More and more lately, fans were noticing you out and about. They were all completely harmless, just staring with a few coming up to you to say hello, but it all made you feel on edge. Every time someone noticed you, you'd try to book it out of there as fast as possible. On the occasions where you couldn't avoid interacting with strangers, your heart would race and you could feel the beat pulsing, faster and faster. After the incident at the airport, you were always anxious going out by yourself. You tried to talk yourself out of it—it had only been one weird fan encounter, just one time and nothing had really happened—but you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched and judged. Fear of fans, mixed with fear of paparazzi, meant you rarely left the house unless it was necessary. You didn't go for walks just to clear your head anymore. You had groceries delivered. You used Uber to get to and from work rather than the subway. You missed your old independence and being able to wander New York without a care.

The worst wasn't even in the real world. You couldn't get away from the attention anywhere. While you never googled yourself or sat reading comments on Tom's photos anymore, it was impossible to avoid all of it. His fans were still leaving hateful comments, many even calling you a bitch for refusing to take photos with fans. Now, not even your own home felt completely safe—how could it when terrible comments and hate blogs were accessible right from your phone? They infiltrated your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried to push them away. It festered at the back of your mind, resurfacing whenever you were on your own in public, feeding your anxiety.

Tom was oblivious of course, and you wanted it to stay that way. If he knew it was bothering you, he'd start worrying too. He already had so much stress in his life, and you didn't want to add to that. You could manage on your own—it really wasn't that bad; you were just over sensitive and letting your imagination get the better of you.

Tom was your everything, so despite all the negative things, you got to wake up next to the most perfect man every morning. You'd lay next to him, the happiest you'd ever been, cherishing the small moments. You knew that before too much longer, he'd wrap filming in New York and be on to the next project, so you really valued the normal day-to-day aspects of living with Tom, like cozy nights in, stuffing your faces while cuddling and watching tv.

"Got your favorite Chinese, love." Tom called out from the front door.

You were curled up on the couch and too comfortable to move. "Ooh hurry up, I'm starving!! Did you take the scenic route home, or what? You said you were on your way an hour ago." You pouted playfully.

Tom idled over to you on the couch, dropping the bags of food on the coffee table before jumping onto the couch, or rather, onto you.

"Getoff, Tom!!!!" You launched into a fit of giggles. "I meaaan it!!" You tried half-heartedly to push him off.

"But I missed you!! Thought you'd wanna cuddle." He planted a wet, sloppy kiss on you.

"Tooooom!!" You whined and tried to squirm away from him. "Stop it!" But you could hardly breathe for laughing.

He finally stopped his slobbery kiss attack and nuzzled his face into your neck. "Didn't you miss me? You don't love me anymore??" He pretended to be hurt.

"I'd love you more if you got off me." You teased back.

He finally rolled off onto the living room floor with a groan. "Happy??"

"Extremely—now let's eat!"

You cherished those small moments, and always missed those when he was away. That's why being with him made everything worth it. His smile and laugh brightened your day, lifting away all your anxieties. Having his arms wrapped around you wiped your mind of all worry. He was what you wanted—what you needed—so dealing with the occasional paparazzi or fan was what you'd do.

Everything was fine. It had to be.

*****

Tom had just finished filming in New York. He'd thought he had a few weeks to relax and recover with you, but when the studio decided to push up the release for a period drama he'd completed a year ago, he had to jet off to do press in London. It was only going to be a week this time, nothing compared to most of your time apart. He'd be back before you'd even had time to miss him.

A couple days later, you decided it was really time to get a new pair of winter boots, so you gave yourself a pep talk and got yourself over to the mall. You'd known you were signing onto this when agreeing to date Tom, after all. You had to learn to live life—there was no way you could stay hidden away forever, and the sooner you learned to cope with it, the easier all of this would be.

