and they went inside the house together, heading to his office when they couldn’t find Norah anywhere.

“I’m aware that my methods may be regarded as rather unorthodox at times, but I have nothing but good intentions for the attendants,” Doctor Sharpe told Tom. “I want to lure out some of that healthy overconfidence in Norah, because sometimes that’s exactly what it takes in order for a person to truly discover themself, the world, and their place in it.”

“I see,” Tom said with a knowing smile, thinking back at his own youth and that precise overconfidence in himself that Doctor Sharpe was now describing to him. At some point, he had almost thought he knew quite a lot about the world and life and love, but time and experience had very much humbled him. The more he learned, the less he knew. The more information he had, the more aware he became of just how little knowledge he truly possessed in relation to how much knowledge there really was out there. He had this great appetite for knowledge and strived to know everything, which of course was an impossible and unobtainable ambition.

Over the last couple of months, Tom had truly come to realise that he didn’t know what true love was as well as he had once thought he did. He had been so naive when he met Sarah, thinking she was the one, that everything would go more smoothly than it had. That they were the perfect match. But Norah’s existence complicated things. Tom found himself captivated by her, especially by the way he never quite knew what she was thinking about. She was unpredictable and inconsistent in a way that kept him on his toes and occupied his mind more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. He struggled to understand her, yet she seemed to think herself so simple-minded. That was far from the truth. She puzzled him and mesmerised him and charmed him. She lured him in and then pushed him away, playing with him. With his emotions. With his heart. She was ambiguous, yet easy to love, but also easy to get frustrated with, because what did she truly want from him? Frankly, he was probably little more to her than just a teenage fantasy. An unobtainable subject of her affection that was never supposed to actually grant her what she thought was her innermost desire. His responsibility in this entire situation had been to keep himself in check, set boundaries for her as well as for himself and not give in to his own lustful impulses. Surely, he must have ruined that precious fantasy for her now with his idiotic actions. He had ruined a fantasy that was never supposed to come true and had thereby broken her trust and wrecked the house of cards she had built as a representation of what the world and life in it was truly like.

“I’ve really messed things up,” Tom mumbled to himself.

“In what sense?” Doctor Sharpe wondered and motioned for Tom to sit down. They both resumed their earlier seats in the psychiatrist’s office.

“I believe my existence in Norah’s life confuses her and complicates things,” Tom told him cryptically and rubbed his tired eyes, giving an exasperated expression.

“I suspect her presence in your life does the very same thing to you,” Doctor Sharpe said insightfully. Tom frowned slightly at his words. Had he seen them in the woods? Did he know what he had just done with Norah, or rather, what he had done to Norah. How he had ruined her trust and view of the world in just a few minutes. She didn’t truly want what she thought she wanted from him. He was sure of it. And now that he had given her a taste of it, she must hate him for it. For ruining the fantasy. For ruining her trust.

“I just want her to be alright,” Tom told Doctor Sharpe dejectedly. “Will you make sure she will be alright, Doctor Sharpe?”

“I will do everything in my power to make sure she’s alright,” Doctor Sharpe assured him. He studied Tom for a moment before speaking again. “Maybe you should leave now. For some reason, Norah has decided not to join us even though I specifically instructed her to wait for us inside. I think it might be wise to respect the boundary she’s trying to set by doing this.”

“But what if she wants me to check in on her? Or what if she’s ambiguous about it all? Shouldn’t I at least go find her to let her know that I’m leaving?” Tom questioned.

“I would advise against it, but it’s your choice,” Doctor Sharpe said.

“Why would you advise against it?” Tom wondered.

“Because if she wants people to speak with her, she should say so instead of running off and hoping they will follow her. And if she’s ambiguous, well, then she should simply make up her mind. If even she herself doesn’t know what she wants, then how could possibly anyone else know that?” Doctor Sharpe reasoned. “She needs to learn to communicate her needs better if she wants people to meet her needs and respect them. She can’t keep people guessing. She needs to make decisions and become more assertive. She needs to try and have things go wrong every now and then to experience life and grow from these experiences.”

“But-” Tom began to object, but was interrupted by the doctor.

