Mr Americano - ALAN RICKMAN fanfic

Chapter 5 - Glued To The Phone

 "I'm sorry, but..."

BUT. 

Code for 'basic underlying truth.'

Is that person ever truly sorry, or do they value their ego more than their relationship to be able to give a true apology and own up for their actions?

"BUT...you did this...so that's why I hit you." It's part of Scott's nature.

I've learned to push it aside like I seem to do with everything. The cycle in which we spin of verbal abuse, followed by the physical, the sugar coated empty apologies and then the follow up of affection for a day or two is all so familiar.

Scott and I spent a day shopping in Central London where we went to dinner at a fancy Mediterranean place. It was there that he gave me a back handed apology for hitting my face in the bathroom and paid for our meal, reminding me of the perfume that sat in a small bag underneath our table. Small trinkets had become a regular thing whenever he knew he screwed up. Admittedly, sometimes I swooned over them, but the fact would always remain that it was to buy back my love and affection.

Scott is the jealous type. Profoundly jealous. He doesn't understand that people swap glances on the street as insignificantly as observing a red telephone box in passing. In his eyes, if a man swaps a glance with a woman, it means he is thinking with his dick. Now you know why I was so worried to be seen walking the street with Alan.

I've thought about him since he left. A lot. It's the second day now. Scott's shift in behaviour - although I knew deep down was limited – had prevented me sending Alan a text. Really I didn't know what I wanted to send him, I just knew that I missed him. Scott and I had sex on the third night Alan was away. Although he never forced me, it was entirely for his own gratification and was over in minutes. Whilst he rolled over satisfied, I rolled over with a feeling of emptiness.

My mind drifted thinking of what a night with Alan might be like. Those experienced hands running all over my body, his deep baritone voice against the sweet spot on my neck whispering the most erotic things against my skin, into my ear, tugging naughtily at my earlobe...so delicious. Oh the thought of him between my thighs...

Rebecca, stop.

Forth night. I close my eyes to try and sleep, reflecting on the day, but I find my thoughts rest on Alan. Through closed lids in the darkness of the room I see his face. We're back in his car, except this time as I get out with his number; he leans in and kisses me, and it's perfect. My mind wonders further and I allow it, pulling the duvet up around me as I imagine his hands around my body as warm as the clutch on his Americano.

Five days since Alan left. I can't wait any longer. Thumbing my phone on the Tube on my way to work, I stare blankly sieving through the words in my mind that would suffice for a general text.

Too cheesy...

too laid back...

don't say that...

emoji? Is he an emoji person? (Deletes emoji) Ok, no emoji...

Hi...

Hey there!..

Heyyy...

too many y's (delete)

My eyes wonder round the carriage of commuters. Heads are buried in business whether it be phones, newspapers, magazines or laptops. How the hell anyone can work on a laptop on the tube is beyond my comprehension. We come to a stop – not mine – and plastered outside along a large stretch of wall is a poster for the new Harry Potter book release - Deathly Hallows – 21st July 2007. Smirking, I return to my blank screen. Why is this so bloody difficult?