Finding one another (A Benedict Cumberbatch Romance)

Rehab

The hardest part about having all your dreams come true in one week – meeting Benedict, my debut was released and I had a wonderful time with Jackie – the hardest part is you need to define yourself anew. What dreams did I have left? I walked around with the knowledge that I had had the most beautiful day that I was ever likely to have in my entire life, and that depressed my to no end. I was at the same time infinitely thankful for the evening with Benedict as I was suffering because I missed him so much. It was absolutely ridiculous. I had only spent a few hours with him, but I couldn't help but feel that part of me was missing. Honestly, I began to think of him as my personal drug and that I was simply on withdrawal. Each night when I went to bed I remembered that he had said he wanted to meet me again... and then each night I remembered how I had neglected to share my phone number. I was never going to see him again. This knowledge burdened me. But I had to go on with my life, didn't I? It wasn't going to be easy, but I was going to beat this. I was going to be fine. I hoped. I mean, it had all happened nearly three weeks ago, surely it had to get better soon.

I was sitting on a desk in a near empty library, contemplating my life. Only a few people had come to my book presentation and fewer of those had stayed behind to talk to me. Still, I had to sit here for another ten minutes, so I started browsing the internet. As always, I googled “Cumberbatch”. I felt a little silly now everytime I did. I kept wondering if it was okay to constantly google someone that you had already met. But still I couldn't stop watching him on YouTube, taking in his every move and focusing on the details. He moved like that, I would think. He smiled that smile. Oh, sitting off time like this was horrible. After another five minutes that felt like an eternity, I could pack my things and leave for the hotel I was staying at. There weren't many appointments left now, maybe two or three. My room was blissfully quiet. It was a small town and an accordingly small hotel, but I loved it. The tapestry was approximately thirty years old and starting to turn gray from the beautiful blue colour it must once have been, the chaise was worn, the white linen on the bed was stiff from being washed too often. Wooden beams came low through the ceiling, but since I was so small it hardly bothered me. It was all very nice... and I couldn't bear it anymore. So much silence. I went through my purse on the nightstand, took out my MP3-Player, put on my jogging pants and went for a jog along the countryside. I was soon away from the houses and came to a pine forest. A strange calmness came over me then. I saw stray sunbeams break through the trees from time to time, felt my steps bounce off the soft forest ground and the fresh air rush by me as I ran between the trees. It was so peaceful. I felt then that I was going to be okay over time. Sure, it wouldn't heal right away, but someday, it was going to be okay. I made a smaller round than usual and went back to my room, where I showered and got ready for a long evening of... waiting for the evening to be over. This was all so much less exciting than I had imagined it to be. One or two bookstores or libraries a day, Sandy, who was my agent and also one of the least likeable people I had ever met, always fussing around me – with the exception of today – and signing hundreds of books. The feeling of being adored by so many was quite unique; a mixture of pride and suprise. I was still getting used to it. Of course, there was also bad critique on my book. Words like “unimaginative” and “mainstream poetry” were the nicest among them. One time, a guy just came up to me, said “I hate you”, and left again. There were, however, few of those, most people made compliments and were nice and lovely. A lot of people that came to the booksignings were there by chance, and I took it upon me to get them to read my book.

As I lay in my bed, pretending to read, I started to ponder the night I had had with Benedict. I began to understand how fans might sometimes create awkward situations, but mine could never be compared to his. I knew that because I was one of them. Obsessive behaviour was normal among Cumbercollective... I had so far only told Jackie that I had met him, and to my mother I just said that I had met someone nice in London. It was such an unforgivable understatement, I felt bad for it even a week later. But she wouldn't know who he was, anyway. Lord, I didn't even want to imagine a life where I didn't know Benedict Cumberbatch. And now I actually knew him. It was truly wonderful. I fell asleep early, my thoughts with Benedict, and that night I dreamt of him:

I'm sitting in a garden. It's warm, flowers are blooming all around me. I catch a scent, but doesn't smell like flowers, it's Benedict. He's standing in front of me. He takes my hand in his and kisses it. His eyes keep changing colour. Suddenly he's frowning at me. “I don't think Sandy would approve.” I'm confused. What does my agent have to do with all this? Then she's standing there, throwing an unfinished script at me. “You really don't have the time for a relationship.” Benedict vanishes. Suddenly there's a strong wind, blowing the pages of the script away. “Get them! You'll have to write it all again if you don't get them!” Sandy screams at me. I bend down to pick a page up, but everytime I get another one, the first one slips from my hand. “NO!” I yell, frustrated and scared. I'm sitting on my desk, scribbling frantically on empty pages with empty pens. “Benedict! Help me!” “I really don't have the time for a relationship.” His words hurt so bad that I begin to whimper...

I woke up in the middle of the night, completely covered in sweat. I sat up, turned on the light and did my best to control my breathing. It was then that I realised the truth of my dream. Benedict didn't have the time for a relationship. He was always saying in his interviews how little free time he had. Also, Sandy would hardly let me off my contract, I was to deliver another book inside the next year. Even on the off chance that I would see him again and that he was actually interested in me, neither of us had the time for a relationship. I suddely felt sure of it. It hurt, but it also took away some of the pressure. Destroying myself over something that was entirely impossible wasn't something I would do. So, I took a deep breath, turned of the lights again and tried to fall asleep.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I tried to open my eyes, but the light was too bright, so I just blindly grabbed for my phone to turn the alarm off. When it wouldn't, I forced myself to open my eyes and finally noticed that it wasn't the alarm, but that someone was calling me. “Mhh?” I moaned into the phone. “Yes, we were supposed to leave ten minutes ago. We'll be late. I will not tolerate this. Get down right now. You better be here in five minutes.” Next thing I heard was the sound of someone hangig up. It was Sandy. I begrudgeingly left the bed and dressed myself, deliberately taking my time. Why I had overslept I couldn't tell, but I was not going to be treated this way. Sandy was a witch, and I would not be her servant. I already knew that I would get out of the contract as fast as I could, but for the next year, I was bound to her. By the time I got down, a quarter of an hour had passed. I stared at Sandy coolly while I stepped on the bus, and her eyes screamed murder in return. She tsked at my hair because one strand of it was looking in the wrong direction. Her nose wrinkeled in disgust. “You're too sloppy.” She stomped off to the back, while I warmly greeted Samuel, our driver. And off we went to another booksigning...