Just One Touch

Tom has chosen a small, low key Italian eatery for us to dine at tonight. It’s a small little restaurant, located in the heart of the city, hidden from most passerby’s by it’s odd entrance located in the middle of an alley. But there’s something so charming about this place, a type of hominess that embraces everyone who enters with kind loving open arms. Tom and I have been seated in a corner of the dimly lit restaurant, pushed together in a tight booth, sitting so close across from each other our knees bump with every slight shift. But it doesn’t bother me much, the closeness is actually quite comforting, sort of like some little reminder that I’m not just hallucinating, that Tom’s actually here. With me.

We’ve already placed our order, a large pizza, divided in half based on our completely opposite preferable choice of topping. Our taste in food clash, polar opposites from one another, I can’t help but cringe at the thought of his half of our pie, decorated with bell peppers and olives, red onions and any other type of sickening vegetation god could muster. Just the thought of all that produce makes me internally cringe. Based solely on the fact that I am the most unhealthy eater on the face of the planet, the only exception being my high distaste for any type of carbonated drink.

Tom is sitting across from me, his long hands folded tightly together, resting comfortably on the dark wooden table in front of us. His sculpted toned chest slowly heaves up and down as he breather in and out, the sound of his breath silent as the calming atmospheric music wafts through the air. He’s staring off blankly, hunched over slightly in his seat, the brown orbs half empty as he focuses on nothing in particular at the edge of the table. We have not said anything for the past ten minutes. And the fear and antysness that had been in my blood stream in the hours proceeding this, have returned. Like an adrenaline rush coursing ever so strong through me, I’m suddenly aware of every move my body makes. I’m not used to this, in fact, I’m used to being the girl who doesn’t care. The girl who can say whatever she wants, blurting out things without thinking. The girl who can slouch in her seat, not caring the slightest bit whether I look proper and prim like a lady. The girl who can be such a klutz that a person couldn’t even begin to imagine that I had been a cheerleader in High School. But the truth of the matter is, Tom turns everything into a big blob of nothing.

It might be the way his brown eyes are so piercing. The way they look as if they’re delving into a person, deep into their soul, finding their way into someone’s essence with just one quick glance. Maybe had something to do with his profound bone structure, his high cheek bones that create a perfect frame on his face, a focal point that does nothing but compliment his defined chin. Tom puts me on edge, a feeling that I have never really felt before. And as if a first date isn’t terrifying enough, the fact that we are in uncharted waters has me petrified. I bite back on my lip, trying my hardest to ignore the sick feeling of anxiety that has just resurfaced in one big tidal wave. Tom’s eyes continue to stare blankly at the chip of the hard surface, and out of habit I bring my hands together, wringing them together as my eyes wander the room towards an old Italian painting hanging across the way.

“You’re doing it again.” Tom mumbles off handedly, so quietly I have to wait a few seconds for the words to marinate in my head. My eyes snap towards him, catching Tom still staring dreamily at the edge of the table near the dense can of crushed peppers. My eyes narrow, making a face just as he breaks out in a soft fit of feathery laughter. I clear my throat awkwardly just as his eyes suddenly shift in my direction with one quick motion. And then those powerful brown orbs are looking at me, a light in them that makes my heart instantly flutter.

“What are you talking about?” I ask him with a deep furrow of my eyebrows, a frown forming, the creases on my forehead appearing as I shift in my seat. Our knees bump, the sudden heat of his skin coursing upward through my system as I sit up in my seat. He follows my lead, sitting up forward from his slouch, he runs his hands over his pant legs, straightening them out under the table before placing his palms back on the wooden surface. His fingers tap lightly on the table, one finger after another, back and forth in a quick rhythm.

“That thing with your hands.” He motions quickly toward my fidgeting fingers with a lazy wave of his left hand. I jump up slightly at the sudden attention he’s throwing in their direction, and in one quick movement, their dropped to my lap. A soft chuckle escapes his throat, and I purse my lips together in a straight line, absolutely stumped with anxiety. I honestly don’t understand what has come over me. Tom’s brown eyes are staring at me with an inexplicable intensity that I have no control over the erratic thudding of my heart against my rib cage. I let out a sigh under my breath, trying, in some insignificant way, to flush out all these nerves that I’m not used to.