You stopped at Macy's first, browsing the sales rack. You felt a prickle on your neck as goose bumps formed on your arms. Glancing around, you spotted a woman in a large puffy coat staring at you. Averting your eyes immediately, your breathing began quickening, your heart rate spiking. Deep breaths, it's all ok. Nothing to be worried about—she's just a fan. You've dealt with them before...this is nothing new. Just breathe. You kept your head down and headed towards the exit that led to the rest of the mall, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw the woman making a beeline for you. She just wants to say hello...stop overreacting. It's fine.

The fan cut you off, stopping right in front of you. You looked up from the ground to meet her eyes, expecting to see the usual nervous, excited expression all of Tom's fans wore. Instead, you found an icy glare that chilled you to the core. The woman just stood there, glaring and blocking your path to the exit.

"Uh, hello. Excuse me." You tried to move past timidly, but the woman sidestepped to block you again. You were about to ask if you could help her with anything when she finally spoke.

Her voice was casual albeit with a slight edge. "Who do you think you are?"

You were utterly confused and didn't know what to make of the interaction. You opened your mouth to reply, but the woman continued, her voice getting louder and more intense with each syllable.

"You're a real bitch, you know that? Think you're so special cause you're with Tom, but you're not. You're just a selfish whore who wants her five seconds of fame. You don't deserve Tom, slut—"

You stood there, unable to move from shock. The woman shouted obscenities at you, and all you could do was stand there. Her words felt like bullets flying into you, each curse ripping through your body, leaving a gaping wound. You could feel yourself beginning to shake, your jaw trembling. Tears welled in your eyes as the woman accosted you.

"Just a bitch who's only in it for his money—fat ugly bitch—he doesn't love you—how could he?!"

Everyone else in the store was too shocked to do much of anything, just staring, jaws on the floor, as the scene played out before them.

After several seconds, you were able to pull yourself together a little, feeling irate more than anything. You didn't deserve this! In a moment of anger-fueled bravery, you took a purposeful step towards the woman, shoving past her—your shoulder firmly knocking into hers, a little more forcefully than you'd intended.

In the next instance, you realized what a terrible mistake that had been. Her hand grabbed hold of your hair and yanked sharply. You felt a searing pain as a chunk of hair tore from your head, the force making you lose balance. You found the bloody spot on your scalp with a hand, staring at the blood on your finger tips. Suddenly out of nowhere, the woman slammed her fits against your chest, sending you backwards onto the concrete floor. Your head cracked against the ground, and coldness seeped onto your forehead. A sharp pain in your side caused you to curl into the fetal position. The woman kicked your side again, before a security guard was able to get to her, pulling her away and restraining her. You heard shouting and some type of alarm going off, but couldn't understand what was happening. Your vision was blurred, and the alarm blared in your ears, ringing incessantly. It was absolute chaos. Then, everything stopped, and it was just darkness.

*****

Ow...shit. Your head throbbed, and the pain intensified as you blinked. Blinding light sent pain shooting through your head, causing you to immediately shut your eyes again. The world was spinning out of control and a deeper blackness threatened to pull you under. Strange sounds you couldn't make sense of kept setting off new waves of pain. Slowly, very slowly, you attempted to open your eyes again, and after a while, you could keep them open enough to take in your surroundings.

You glanced around cautiously, careful not to move your head but just letting your eyes shift, and finally all of the sounds you'd been hearing made sense. Crisp white sheets covered your body in a bed with rails. To your right, monitors stood flashing and beeping, and daylight streamed through the windows on your left. Why were you in a hospital?? You tried to ignore the pain enough to think...but you were searching for something that didn't want to be found. You couldn't remember anything...where had you been before coming to the hospital? In your apartment doing dishes? Hazy memories of dish soap and pruney fingers floated to the surface of your mind...but then why were you here? You fought to keep your eyes open—you had too many questions to close them—but the effort was too much, and you were so tired. As the heaviness closed, you welcomed the darkness, and the relief from pain that would come with it, and faded off.

Your eyes fluttered open. The room was dimmer, evening having set in, and a nurse—a woman maybe in her mid-fifties—was by your bedside, checking the monitors with a clipboard in hand. She noticed your movement and turned to offer a warm smile.

