Gwen did not ask who Sybil was texting. For one, she didn't feel the need to start an argument. Sybil was also so happy, she did not want to ruin that by bringing light to the situation. Mostly though, Gwen didn't want to discuss the fact that she knew the answer — and it terrified her.
Everyone else noticed as well, though their ability to make a connection was certainly clouded. With her wedding and the exhaustion she experienced from her pregnancy, Mary was not around as much and Matthew's presence dwindled as well because of this. Sybil and Tom somehow managed to limit communication at the hospital, and though William saw the way the two would occasionally share subtle silent moments, like Gwen he didn't want to inquire. He saw the way Dr. Frye was initially skeptical of the two and with Sybil being his best friend, he resolved to do everything he could to keep her in Dr. Frye's good graces. It seemed the only thing William would not do was reveal what he imagined was a very delicate relationship with a patient.
It was odd, at best. Sybil still attended Psycle. She still went out with Gwen and Will and they invited Ben now and the four would laugh together. She did not rush out afterward, but it was clear when she was home that she wished to be alone. The only problem was that she was not alone. Her thumbs tapped erratically at her glass screen, making contact with Tom just as soon as her bedroom door was shut.
"I have a question," she began one night. She should have waited for a response but she knew that with Tom there was almost always a delay. She took the time to instead get out of her scrubs and change into some pyjamas. Somehow this was the most relaxing part of her day and yet it had her heart beating the fastest.
"Go."
Sybil picked up her phone and smiled at the screen. "How were you diagnosed?"
"I had really awful chest pain and apparently when that happens everyone takes you very seriously. I thought it was kind of comical but Em was really worried so she made me go to the doctor who made me go to the hospital where they basically told me I was dying."
Sybil rolled her eyes and let out a small laugh, all while falling back onto her bed. She did get comfortable and she wondered if he was doing the same. "You're not dying. Stop saying that."
Tom was not. Tonight he was attending one of Rory's football matches. His niece was doing well, even better than she typically was, and yet he couldn't keep his eyes off his screen. Even before Sybil had reached out, Emilee watched as her brother's hands itched at his pockets, wishing to check his phone. "I could though...right?"
"I mean..everyone can technically die during any operation. You can die getting your tonsils out."
"What a way to go," Tom quipped.
There was a lull in conversation and Sybil, afraid of losing him, found herself continuing it to drown out the silence. She imagined him constantly waiting for her, being just as respectful as he ever was, especially now when he still believed she needed so much space. "Were you scared?"
"Not really." His immediate response confirmed this was the case.
"Really?"
"No...not really," he clearly joked. "Should I be?" he added.
He rarely double texted, causing Sybil to pause. "I'm worried."
"What?"
"I don't like knowing it's you." She knew she wasn't making sense so she tried again. "There's a lot of pressure operating on someone you know. I honestly don't know if Dr. Frye should be allowing it...actually, I do know. He shouldn't be."
"He better. I don't want to do this without you now." It hurt too much so she pulled away. Sybil looked around her room and let out a sigh all before standing up and going to the living room to watch television with Gwen. Tom let her, giving her space even if it hurt him too. In a way he knew that his words revealed too much vulnerability, but everyday she was making him more and more brave. Now with his phone tucked back in his coat pocket, he turned to his sister and forced a closed-mouth smile all before returning his attention to Rory's game, his energy completely depleted.
~!~
"Why is Emilee here?"
Tom had been waiting all night for Sybil to reach out and he had honestly given up on that notion when he didn't hear from her by 8 o'clock. It was rare that they went a day without talking, but it had in fact happened before. The conversation the two had the next night made up for it, as Sybil and Tom fought sleep to instead discuss the state of English politics. It was all either wanted but they were both exhausted at the next morning's meeting and the similarity was not one they wanted to have to explain away more than once.
"In London?"
"Yes."
"She needed a change," Tom responded with calculation. There was hesitation in his typing, and not just because his words were always stunted.
"Is that code for 'I don't want to tell you'?"
"No. It's code for 'I can't tell you,'" he emphasized.
"Gotcha." Tom could hear in his head just how Sybil would have delivered the line and he smiled at the imaginary sound. "Why are you here?"
"This is where I got a job."
"I know."
Even though she couldn't see or hear him, Tom laughed. "Then why did you ask?"
"I guess my question is, why did you stay?"
"Wait. No. I have a question." As promised, he asked another. "How did you know?"
"My dad."
"You lie."
"He wrote you a reference, you know."
"I actually did know."
"Oh."
"It was kind of him. I sent him an email when I found out but he never responded."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"I guess it doesn't surprise me either," Tom shrugged. He honestly hadn't given it much thought. Really he expected no response but he often wondered if the Vice Chancellor even took time to read his expression of gratitude. He must have, especially if Sybil was privy to the fact.
