The Real You

Stolen Jacket

The next morning I tried to sleep in.

The key word being tried.

Not being able to get to the Hotel and into the room until after two in the morning, I had felt so cold, clammy and dirty that I couldn't even think of just slipping into bed and going to sleep. No. I had to take a shower first. So it was easily three in the morning before I slipped under the warm covers, my hair wet from the steamy hot shower and my body relaxed and clean instead of stiff and dirty. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Only my dreams weren't as calm and relaxing as I'd hoped. Alan's dark brown eyes kept haunting my every thought, and I couldn't quite believe that I'd actually gotten to meet him. I had been inside his car. Talked to him. It seemed impossible, and yet it had been real. It had truly happened.

So I tossed and turned, my mind on Alan Rickman and all the dumb and stupid things I'd done and said in his company.

Around nine thirty the next morning the phone rang. And not my cellphone, which I just remembered had died from an empty battery. Half asleep I managed to get a hold of my charger and plugged in my cellphone, not even waiting to see the image of the battery slowly filling appear on the screen before stuffing it back into my purse. I tried to ignore the insistent ringing of the phone the hotel had provided, the phone and its receiver placed in the nightstand beside the bed.

I didn't know Hotels still had land-lines available. Right now i hated the fact. I mean.... those kind of phones nowadays were a rarity. We lived in the 21st century for Christs sake! If I wanted to be waken up at nine-freaking-thirty in the morning, I would set my fucking alarm!

But the phone continued it's annoying ringing, bringing me back from that deliciously sleepy state in which you're partially awake but can't bring up the energy to even as much as open your eyes.

Groaning I stretched my body, aware of the stiff muscles of my shoulders and neck-courtesy of the small cramped seat of my tiny beetle-as my back arched off the bed and my toes curled as the last remnants of sleep (which might or might not have included some naughty naughty thoughts of Alan) dissipated from my mind.

When the blasted phone continued ringing I finally reached out, another groan escaping me, an inhuman sound that sounded more like some animal dying. Bones cracking as I rolled my shoulders and flexed my fingers, I couldn't stand the sound any longer and snatched the phone from it's receiver.

"Yes?!" I snapped, yawning as I settled into the bed more comfortably, the blankets wrapped around me quite snugly.

"Excuse me, ma'am...." a nervous voice said from the other end of the line, and I pictured some young kid with pimples flinching at my tone of voice "But-but something came up. A Mr. Rickman..? Came over not two minutes ago and demanded to know your room number"

I shot upright, my comfortable layout in the bed forgotten.

"What?!" I whispered, my mind running a hundred miles an hour.

"I-I just wanted to notify you ma'am. He's on his way up now" the voice informed me.

I had thrown the phone back into it's cradle before the poor boy even finished talking, my head racing with questions. Why would Alan come here? How long had the phone been ringing before I answered? How long would it take to get to the fourth floor?

Dressed only in my undergarments I was pretty much panicking as I snatched the last pieces of clothing from my overnight bag: a pair of black shorts and a gray tank top that I usually only used as pajamas.

Great.

Just fucking great.

I was just slipping on a jacket to at least have the smallest resemblance of decency when there was a firm knock on the door.