"I'm Laura, one of the nurses looking after you. You gave us quite the scare, dear. How're you feeling? Any pain?"

Your throat was thick, and as you tried to respond, the words caught. You swallowed and tried again. "I-I'm okay, I think? My head hurts," you croaked. As you tried to sit up, Laura quickly motioned for you to stay laying down.

"I'm afraid you've been through a bit of an ordeal. The doctor will explain it all, but we had to give you quite a few stitches, and you have a pretty nasty concussion. I'll see if I can give you something stronger for the pain. Can you tell me what you remember?"

You searched your brain looking for a memory, of what you didn't know. Laura seemed to recognize your lost expression and laid a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It's okay, take your time. It's very common to not remember. Dr. Nielson will be here shortly to check you over and answer any questions you have." She turned to leave but stopped. "Is there anyone I can call for you? No one brought you in, you were all alone...Would you like us to notify anyone?"

"Tom..." The name slipped through your lips, but you had no face to match it. You didn't know any Toms.

She smiled encouragingly. "Do you have his number?"

You stared back blankly, a slight panic rising in your chest. Tom. The name was comforting, but why? You grasped for any memory of him—there had to be something, right? Surely, you couldn't forget someone who felt so important?

Laura cleared her throat. Your vision sprung back into focus, meeting her gaze. She gently prodded again. "His number? Do you have it? I think your phone is here somewhere if you–" She started towards the bedside table, but a doctor walked in, interrupting her midsentence.

Thirties, relatively good looking with brown eyes and curly brown hair. He nodded to Laura and picked up the clipboard from the end of your bed.

"Y/L/N...Y/F/N. Alrighty, let's see..." He studied your chart, tapping a pen on the hard surface as he read. He returned the clipboard to the holder and absentmindedly ran a hand through his curls, messing them up a bit.

Tom. A flash of mussed curls, a ghost of a crooked smile, echoes of a familiar laugh...faint memories swirled around your mind as things came rushing back, each memory stronger than the last. Tears welled in your eyes as you remembered...Suddenly, a memory slammed into you like a semi-truck, knocking the breath out of you. Everything began spinning, the doctor and nurse becoming shapeless, just colors and movement. Darkness tinged the edge of your vision as a heaviness crushed your chest. You gasped for air, but your lungs refused to work. Pressure kept building inside you, and the details of what happened stabbed through your consciousness. The woman's red face, forceful hands smashing into your body, the disorienting weightlessness of falling backwards, a sharp stabbing pain...Flashes of her distorted face tormented your mind. Echoes of fat whore...slut...bitch berated your mind over and over. The words and images, a hurricane inside of you.

As wave after wave of panic coursed through your body, Laura sprang into action trying to calm you, but seeing your unresponsiveness, she resorted to upping your pain meds. At least unconscious, you wouldn't be able to harm yourself. A few seconds later, Laura watched as your body stilled, heart rate evening back out. Inside, the noise faded and thoughts became muddled again. Panic still charged your body, but you felt paralyzed, trapped by it as distorted memories pulled you under.

*****

After receiving a call from the hospital, Tom had hopped on the first flight out of London, not bothering to get his stuff from the hotel. He had missed the hospital's call while he was in the middle of a press junket, but after listening to the voicemail between interviews, he'd refused to continue and left immediately. He didn't care what the studio said, or if he breached his contract. You were hurt, and he needed to be by your side. That was the only thing that mattered. Of course he'd asked the nurse to speak with you, but you had been sleeping and hadn't had time to call again before the plane took off. The eight-hour flight was torturous and trying to sit still was impossible. He was a nervous wreck, wondering how you were doing and imagining the worst. Nothing could take his mind off you...

Once the plane landed in New York the next day, Tom practically ran from the gate to customs, not needing to stop at the baggage claim. Luckily, the lines were moving quickly compared to usual, but every minute was agony. So close, but not close enough. Finally, he was cleared at customs and bolted to catch his Uber.