“I’m saying this with her best interests at heart,” Doctor Sharpe said. “You can’t keep protecting her from experiencing life, to keep her in this counterproductive injurious protective bubble, because if you do, how would she possibly be able to learn to survive the hardships of real life? It’s in her best interests that you leave now without telling her goodbye as a consequence of her running away from you. If she acted more maturely about all this, she would be here right now, like I asked her to. She decided not to and that’s on her. I will tell her that I sent you off, so don’t worry about how she perceives you. I don’t mind playing the villain for as long as it’s for a good cause.”

“Are you sure?” Tom wondered, still hesitant about it all. “I really want to make sure that she’s okay.”

“Then you’re doing her a disfavour,” Doctor Sharpe told him. “Trust me, Tom. She needs some of those experiences, especially in regards to you. You can’t keep being her saviour if you want her to grow independent. This is an opportunity for you to try to change the dynamics between yourself and Norah. Your present dynamics are holding her back. By being her constant overprotective saviour you’re doing her a great disfavour. This is an opportunity for you to treat her as a grownup rather than a child. To make her your equal and not someone you take care of. Your presently harmful dynamics turns her into a spoiled child and keeps her that way when she instead should be busy growing up and finding herself. You need to let go of her in order for her to even be able to grow up, Tom. I assure you that this is for her own good. This is in her best interest. Do you truly have her best interests at heart?”

“Of course I do,” Tom replied without hesitation.

“Then leave, now, without saying goodbye to her,” Doctor Sharpe told him.

Norah didn’t bother to look up from her book as there was a knock on the door to her room briefly before it opened.

“I told you to wait for us inside, not run and hide in your room,” Doctor Sharpe told her. She stubbornly ignored him. “Tom has left, just so you know.”

Norah rolled her eyes to herself. She already knew that Tom had left without even bothering to tell her goodbye. She had watched him from an upstairs window as he had gone to the parking lot and hesitated by his car. She had observed him as he lit up a cigarette for a quick smoke by the car, before he threw the glowing cigarette butt on the ground without even bothering to put it out before he finally got into the car and drove off. Just like that. After what had happened between the two of them, he had chosen to drive off and leave her behind. Norah didn’t really know how to feel about that. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it wasn’t. It was probably a bit of both. Tom had asked her to promise him that she would move on. Perhaps he had been truly earnest in that request. Therefore, she should try to move on, even if it felt as though her world was crumbling around her. Moving on. That’s what she was trying to do by reading the book she now held in her hands. A book that happened to be a gift from Tom, Norah realised and frowned slightly to herself. He was truly everywhere. She threw the book across the room and into the wall, momentarily forgetting about Doctor Sharpe’s presence in her room.

“Interesting,” Doctor Sharpe noted as he went to pick the book up from the floor. “Is that an expression of anger towards Tom, me, yourself, Sarah or any combination of those options?” he mused and opened the book. He raised an eyebrow at the words on the first page inside the book, scribbled down with a lead pencil so they could easily be removed without leaving too many traces. ‘Happy birthday Norah. Love, Tom.’ It was a copy of Hamlet and further down on the page there was a quote from the play scribbled down in the same handwriting: ‘But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.’

Norah stood up from the bed and tried to take the book back from the annoying psychiatrist. She regretted throwing it so carelessly like that, because she did love it. She loved opening up a random page in it and just read it. Doctor Sharpe held the book out of her reach.

“Since you decided to throw it like that, rather than being mature about the situation and actually speak with me, I’m going to confiscate this book for now,” Doctor Sharpe informed her. Norah stared at him in disbelief and he just responded by looking back at her impassively. He was cold-hearted, Norah thought to herself as a sudden wave of intense fury took over. She slapped him across the face. Hard. Harder than intended, she realised when she felt the burning sensation in the palm of her hand and heard the resounding slap breaking the tense silence in the room for a brief moment. Then it fell silent again. An uneasy silence as the doctor studied her, seemingly very surprisingly unfazed by what she had just done.

“You’re not mute, Miss Collins. I strongly suggest you try communicating with me right now by using your words, not your hands,” Doctor Sharpe eventually told her calmly, with a look as cold as ice in his dark eyes.

Norah felt an unpleasurable shiver run down her spine as she forced herself to not divert her gaze from the doctor. She didn’t want to submit to him, but at the same time, she didn’t want to act childish about the whole thing.

