ALAN - An Alan Rickman fanfic

Chapter 4 - Our Little Secret

Heating up in here! 

Hope you're all having a great weekend. The weather is terrible here, so I'm spending the rest of the weekend cozied up and writing! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please don't forget to vote and leave your thoughts! @sephine87 and I adore reading them! 

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"I respect you darling. I hope you understand." - Alan's words from the night before loop in my mind like a scratched record. Did I understand? No. Not at all. He'd been exchanging glances all evening across the bar, offered me his jacket - which I still have by the way - and suggested we go for a car ride. I cannot believe I thought all of this was going somewhere, and now I'm sat here distracted when I should be paying attention to my lecturer, wishing I could turn back the clock and never have attempted to kiss him. I feel utterly foolish, delusional, and to make matters worse he kissed me on the top of the head. It made me feel like a child, that I perhaps wasn't quite worth it, and yet I was still worth the suggestive glances across the bar?? Why - did it feed his ego? It didn't make any sense. Guys. They're all the same, even if they are forty three years older.

HA. Here were are discussing expressionism, and right in front of me on my lecture paper is the 1893 painting 'The Scream' by Edvard Munch. Expressionism at it's finest. I couldn't relate more. Text it to him a voice whispers with a devilish snigger, but the other voice tells me to ignore the whole thing and pretend it never happened. Like a drug addict, I buried my face into his suit jacket last night and inhaled, as if taking the last hit of him - Embarrassingly! That deep, seductive smell of his remained over my shoulders all evening until I took a shower. I couldn't sleep until I had, and of that I had very little. I'm currently running on four hours because I worked into the night on my art as a distraction. My sleep maybe lacking, but the canvases I'm working on are coming along nicely. I've titled my current creation, 'Freedom of Thought,' which is a mixed media portrait of acrylic and charcoal with an array of colours representing imagination and escapism, dreams, personal views...Robyn views a snapshot of it on my phone.   

"Wow Ava, that's...depressing," she concludes after zooming in and back out again.

"Is it?"

"Yeah! It is compared to your usual stuff."

I click back to the picture and cock my head in analysis. I guess it was. I hadn't intended to create something so melancholic, but as always my mood swept the canvas. My god, was I really that upset last night?? This has to stop. I have far greater priorities. This evening I'm going to hand his jacket over to someone else to give to him. I'll say I found it.

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"Hey honey," Lizzy greets me, 'You're early."

Early, but not early enough. I didn't think Lizzy would be here and therefore would have been absent during said jacket scenario. I end up using a bathroom excuse to go and hunt out Greg, the manager. He casually tells me,

"Ah, just stick it in his dressing room. It's at the end of the corridor on the right."

As usual, he disappears in a hurry with a job list as long as his arm and I'm left with Alan's jacket hanging over mine. His dressing room? Alan's own personal space. As much as I was reluctant, I was curious.

It was humble in surroundings - a dressing room table, chair, mirror with a band of lights as tradition, a few clothing rails and a comfy looking couch, but what draws my eye the most is the notice board. Post its, good luck cards, postcards, phone numbers. For a moment I contemplate taking a closer look, but it only takes a split second for me to change my mind, hang the jacket over the back of his chair and...what's that? Is that a women's sweater? I squint in curiosity but before I can investigate, I hear the sounds of someone coming. Must dash. Oh, it's only Lizzy.