“Sorry, it’s a habit. Along with running my hand through my hair. If you haven’t noticed by now I tend to do that a lot. And I ramble, you know, just start talking about random irrelevant things. Sort of like I’m doing right now.” I let out a huge breathless sigh, mentally slapping myself as the air escapes past my lips. A deep chuckle reverberates from deep in Tom’s throat as he bounces his chin off of his joined fists. Making shoving my face into the palm of my hands an easy maneuver of embarrassment as I shake my head slightly back and forth from side to side. I honestly want to slap myself at this point. This is so not cute.

“I find this absolutely amazing!” Tom claps his hands together all of a sudden. My fingers suddenly widen, creating an open window for me to peek out of. My eyes instantly lock on Tom’s brown gaze, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. His smile is creeping slowly towards the corers of his face in a way that makes my heart flutter instantly. He licks his lips, his pink tongue lapping over the piece of silver located at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. “ I mean, all the girls I’ve met always try to act coy. They’re too cool. They don’t care. It get’s really repetitive after a while. I find you refreshing.”

“Well that’s a relief” I mumble under my breath. A sigh of relief heaving itself out of my chest as I slam the palm of my hand onto the hard wooden table. Only it’s not so much under my breath, as Tom let’s out a loud bark of laughter. Licking his lips the second I look at him skeptically with raised eyebrows. Shrugging his shoulders, he reaches out for his glass of Coke, sticking his straw into his mouth and taking a sip as if nothing had happened.

“So, Tom, tell me about yourself.” Tom looks up, his mouth leaving his straw as I quirk my eyebrows at him from my end of the table. My head titling to the side slightly as his pink tongue slowly pokes out of his mouth before running across the surface of his lips, his lip ring glistens slightly as it is passed over. I nod my head at him with pursed lips as he looked at me with a glance. I don’t think it’s an inappropriate question to ask. The truth of the matter is, I’m on a date, with a foreign guy with an accent named Tom. And that’s all I know about him. Which is not enough to even begin fathoming to start a relationship with him. Even then, that was me being optimistic on tonight. It could go either way at this point in all honesty.

“Well, where am I supposed to start?” He asks with a cock of his eyebrows. I purge my lips together, not completely assured of my answer to that question. His eyes stay locked on me, a slightly humorous look covering his eyes as he looks at me expectantly. I bite back on the corner of my lip, completely stumped. After a few seconds of me sitting in front of him with my hard thinking face, Tom let’s out a chuckle. His pink tongue poking out of his mouth to do a quick run over his lips.

“My full name is Tom Kaulitz.” He opens up the conversation with an enthusiastic shrug of his shoulders. His thick eyebrows pop up, as he shoots me a corny smile. And his attempt to break the ice works as a fit of laughter escapes past my throat. He sends me a warm smile, shoulders falling back to it’s original stance as I scratch the back of my head absentmindedly. A cold breeze wafts through the air, and my eyes dash towards the entrance a few feet away where a group of girls are huddled in front of, only to focus back on Tom.

“My birthday is on, September 1st. 1989. I was born in Magdeburg Germany. It’s a small little town, practically a village. Absolutely wretched place to live in. I have a twin brother, his name is Bill…”

“You have a twin?!” I rudely interrupt Tom’s interesting introduction. But there is no way that I can just let that fact slip past me. The fact that he has a twin brother fascinates me, and I find myself unknowingly leaning further towards Tom as he nods his head, a sharp chuckle pushed past his throat. My eyes take a second to assess Tom, scanning across his beautiful immaculate face, and the spark of curiosity slowly ignites in the back of my head as I consider the possibility that there is someone else walking around with an identical face.

“Yes.” A curt nod is thrown in my direction. His eyes seem to light up instantly at the mention of him, as if a type of comfort has seeped into his thoughts, warming him into his core. And it’s then that I realize the extent of the relationship. I don’t even need to hear about him to understand.