“I hate you, but I still shouldn’t have hit you,” Norah eventually said, her voice and gaze surprisingly steady. There was a ghost of a smile at Doctor Sharpe’s lips upon hearing her words. She was still defiant, but that wasn’t all bad since she now spoke to him with an assertiveness he hadn’t witnessed in her before. He regarded it as a sign of her growing more resilient and determined about what she wanted and how she wanted to present herself. A sign of her becoming an individual, testing boundaries and making herself accessible to experience failure and disappointment.

“No, you really shouldn’t have hit me, Miss Collins,” Doctor Sharpe agreed. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me before I leave?”

“I’m not really sorry about it, but I still shouldn’t have done it,” Norah told him. It was difficult for Doctor Sharpe not to smile at her honest words, but he managed to keep his face neutral as he looked thoughtfully at her.

“Grab whatever you need for your schoolwork, head downstairs and join the others who have gotten detention this weekend in the small classroom,” Doctor Sharpe instructed her.

Norah frowned, but did as told. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do at the moment anyway. Besides, she knew James would be there. And Will, the overqualified, slightly bored teacher. No, professor, actually. He was a professor with connections to some universities across Great Britain. She liked him, and she liked the fact that he had seemed earnest when telling her that she had potential to do well academically.

… 

That night between Saturday and Sunday, there was a full moon. Therefore James and Norah snuck out in the middle of that night to partake in James’s tradition, or ritual, of moonbathing. Norah wasn’t sure if he actually had a tradition like that before they met, or if he just made it up as some kind of joke. It would be just like him. It didn’t really matter whether or not it was originally a joke, though. Because they did it and it felt meaningful in its simplicity.

But of course, they should have picked their location more carefully. The swamp had been okay to swim in, its icy cold water very invigorating. After the initial shock of how cold the water was, Norah experienced something she would describe as a natural high. Her heart was beating fast and she smiled at James in the moonlight before splashing some water at him. Swimming in the water was fine, but getting out of the body of water in the middle of the woods proved to be more problematic than anticipated. In spite of it being cold outside, the swamp was still unreliable and its bottom muddy, causing their feet to sink down into it as they tried to climb out of the water.

“Fuck! I’m stuck! I’m stuck!” Norah uttered with a hint of panic, causing James to turn around and walk back towards her in order to help her. He tried to dig into the mud with his hands, but ended up having his own feeting sink deeper into the mud as a result of his movements. He ended up being stuck too.

“Well, I suppose this wasn’t the best of locations for moonbathing,” James concluded after establishing that he was indeed stuck to the point that it was better to stand still than continuing struggling to get loose.

“Agreed. I suppose this is how we die,” Norah said and couldn’t fail to see the irony of the situation. They had both seriously considered suicide more than once in their lives and now, they found themselves at risk dying from a most ridiculous accident when acting like reckless teenagers who wanted to get the most out of their lives.

“It isn’t until when we finally start living that we become fully aware of our mortality,” James replied and they both burst into laughter.

“We still have our watches on,” Norah realised. “Which do you prefer, dying from freezing to death or from embarrassment?”

“I suppose the latter, but it’s only by a hair,” James told her. “Should we push the buttons at the same time?”

“Sure. On the count of three,” Norah smiled. “One, two, three.”

They simultaneously pushed the emergency buttons on their surveillance watches and saw how the watches began to blink red and heard a regular, slightly unsynced beeping noise come from them with a few seconds in between.

James and Norah were both shuddering as the greatly annoyed night staff members from theirs as well as a few of the neighbouring houses at Willow’s Creek finally managed to get them out of the swamp.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Clay asked them for what must have been the fifth time, since they had failed to produce any comprehensible responses up until then. They had just begun laughing and produced a few words each that were difficult to discern due to the fact that they were both shuddering so violently from the cold. But now the two teenagers were indoors, safe and sound. They had showered, gotten into warm, dry clothes and had been served a cup of tea each in the downstairs dining room, so as to not disturb the other attendees in the middle of the night.

“We just didn’t reconnoiter the location properly beforehand. It was an honest mistake and could honestly happen to anyone,” James replied coyly.

“This is not a laughing matter, James. Surely, you must understand that,” Clay told him and sighed frustratedly when the teenage boy just smiled cheekily in response.

Norah was being examined by the relatively young night nurse who tried, but didn’t quite succeed with hiding her amusement at their antics.

