Flashing Lights | Cillian Murphy x Reader

Chapter Five

After that night in my room, it was almost as though a switch was flipped into of me. I wanted so badly for Cillian to acknowledge me, notice me, I wanted his validation and I wanted him to notice how hard I was working in this role. I want this because he's such a great actor. I told myself. That's the only reason.

The next week had passed smoothly, Cillian and I only interacted a few times, and it was to run over lines in each others rooms. We never rehearsed any other romantic scenes other than the one we did the first time he came into my room, instead focusing on exploring the internal struggles between Anthony and Eleanor.

I, independent of the film, began to study schizophrenia and its affects. I studied how widely mischaracterized people with schizophrenia were, and how little to no films had ever done this disorder justice, save for perhaps A Beautiful Mind. I sat down one night in my room along with Melody, who came over with face masks and snacks and cuddled into the bed with me to watch the movie, hoping it could give the two of us a deeper understanding of Anthony's character.

The movie brought her to tears, and I couldn't help but be in awe of the disorder. I wanted that awe of mine to transfer into my character, a girl who wasn't fed lies of how dangerous people who had it were, but instead truly saw the man underneath. It almost became an obsession, of me doing more and more research and watching interviews of families who dealt with a schizophrenic child, and more. I was determined that my role in this movie would help break the stigma of schizophrenia, once and for all.

Over and over, night after night, I acted out lines in front of my mirror. Truly perfecting every facial quiver and expression Eleanor might make, I drilled the script again and again, and any time Cillian came to my room to practice with me, I could tell he was bewildered by my determination to perfect my craft, which only pleased me, to win the awe of Cillian.

~

It was the first day of formal rehearsal, and the costume department succeeded in making me look fresh out of 1955. From my dress down to my shoes, I looked like I had stepped through a time machine and was transported back to the postwar economic boom. I tied my hair back neatly with two strands in the front of stood on set. It was indoors, in a simulation that made it appear as though we were outside of a bar. The set had a wooden porch swing attached to the deck of the bar, in which Cillian sat, setting his script beside him and awaiting for me to rush over and sit beside him.

"Let rehearsal begin, Act 1 scene five, in which Anthony meets Eleanor for the first time." Mark announced, and with a flick of his hand the set disappeared, and all too suddenly I was Eleanor.

"Anthony" was standing, walking out of the bar with a disgruntled expression written over his facial features. He looked around for a place to sit, only to look at see me, Eleanor, sitting on the swing. My head was seemingly in the clouds as I turned to look at him without a word.

Anthony blinked a few times, looking around almost rapidly, before looking back at me. After a long pause, he opened his dry mouth to speak. "A-are you real?" He asked.

I straightened up, eyes soft and somewhat entranced by the man. A hard to read look crossed my face as I let a small smile cross my lips as I scooted over, leaving Anthony room to sit beside me. "As real as you are." I answered.

Antony took a few small steps toward me before sitting next to me on the swing, the soft creaking of the wood breaking the silence beyond Anthony's erratic breaths. Eleanor's gaze prolonged onto him before she spoke again, gently. "You're distressed." She pointed out, earning a look from Anthony. "Brilliant observation." He snapped, before his face softened. "I-I didn't mean that. I'm just..." He exhaled sharply, gripping onto his pants until his knuckles whitened as he continued to rapidly look around. "Do you ever feel like you're never really alone?" He asked, his voice barely coming out as anything more than a whimper.