"So why did you stay?"
"I liked the job I got."
"It's a good job," Sybil confirmed.
"You seem to know the answers to all of these questions…" If she were in his bedroom, Tom would have side eyed her. At the same time, if she were in his bedroom, Tom didn't think he'd be able to manage much outside of breathing.
Sybil smirked. "I'm getting confirmation."
"Mhm."
She shook her head in dismissal of his attitude. "How's Rory doing?"
"Am I being interviewed? Is this a test?"
"Hardly."
"She's good. Smart. More athletic than she is smart but she's still pretty bright."
"Does she have a boyfriend?"
"No, thank god."
"You better not be mean to her."
"I'm hardly mean. Thankfully she cares too much about football to have time for any of that."
"THANKFULLY," Sybil joked. "God forbid the girl enjoy herself."
"Well when she does, I don't want to know about it. I'll turn a blind eye...can I ask some questions now?" It seemed he was playing her games only so he could set up some rules of his own.
"Umm…"
"It's only fair."
"Alright."
"What's Will's deal?"
"Will is my best friend," Sybil returned simply. Wasn't this obvious? Didn't Tom see the way the two joked before and after meetings? Or maybe it was Tom's aversion to the way Sybil often touched William, pressing a hand to his chest or wrapping her arm around his waist when the two walked down the hall together.
Tom paused; best friend was a title he used to own and it was this relationship with Sybil that he missed the most. "Did you meet him at Harvard?"
"I did."
"And he lives here now?"
"No, he flies in every morning from Baltimore and then flies home again at night." Sybil chuckled at her own joke.
If she and Tom were still dating, he'd call her out for being so cheesy. For someone so intelligent and beautiful, there was a side to Sybil she only showed to a few select people. Once upon a time, Tom was one of those people. For a short period, he was the only one, and it stung now while he realized that he was not entitled to want to be that person for Sybil again, especially because it was his choice to give her up.
"Alright, no need to be sassy…"
"He's gay. Before you make any assumptions."
"I don't care." Sybil paused. Of course he didn't, or rather, of course he'd say that he didn't. "Are you actually dating anyone then?" But those were casual words for a boy that didn't care.
Sybil didn't even hesitate when she threw her phone to the side. The conversation was over now.
~!~
Tom didn't text for many days. Actually, the more she thought about it (and she had time to think about things now, with him no longer occupying her time each night) it was always her to initiate their conversations but she still missed the way his name used to once constantly grace her screen as if it were something she had no control over. She had stopped communication and she wanted him to fight back. Perhaps out of embarrassment or even acknowledgement of her sensitivity, Tom did not. He was giving her the space he felt she needed and deserved and all Sybil wanted was to have him closer.
"Where were you today?" Sybil finally texted one night, doing so with no salutation beforehand.
"Busy. Didn't Frye tell you?"
His response came easily and she wondered why that was; even when the two were dating he was notorious for leaving his phone somewhere inconvenient. Maybe he used the device to check emails and organize notes for his classes. The only other option was that he was waiting for her to reach out and for whatever reason Sybil found that to be the less probable choice.
"Why do you always drop everyone's title? Dr. Kolberg. Dr. Frye."
Tom smirked. "Because I'm Dr. Branson now and it sounds stupid...Why do you always avoid my questions?" he asked simply.
Sybil grinned. She wondered if he was referencing her previous dismissal but knew that was unlikely. "No, Frye didn't tell me, smartass. We just didn't go to see you today so I thought you were dead."
"Logical deduction," Tom quipped.
"It'd be the easier conclusion," Sybil explained. She wasn't aware but her smirk had turned to a full smile. "I'm starting to really stress out about this procedure..."
"Why? If I die, I die."
Sybil shifted upon her bed, almost as if his words unsettled more than just her mind. "Why are you saying that?"
"Because it's not that big of a deal."
"WHAT?"
"I'm sorry. I'm driving. One second." Tom tossed his phone into his cup holder so he could turn his steering wheel more easily.
"Stop texting and driving!"
He saw the device light up and he grabbed for it once more. He had several more traffic lights before he reached his flat and he used each one to talk to her. It was probably the first time he'd obeyed each street sign since moving into this neighborhood over three years ago. "Yes, mum."
"STOP!"
"Alright, I'm home. God, you're pushy."
"You're the worst, mate. Don't get me started."
Tom smiled. "We're mates now?" It was a word Sybil had never used before and he wondered if that was because she never had any reason to. They were never friends, really. Best friends, perhaps, but only because they were lovers too and the two were titles both believed should be synonymous. Though they existed in some type of relationship that lacked a label such an ordinary term was too meaningless, even now, to describe just what they were.
"Hardly."
Tom chuckled, wondering if Sybil even believed her own lie. "We talk a lot. We're totally mates."
"Not mates," she dismissed. "And stop avoiding my question."