“It appears that you’re okay, at least from what I can tell,” the night nurse concluded and went on to examine James.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Norah?” Clay asked, turning to the teenage girl he had only just begun to get to know a little better. He had not really expected this from her, but then again, he didn’t really know her all that much since she had only quite recently arrived at the treatment facility. It was not exactly an uncommon occurrence for attendees to test the boundaries at the beginning of their stay at the facility, but this kind of riskful testing was a bit more than he was used to seeing.

“Judgement, I have none,” Norah told him humorously.

“Obviously not,” Clay muttered and gave yet another frustrated sigh.

Following morning, Norah was genuinely surprised to be roughly woken up by having someone pour a bucket of ice cold water over her. She crawled out of bed, from underneath the soaked blankets and proceeded to glare at the person responsible for this rather unmild treatment of her. She saw Doctor Sharpe hand over an empty bucket to Max who looked surprisedly at the psychiatrist. This appeared not to be a common occurrence to judge by Max’s reaction to it.

“Good morning,” Max told Norah and forced a stiff smile before urgently leaving the room with a rather puzzled expression.

“I’m pretty sure this is not by any means an okay way to treat your patients, or attendees, or whatever the hell you prefer to call it,” Norah told Doctor Sharpe irritably.

“Fair enough. I’m not sorry I did it, but I still shouldn’t have done it,” Doctor Sharpe said with the ghost of a smile. “How do you suggest I should go about this particular situation then?” he proceeded to ask and observed her carefully as she walked towards him, rounding the foot of the bed.

“Make love, not war?” Norah suggested irritably and tightly wrapped her arms around him to make sure he got as much cold water on his clothes as possible before she let him go and took a step back to inspect her handiwork. To some satisfaction the psychiatrist’s white dress shirt became quite sufficiently wet, making its fabric a bit sheer, thus showing off a surprisingly lean and well trained torso that reminded her of Tom’s. Damn it. He truly was everywhere.

“You love rather aggressively,” Doctor Sharpe commented, yet again looking annoyingly unfazed by her provocative action.

“You poured fucking ice water over me when I was asleep! How bloody unprofessional can a person be? And not to mention reckless! Can’t things like that actually be dangerous? Can’t you die from shock? Or rather from a cardiac arrest brought on by a state of shock?” Norah questioned, trying to not let her voice be affected by her body shivering from the cold.

“Well, the risk I took just now was about as calculated as the risk you and your friend decided to take in the middle of the night,” Doctor Sharpe retorted. “In fact, dare I say, my risk-taking just now with you was considerably more calculated than yours, seeing as there is in fact a heart starter in the other room in case you would suffer cardiac arrest.”

“I’m really cold right now and want to take a warm shower,” Norah informed him and proceeded to gather clean clothes and a towel from her closet. “This is not really a state I want to be in if you actually want to have a serious discussion with me.”

“Very well, I’ll see you later then,” Doctor Sharpe said and they exited her room together.

“Do you work all the time or something? It’s Sunday, right? Don’t you ever have time off?” Norah questioned with a frown.

“I live nearby and was informed about your little stunt so I decided to come in and get some work done,” Doctor Sharpe replied.

“This could have waited until tomorrow. You don’t really have much of a meaningful life outside of work, do you?” Norah asked him.

“You didn’t quite hit the nail on the head there if your intention was to hurt my feelings,” Doctor Sharpe told her before leaving her side by the row of small rooms with showers, a sink and just about enough space to be able to get dressed inside of them.

Just as Norah was about to enter one of the shower rooms, James came out from another. He looked her up and down and then smiled smugly at her.

“So you too, huh?” James commented and they shared amused looks before he walked off towards his room.

Norah sighed heavily when Max led her to Doctor Sharpe’s office later that day. His strategy appeared to be to question her and James separately about the incident seeing as she hadn’t seen James since breakfast and it was now after lunch.

“Where is James? Have you perchance slain him?” Norah asked Doctor Sharpe irritably, causing Max to look surprisedly at her.

“It would be quite illegal and unethical to slay anyone, much less one of the attendees under my care, so the answer to your rather childish question is obviously no, I have not slain him,” Doctor Sharpe replied and motioned for Norah to have a seat.

