ALAN - An Alan Rickman fanfic

Chapter 21 - Daddy Issues

Hey everyone! Happy weekend! I've been working on this one for almost two weeks now as things are beginning to get little complex into the nitty gritty of the story! I needed some time with this one. Plus, I work a crazzzy busy week, so I've tried to fit in writing whenever I could. I really hope you enjoy it! Thank you SO much for all your votes and comments! <3 

This chapter comes with a MATURE warning that includes sex but also mentions an eating disorder. Just a pre-warning. Although it isn't discussed in depth in this chapter, some subject sensitive material will occur throughout the chapters. 

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I'd planned for the inevitable, that Alan would be busy and sure enough he had meetings the following day, which meant (since I wasn't supposed to be in London for two days yet as far as my mother was aware) that instead I spent the day musing galleries for inspiration. It made me realise how much I had missed London - it's art and culture, the quaint little coffee places, the hidden nooks...

By evening, I headed back to Alan's place in Kensington where we ate dinner, enjoyed a few glasses of wine and talked about our day whilst relaxing on the sofa. I adore the way it felt - like we were a real couple, homely, content, as if we were playing 'house,' manifesting, at least on my part. It was yet another one of those evenings where I wanted to ask him where the two of us are headed, but was too afraid to do so, still riding the wave.

I peeled away from him this morning like reluctant velcro, knowing what lay ahead...

The last time I saw my mother and sister Amelia was at the premiere of Wicked, and need I mention the time where she and Amelia stayed at my apartment when dad did a runner after the argument back at the hotel - what a drama that was. My life had been free of it for so long, and now I was about to open the door to it all.

"Hell-ow love..." mum beams behind it. "Come in! How was your flight?"

The smell of home-cooked lasagne wafts from the kitchen, undeniably delicious, making - I imagine - a forged smile somewhat believable. I was starving.

"It was fine thanks. I'm tired though."

"I bet you are. Well I'm making your favourite. Your sister's in the kitchen. It's so good to see you. Put your bags in the hall. You can take them up later."

I noticed right away - anyone would - that Mum looked as if she'd gained about two or maybe three stone. Whatever had happened during these last few months had clearly taken its toll on her. Had better not comment. Mum told me later as we tucked into lasagne that I looked as if I "hadn't eaten in a month."

Through the evening, Mum went to pour out one-too-many glasses of wine, Amelia notedly held her hand up. "Mum..." was all she said for her to put down the glass. Mum made up for it though - later when I went into the kitchen, I caught her taking the second batch of garlic bread from the oven and quickly downing another glass. Seeing me, she laughed it off.

"A cause for celebration, isn't it! My baby has returned to the nest."

My smile, I imagine, looks as painful as it felt.

I knew I had to ask it at some point. Best get it out of the way. "So, how have you been?" I say, plating up the hot garlic bread with my fingers, so hot that I drop it to the plate with a shake of my wrist.

Mum hands me a a pair of tongs with an unimpressed expression, "Such a lady. I expect you've been eating nothing but microwave meals and take out in that crummy apartment."

Charming as always.

"Not at all actually." If only she knew how I'd been wined and dined.