"You avoid my questions all the time!" he gave, slightly annoyed but mostly out of amusement.
"Are you home now?"
"Yes, I told you I was."
"No, I mean inside," Sybil explained.
"Yes. Christ!"
"Good. Find the nearest wall and please bang your head into it. Over and over again. Please."
Tom went immediately for the kitchen. Once inside he reached for a beer from the fridge. He used to do the same thing when the two talked on the phone all those years ago. Now he only wished he could hear her voice and a pang of guilt rang out from deep within him as he felt just how intense his craving had become.
"Wow. Harsh. Now I don't know if I want to be friends with you."
"Alright you arse, explain to me why you're so blase about your life?"
"I'm not blase about my life." He sent another text immediately after. "Can I just call you? I hate fucking texting."
"No."
Tom smirked. "Alright then...I'm just saying that if this is the way I'm meant to go, this is the way I'm meant to go."
"That's a really messed up way of looking at it."
"Actually I think that's a really healthy way of looking at it."
"Are you taking your pills?"
His amusement disappeared, replaced now by the truth of Sybil being no more than just his doctor. "Yes ma'am."
"Do you think they're helping?"
"Honestly, I don't know," he texted simply. "I think the smoking might be."
"And the drinking?"
Tom was at his bedroom door now and he pushed inside using the same hand that carried his beer. The other hand held his phone, making his response to Sybil a slowly delivered one. "I made no promises there."
Every once in awhile Sybil was reminded of the man she met when dragged to a university party with her older sister. All too often he was standing in front of her, or in this instance, on the other end of the phone line. "I still think you're depressed," she accessed, dismissing her memory of him.
"And I still don't know if that's your business." Tom was on his bed now. Somehow this was where he felt the most comfortable talking to her, just as they once found solace in the small loft of Tom's university flat.
"You're my patient. It's totally my business."
"Focus on my heart, would you?"
"Well do you think you are?"
"No. I think I'm about to be thirty-five and I can do what I want."
"You sound like a child."
"Probably."
"Alright you're being nasty. Goodnight, Tom."
"It's barely 9PM." Nine o'clock and too late for him to attempt to keep this conversation going.
"Goodnight, Tom." Even without noice her voice was so sweet. Immediately Tom moved to do what Sybil had asked him not to. He called her, listening as the phone gave out several pronounced rings against his ear. When Sybil's answering machine picked up, he let out a frustrated groan and threw his phone to the floor. It was early and it was likely Sybil was exhausted, but he knew all the same that she most certainly was not asleep. And he also knew their rule: they would not talk about this at the hospital the next day.
~!~
When Tom's phone went off he instantly picked his head up off his pillow. He was only on the edge of slumber and if the past few nights were any indicator, he doubted his body would let him go any further. He'd spent the last hour debating over whether or not he should get up and grade papers, but even in accepting sleep as a lost cause, he found he did not want to get out of bed. This resulted in his current position, face down with his head stuffed into his pillow, his eyes closed only to convince himself that maybe he'd get more than two hours of sleep tonight.
"Are you sick?" the text read. He blinked, even moving to turn on his bedside lamp. The room turned to a golden hue as Tom continued to study his phone. When he was coherent enough to respond, he paused before doing so. He wondered if she had sent the text in error, or maybe she had sent it earlier and he was only receiving it now.
"You already told me I was sick," he responded hesitantly.
When her response was immediate, he let out a heavy sigh of relief. "No, is that why you haven't been there this week?" Sybil clarified.
"Are you worried?"
"No. Answer the question."
Tom could tell Sybil was irritated, mostly with herself he assumed. It was all he wanted to learn that Sybil was thinking of him in the middle of the night but he could only imagine the agony she was experiencing in having to raise that emotional white flag.
"No. It's finals week."
"Okay."
"Okay?" A moment passed and then several more and when he received no response, Tom tried again. "Why are you awake? It's fucking 3am."
"Why are you awake?" Sybil shot back in a childlike manner.
"I'm always awake at 3am. I don't sleep. These pills don't help."
"The pills have nothing to do with it."
"Oh yeah? Diagnose me then."
"You're scared and stressed out," Sybil admitted honestly. "There's your diagnosis."
"I'm not scared."
"Well then you're a liar too."
"Do you want to go get fry up?" It was Tom's turn to be brave and he only did so for the same reason Sybil had: he knew she'd give him an answer.
"Where?"
"Polo Bar."
"I've never been there."
"Great. A perfect time for us to go."
There was yet another pause. "Do you miss me?" Sybil sassed.
She was kidding, of course. Soon she'd find that Tom was not.
"Yes." he said, not missing a beat.
It was bold and Tom expected Sybil to stop talking to him. Instead she sent a one-worded text in response. "Sure."
Thanks for reading! Things are just about to pick up...
x. Elle