“I want to see your books,” Norah said nonchalantly and sauntered over to the ladder, climbing up to the library loft. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the remarkable and rather impressive collection of books he had there. Sure, many of them were quite old, as if they had been inherited, bought at a flea market or from an antiquarian bookshop, but the shelves were full of classics as well as writers she had never heard of before and whose names she couldn’t even pronounce. “Why aren’t those books made available to everyone? It’s not really fair of you to keep a collection such as this all to yourself while we only have access to very few books to borrow, most of which being nothing but mediocre whodunits.”

“Do you find anything interesting up there?” Doctor Sharpe asked her, still surprisingly unfazed by her insubordination, considering how he had been treating her prior to this. It threw her a bit off guard, but she decided to just go with it, and enjoy his passivity while it lasted. She truly hated his strictness and his confusing, rather unorthodox methods that made her feel like a lab rat.

Doctor Sharpe was unpredictable in a way that made her feel uneasy. But he had apparently been doing this for many years and had, according to Stephen’s research, actually helped quite a few people get their lives on track. That information, if anything, had weirded her out when she and James had used one of the school computers to communicate with Stephen. James had been quite surprised by it as well and questioned if those people were even real. But some of them had however claimed that Doctor Sharpe’s approach had become easier for them to understand with time, or in some cases in retrospect, after they had left Willow’s Creek. Now that Norah came to think of it, perhaps Doctor Sharpe had gradually become more sufferable with time as you got to know him better. She was uncertain about that. Most of the time, she loathed him, but sometimes he was bearable to be around and could even have a sense of humour that she could appreciate.

“Yeah,” Norah replied as she studied the titles, letting her gaze sweep over the many books. She grabbed a copy of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, remembering that Tom had mentioned it to her once. And there he was again, Tom. Everywhere she looked she would see something that she could somehow relate to him. But he wasn’t the writer of that particular play. He didn’t own it. He had merely mentioned it, saying he believed she would like it. That was all there was to it. And he was usually right when it came to those things; figuring out what she would like when it came to most things. Sarah had agreed that Norah would probably like that particular play. Yes. Sarah might even have been the one to bring it up. That was it. This was Sarah’s recommendation to her, not Tom’s. She missed Sarah. Sarah would always be the most important person in Norah’s life, not Tom. He was just Sarah’s boyfriend. Her sister’s ridiculously wonderful, amiable and dorky boyfriend. Beautiful, intelligent and attractive.

Norah sat down on the floor in the loft space and pressed the book against her chest as tears ran down her face. She felt like a truly dreadful person. Surely, she must have been the worst sister to ever walk the Earth. She had kissed Tom while Sarah was very ill. She had even made out with him and touched him inappropriately and convinced him to touch her in a most shameful way. Norah had initiated something with Tom that should never ever take place between an ill woman’s boyfriend and the woman in question’s little sister.

Norah flinched as she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up at Doctor Sharpe. She hadn’t heard him climb the ladder and walk up to her.

“You’ll survive this,” Doctor Sharpe told her. “It might feel like what you’re experiencing right now will never pass, but I assure you, it will. Just give it some time. Setbacks are necessary in order to grow more resilient for future challenges in life. You will feel like this again, and that too will pass. It’s just the way it is. You know that, but you’re still trying to avoid it at all cost rather than just accepting the fact that it is what it is. This is absolutely necessary for you to go through. It’s life, Norah. It’s a necessary part of living and actually feeling alive and not all numb inside.”

“But it’s not fair!” Norah shouted at him and sobbed. “It’s not fucking fair! I hate it so much! I don’t want to feel and I don’t want to experience setbacks, so you should either lobotomise me or just kill me! I don’t care how you do it, just put me out of my misery once and for all!”

“No,” Doctor Sharpe said calmly, observing her carefully. “I won’t put you out of your misery. You need to experience the bad times too, Norah. You know that as well as I do. It’s all part of the human experience, of truly being alive.”

“Well, then I suppose I don’t want to be alive. It’s just not for me,” Norah replied.

“‘Let everything happen to you; beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.’ Those are words I tell myself whenever I feel the way you do now. We need both beauty and terror in our lives,” Doctor Sharpe told her. “You are going to be okay, Norah.”

“Because no feeling is final,” Norah mumbled and frowned at him. “Whose words are that?”

