A Faint Illusion

I'd be a liar If I said I was telling the truth half the time

Tuesday;
Tom wore a red and green argyle sweater, a white button-up shirt under it and beige trousers. White Ray-Bans, black knapsack, a Nikon Coolpix s6100 and black Nikes.

Wednesday;
Black sweat trousers, black Vegan Saucony's and a Red Demise Me shirt.
We made eye contact for a brief 0.004 seconds. It made me realize two things.

Number one;
My safety place, my home; was being taunted by a ghostly pale, blue-eyed male who deemed to have caused enough trouble as it is, yet he's managed to come back and make it worse for me. I was doing so well.

and

Number two;
Someone needed to get me the fuck out of Sheffield.

Thursday;
Tight blue denim trousers and a drop dead t-shirt. Black pair of classic Toms, and a red american apparel zip-up jumper.

We didn't make eye contact this time. I refused to look in his direction. It was hard to cope with him being here. With him lounging around campus with a sudden new admiration. His shy and quite exterior gone. It was as if his interior was his new outer shell. He was a new person.

Who was this?

Fame and money could do a lot of things to someone. It could easily change every aspect of any individual, stripping them bare, exposing them to the reality of what shitty people and shitty things can do you to. Tom and I watched Oliver constantly suffer with the same people who made his life a living fucking hell, bow down to his feet, and deep down in side, I think he enjoyed it. A model girlfriend, a dominant part of the metal apparel scene, and a sold out venue every night. But Thomas. Tom. Sweet, humble, quiet, shy and polite Tom. Tom using it for his advantage.
But was he?
I couldn't really decide that, I hardly made an effort to talk to him. It works both ways, my mother had always said. It's a two way road. You make effort, the other individual should make the equal amount of effort.
Tom and I must be on other sides of the country at the point.

Friday;

He never showed up. I didn't see him one bit. I did not looked for him around the courtyards, around the campuses, or the library where I knew I hung around most. It seemed as if he was wherever I was, but maybe I was wherever he was? Despite everything it was unfortunate, for me at least. He made me nervous. He made me queasy and scared.
Was it fear? Was I rekindling on everything I once felt? In three years time, it changes someone right?

&

Glazed over and cold; I wish your smile could see me

"You're avoiding me." It was the first words he spoke. He wasn't polite. He was stern, and curious. His sun glasses set at the top of his head, and his camera was placed down in front of the register at Tesco along with his assortment of alcoholic beverages for the night. He wore a red flannel shirt (which always looked so adorable on his boy-like frame) with the sleeves rolled up showing off his new ink. His hand reading homesick as it was turned towards my direction. A black beanie and Ray bans again. He was always such a nice looking kid man.

I never said anything.

"You're ignoring me also. I'm a paying customer Pansy, the least you can do is make eye contact with me and be polite despite your harsh feelings towards me, which are completely invalid." he added, irritation filling his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest. Tom never got mad. He was always so nice, so calm and collective. That must of been why I adored him so much, or parts of it. His package was--.

"I don't have anything to say to you" I whispered back softly, his items placed neatly in a plastic shopping bag. As hurtful as those words may have been to him, they were the truth.
He never said anything after that. Tom Sykes grabbed his bag and left. He never turned around or showed any form of emotion.

&&

"Whatever happened to you two anyways-" My roommate pressed on. Her long tanned legs placed over our glass coffee table in such a nonchalant comfortable manner as I sat next to her. My hands placed in my lap and I yanked on each limb, my legs bounced up and down as my encounter with Tom played over and over in my head. "All of us thought you two were so perfect for each other"

But isn't that what everyone says? You two were so great for each other, so god damn perfect that some unholy, unsatisfying little aspect came in and fucking took every last little ounce of perfection and shoved it so far up some unspoken, and nonexistent God's-.

"They just didn't work." I stated shrugging as I popped the joint on my index finger, the loud cracking noise echoing our empty flat. Which was precisely half-true. Half-true was good enough for me.