"I'll tip you an extra hundred if you can get me to the hospital in under twenty minutes." Tom was out of breath and sweating, quite an alarming appearance for the surprised driver, but a little less than twenty minutes later, Tom was racing into the hospital to come find you.

*****

You woke up feeling like nothingness. You were so drained from the drugs and your panic attack that you felt empty. Now, remembering what happened felt like looking down into someone else's life. Or, maybe it was more that you didn't want to be her anymore. Didn't want to feel constantly on edge, always worrying about being approached, never feeling comfortable in your skin. There was constant pressure to look a certain way, to always have a smile, to give the impression you had your shit together. It was exhausting, and your anxiety that something might happen? You had tried convincing yourself you were being ridiculous—no one would assault you, you were overreacting, you were being too emotional—those fears...they'd become your reality. Someone had done it. And the mere thought of having to go back out into the real world with strangers all around...not knowing who was safe and who posed a threat?

I can't fucking do this anymore. I can't. Your hands shook as you tried to take a sip of the water from your bedside table. Who was I kidding?? I'm not cut out for this kind of life. I don't want strangers coming up to me, people always watching what I do...I haven't been able to breathe for months, always worried, always anxious.

You set the cup down, spilling some water onto the tile below. Your mind shifted to Tom. He had been the reason you were dealing with it all. Dealing with the loneliness and the stress and the anxiety. You had believed he was worth it, but after being physically attacked...you would never be able to leave the house alone again without having a panic attack. You couldn't give up your freedom that way...So what did that mean? Tears clouded your vision as your only option became clear: if you couldn't give up your freedom, you had to give up Tom.

A few seconds after arriving at that decision, Tom was suddenly standing before you. You blinked in surprise, confused about how he was there. He was supposed to be in London—how was he here so quickly? You'd thought you'd have time to figure out what to say...but there he was, terror mixed with sadness on his beautiful face. Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at you.

"Y/N, love. I'm so sorry..." His voice cracked, and he fell to his knees at your bedside taking your hand in his and kissing it gently.

You pulled your eyes from his face. You couldn't bare to look him straight in the eyes. You couldn't see him like this and still do what you knew you had to do.

Tears had formed in your eyes the second you had seen Tom. You had felt relief, felt much of the anxiousness leave you, but that was the problem. He was your safety. He made you feel secure and whole, but you couldn't always be with him. You couldn't look at Tom's face right now—It would break you. You steeled yourself to do what you'd decided was necessary. You knew that as soon as you said the words, there was no turning back. Once you let them out into the world, it would be real.

"Tom I have to say something, and please, just let me say it. Don't interrupt me..." Your voice was scarily level. How could you be this calm when you were about to lose the one person you loved. You were doing this for yourself...be strong for yourself. You took a deep breath and blurted it out before you could take it back. "I loved you through everything—the distance, loneliness, fear, anxiety...I was dealing with it all for you. But then this happens, and I just—" A sob worked its way up your throat, but you pushed it back down, knowing that if you let yourself break down any more, you wouldn't be able to finish. "I just can't anymore. I can't be with you anymore." Your words were shaky, breathing uneven.

Tom's grip on your hand tightened. "You aren't serious...please, don't do this. You're ok, it'll all be ok. We'll get you security, you'll never be left without protection again. No one will hurt you—I won't let them. We can fix this. It doesn't have to end this way. It doesn't." His voice was raw.

You refused to turn your gaze to meet his, so you stared straight ahead at the blank wall. "It's what I want, Tom." You tried to keep your voice steady.

"Darling, I-I can fix this. You can travel with me—we'd never have to be apart. Or you could move to London to be with my family...would that help? Just tell me what I have to do, and I'll do whatever it is. Just please, don't do this. Don't—" The panic in his voice morphed into heartbroken cries, his shoulders shaking.

"I'm sorry, Tom." You felt hollow as you finally looked at him, unable to bear it anymore. He was crouched down head in his hands, rocking slightly. Suddenly, he shot up, standing over you.