“It’s from a poem called Go to the Limits of your Longing by Rainer Maria Rilke,” Doctor Sharpe told her.

“I’ve never heard of him or the poem before,” Norah said quietly.

“I can write it down for you, if you like,” Doctor Sharpe offered.

“Okay,” Norah agreed.

“Would you like to borrow that book to read or were you planning on keeping it hostage until I returned your book to you?” Doctor Sharpe asked her.

“They’re not necessarily mutually exclusive, are they?” Norah asked him, the hint of a smile playing at her lips.

It was all so strange; that place and that psychiatrist, but Norah realised that for the moment being she didn’t actually mind it as much as she thought she would.

Across the room, Loki watches you. He’s been watching you for weeks. You’re one of the few humans who doesn’t treat him like a god or a monster. You treat him like… a person. You make tea when he visits the tower. You ask him questions about Asgard. You laugh when he makes dry, biting jokes.

But lately— You flinch. Not from him. From your phone. It lights up on the table.

Your shoulders tense instantly.

Loki’s eyes narrow. “Are you going to answer it?” he asks lazily from the couch.

You shake your head too quickly. “It’s nothing.”

The phone buzzes again. And again. And again. Finally you reach for it, fingers shaking slightly. You read the message. Your face falls.

Loki notices everything. “Who,” he asks softly, “is making you look like that?”

You try to smile. “Just my boyfriend.” The word feels wrong in your mouth.

Loki tilts his head. “Your boyfriend,” he repeats slowly.

Your phone buzzes again. You read the message out loud before you can stop yourself.

“Where the hell are you?”

Another message appears.

“You’re ignoring me again. Real classy.”

Your fingers start typing an apology automatically.

Loki stands. “Stop.” His voice cuts through the room like a blade.

You freeze. He steps closer, eyes flicking between you and the phone. “Why,” Loki asks carefully, “are you apologizing?”

You blink. “I—well—because he’s upset.”

“Because you were… where?”

Your voice goes small. “I forgot to text him when I got home.”

Loki stares at you. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then he laughs. Not amused. Cold. “Let me understand this correctly,” he says. “You are apologizing because you did not report your location like a prisoner?”

You swallow. “It’s not like that, Loki.”

Another message appears.

“If you’re with someone I swear to god—”

Loki’s eyes flash green. “You tremble every time that device lights up,” he says quietly. “And you insist this creature is your partner?”

Your throat tightens. “He’s not that bad,” you whisper automatically.

Loki goes very still. Slowly, he crouches in front of you so your eyes meet. “Look at me.”

You do.

There’s something frightening in his expression—but not directed at you. “Does he yell at you?”

Silence.

“…Sometimes.”

“Does he accuse you of things you have not done?”

“…Yes.”

“Does he make you feel as though you are the problem?”

Your eyes burn. You nod.

Loki inhales slowly through his nose. When he speaks again, his voice is dangerously soft. “And why,” he asks, “do you remain with him?”

Your answer comes out in a whisper. “I don’t know how to leave.” That sentence sits in the room like a confession. You stare at the floor. “I’ve tried,” you say quietly. “But he gets mad and then he apologizes and says he didn’t mean it and—”

Your phone buzzes again.

“Pick up the phone. Now.”

Tears blur your vision. “I just… don’t want to make him angry.”

The silence that follows is terrifying.

Loki stands slowly. There’s a storm in his eyes now. “Fascinating,” he murmurs.

Your head lifts. “What?”

His lips curl slightly. “You fear anger,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Before you can react, Loki plucks the phone from your hands.

Your heart stops. “Loki—!”

He reads the messages. Every single one. His expression grows colder with each line. Then he begins typing.

“Loki please don’t—” He sends the message. Your phone buzzes immediately. You stare at the screen.

You will not contact her again.

Another message arrives instantly.

Who the hell is this?

Loki smiles. A dangerous, beautiful smile. He types again. Someone who will not tolerate your behavior.

You panic. “He’s going to be furious!”

Loki hands the phone back to you. His fingers brush yours gently. “Good.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

His voice is calm. Too calm. “Then perhaps he will come here,” Loki says. “And I will have the opportunity to explain something to him.”

Your stomach flips. “Explain what?”

Loki leans down slightly, voice lowering to something dark and protective. “That you are not prey.” Your breath catches. His eyes soften when he sees your fear.