“You guys are like two halves of the same person.” I find myself mumbling in fascination. I’ve never known the feeling, the closest I’ve ever come to is Katy. And I’ll be the first to say that our connection is pretty damn close. But at the end of the day, we still are two separate people, with our own lives, our own thoughts, our own differences. But Tom, and his brother, to have a connection like the one that they have, a connection so deep a person can just sense it without knowing either one in the slightest way, that went beyond deep. Two people tied together for life, as if sewn together in an impenetrable stitching, so elaborate it could never be tempered with, yet, so simple it was as if they were one person. I could only imagine.

“Are you psychic?” He asks me with a light chuckle, his eyes locking on mine instantaneously. But there’s nothing for me to say, and I shrug my shoulders as a last resort. I’m just good at reading people.

“I can just tell.” I reply with a quick shrug of my shoulders, and I shoot him a smile as I take a sip of my ice water. It’s then that any tension that had been present evaporates into the cool air, Tom’s shoulders slumping slightly in a relaxing stance, it isn’t until he’s sitting with his legs open under the table, leaning into the booth, that I realize he had been sitting upright and perky. The invisible balls of sweat that had been threatening to become a reality instantly evaporate and without meaning to a sigh of relief has pushed past through me.

“Bill. My identical twin. Ummm…. Our step dad is a German diplomat. But he is our father, we’re grown up with him. Our Mother is a type of stay at home wife you could say, my brother and I were expected to step into his footsteps, everyone was expecting us to follow our father’s career, but Bill and I aren’t too sure what we want to do at this point. We decided to move out here to take a step back and re evaluate everything. We’ve been here for about a month and a half, and things are actually quite slow compared to our fast lifestyle back in Germany, and I must say that I’m enjoying the peace.”

“Now it’s your turn.” Tom tells me with a soft look, intensity radiates off of him as he stares into my eyes. His gaze never faltering as I stare into his brown eyes. And I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how constricted it has become.

“Emily Deveroux, my birthday is on November 7. 1991. My dad is a Veterinarian, highly acclaimed, he deals with a lot of celebrities dogs, which is actually not as interesting as you would think. The shop I work at is his. Everything I know about Canines I’ve learned from him. Katy, is my best friend, I’ve known her since we were four. We’ve grown up together, and she knows probably everything you could possibly know about me. We live together, a few miles away from the shop.”

“What about your mother?” Tom asks interestedly, leaning forward on his elbows, he quirks his head to the side. And I let out a slow, shaky breath, taking note as it falters, I bite back on my lip as I stare into his warm gaze.

“My mother passed away when I was ten. She was driving home late one night, she was drunk out of her mind, she had just left the club just like she always did practically every night…. She was speeding through the streets…. there’s a tunnel, somewhere in route leading to her house. She lost control of the car… and collided straight into the divider of the tunnel. She died on impact.”

The silence enveloped it’s all too familiar arms around me, the once uncomfortable, suffocating sensation that I once felt trapped in, has become my best acquaintance, and I am somehow, sickly comforted by the ever familiar presence as I sit there across from Tom, my hands crossed in my lap as I refuse to make eye contact with him.

“I’m so sorry Emily. I can‘t imagine how that could possibly feel.”

“It was a long time ago. But thank you, it’s always nice to hear it.” I whisper, a soft smile breaking past my lips as I wring my hands on my lap under the table where he can’t see. I hate feeling like this. I hate the way my heart aches whenever I think of my mother, how the endless numbers of emotion bubble up inside of me, so ferocious they threaten to burst past they’re boundaries, and boil over me. At time’s I’m perfectly fine, where I can just let it be, talk about it and be at peace. But for the most part, I feel as if everything is coming back at me with full force, surrounding me, burying me head to toe, suffocating me, leaving me grasping for air that I won’t be able to inhale. And there’s nothing I can do about it except smile my way through it, as if I’m perfectly fine.

“So if you’re two years younger than me, how is that you could prescribe Scottie his medication exactly?” Tom asks with a quirk of his eyebrows, a playful smirk gracing his mouth as he looks at me with widened eyes.

And in that moment. Everything fades away, leaving me there, with Tom.

And somehow, it just feels, right.