Mr Americano - ALAN RICKMAN fanfic

Chapter 14 - Consequences

I sob choking on my tears, throwing my arm out in defiance.

"I serve people coffee for a living and wipe tables Scott, you don't have to tell me, but I have a passion and that bag of money is my nest egg."

"Well too fucking bad, it's coming to me now for all the shit I've had to fork out at the expense of your lies."

"You bastard! You fucking bastard! You can't do that!"

.........

It was hell, the entire night.

I stood in the shower at 1am, tears streaming down my face as rapidly as the water, clutching at my hip that was still sore from being pushed into the doorframe. Everything replayed in my mind, everything. Scott and I had screamed at each other for hours to the point of exhaustion. He was determined to get the last word in and slammed the bedroom door so ferociously it shook the whole apartment. So loud was the noise that the neighbours pounded on the wall just gone midnight.

"You fucking think about that, Rebecca! Think about your priorities! You've got plenty of time to work on your shit down the line! You're twenty-fucking-six years old! You wanted this place with me! You have to pull your weight! You're a dirty liar Rebecca. A liar and a sneak!"

A liar. A sneak.

.........

"What the fuck?!" Isabella shot incredulously as she pulled down the shop blinds at closing time the next day.

I'm stood standing with a tray of empty mugs, hot tears forming behind my heavy, sleepless eyes.

"Rebecca, don't you dare feel guilty for saving that money. Scott's doing it again. He's making you feel worthless and twisting things. He's playing mind games."

Isabella drops the duster to the table, takes my tray away and wraps her arms around me in a tight embrace.

"He does it every time," I cried on her shoulder. "He went through our entire relationship and made out that he'd done everything for me. I'm telling you Isabelle, if I'd have stayed at Cambridge University, I could have been in a much better place by now. I gave it all up for him, put my dreams on hold because I fell in love with the bastard, and now I ask myself...how. Why did I fall in love with him? He's completely killed my self esteem when it comes to the one thing I thought I had going for me. I haven't sat down and written even a page in what seems like forever."

Isabelle rubs my back.

"You still can be anything you want to be Rebecca. Don't cancel it out. You know what I think. I've told you a thousand times over; he's threatened by you. He's trying to further himself in his job with little success, and you...you're talented! You have dreams. That scares him. He doesn't want you to succeed. He doesn't want you to do better than him because he's a sexist pig."

"He called me a liar, a sneak..."

"No, you're not. That's your money. He wants you to support him in his job, but he hits your fucking face and tramples on your dream? No. That's not how it works."

She parts the hug just to fetch me a napkin so I can dry my eyes.

"Sometimes I wish I could just start again," I cry.

"But then you wouldn't have met Mr Rickman," Isabelle smiles, tapping me on the chin.

"I'm lying to him too."

"I don't think you have to any more," she says. She puts on his voice, adopting a bassy tone, "I'm crazzzzy about you Rebecca, oooooh Rebecca how'd you like the sound of my voiiiice..."

"You fool," I laugh. "I don't know how to tell him. If I tell him he might not want to see me again."

I pause and crumple against Isabelle. "Oh god I don't know what to do. I'm so scared of loosing Alan, but it's getting harder to lie around Scott. I just don't know where things are going."

My whirlpool of emotions doesn't end there, as I'm now laughing through my tears. "He's 61. I'm 26."

"Almost 27, that's closer to 30 than 20," chimes Isabelle, trying to make me feel better.

"Wow, you've just managed to make me feel better and shittier at the same time."

"Sorry," she chuckles, rubbing me on the back. "You're going to talk to Alan, that's what you're going to do."

"He's going to New York tomorrow, and it's so close to Christmas..."

"Okay, look at me..." Isabelle pulls my shoulders away from hers and looks into my blood shot eyes. "Promise me right now you are going to speak with Alan. Tell him the truth. If he's that crazy about you, he'll support you."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then it's not meant to be."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

.......

December 19th –

2 messages received from Rach (Alan – disguised) "Hello darling, I've just woken up to a beautiful snow fall x"

The picture attached was indeed beautiful and wrapped me in a warm blanket, thinking of our stroll in the park.

2nd message – "There is a Christmas party in Kensington held by a friend of mine on 22nd. Care to join me? I would love to have you there. No pressure darling, I know Christmas is time for family xxx"

Actually, family hadn't called at all. We arranged back in October that Christmas would be spent with partners this year in our own houses.

I have a moment of joy that I'm still on his mind - at least before the anxiety kicks in. Who is this 'friend?' Is it the same friend that put up his Christmas tree? What kind of party was it? Sophisticated, casual, what kind of people would be there? Celebrities, regular folk like me? What would I wear, and most frightening of all, what the bloody hell would I say to people!

Say yes and come up with an excuse later, my conscience says. Funnily, I can hear Isabelle's voice inside also rooting for it.

"The snow looks beautiful." I reply. "I would love to go with you to the party! Is it a formal party? What do I wear?"

Alan's message comes back almost right away.

"Exceptionally formal. Flippers and a sombrero would go down a treat."

It was the best laugh I'd had all day. Bloody dry bastard.

"Well then you can come in your birthday suit," I text back.

Another reply – "No, that would be later darling ;)"

"You're a dirty man."

"You're a dirty girl."

By the end of our little messaging session, I'd surmised it was a casual house party. Still, my gut instinct told me the type of people Alan mixed with would be sophisticated, rich, with a wealth of knowledge, which made me nervous. Whatever would they think of little ol' me?

With a stroke of sheer luck, Scott's Christmas party fell on the exact same night – 22nd December.

Isabelle and I had frantically shopped for the perfect dress that night after work, and there it was jumping out at me in Selfridges - simple, yet elegant. Pretty. Although, the one thing I initially fell for was the very thing I doubted standing in front of Isabelle's mirror; the colour.

"Maybe I shouldn't have chosen red. I feel like date night Barbie."

"What's wrong with that? You're a festive firecracker."

I smoothed down my knee length dress, wishing it was just a tad darker.

"Perhaps it's just the lighting," I say for the tenth time.

"Rebecca, stop fussing. You're in a red dress with sexy lingerie underneath. Alan is going to flip."