Mr Americano - ALAN RICKMAN fanfic

Chapter 19 - Truth and Torment

It's all in the title! Fiery chapter. 
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Here I stand on the curb, suitcase in tow, split down the middle, a division of truth and reality, dreaming that I'm still in the passenger seat of Alan's BMW that fades into the distance. I didn't want to say goodbye to him. Goodbye meant that I would have to face the facts and come clean. Tomorrow night – we've arranged to meet after I finish work. As I turn into the night and head up to my apartment, the very thought hovers over me like an ominous cloud. Speaking of, as soon as I enter the apartment, another grey cloud approaches – Scott. I didn't expect him to be home so early. 

"Is that a problem?" he asks in monotone.

It feels as though he's been waiting for me. There is a hostile air about him standing there with his hands in his pant pockets that makes me nervous.

"Of course not," I shrug off. "Are you hungry?"

I hang up my coat, push my case to the side and head toward the kitchen, but he boulders himself in front of the door, arms across his chest.

"So...how was Barcelona?"

FUCK.

My heart hammers fiercely against my ribs, my head becomes so light that it makes me want to vomit. I want to speak but nothing leaves my mouth. How does he know?

"Good time, was it?"

"It was...just a small family trip," I respond falsely nonchalant.

Scott smiles in an antagonistic manner, calmly. He's on to me. I can feel my ears growing hot, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I'm aware of my phone in my pocket. Just one call, that's all it would take and Alan would be here.

"Why don't you open your case, Beck? You must have bought back a souvenir. Two actually, according to your receipts."

"My receipts?"

Scott doesn't respond, just repeats for me to open it. My fogging brain somehow allows for speech, although it pulls words that are unconvincing.

"It's just my clothes and toiletries..."

But with a nod of his head he instructs me to open the carrier bag, the carrier bag that is full of lingerie. My heart is hammering but I do my best to casually shrug it off as laundry.

Scott snatches the carrier bag and drops it's flimsy lacy contents to the floor. My breath is held by the cork like lump in my throat watching his eyes fix on the black and red pile for an eternity, and then, under a deep, dark brow, his eyes slowly raise to mine.

"Family friendly."

"Well, I don't show my family my underwear, Scott."

"Don't fucking try to get smart with me."

I can feel his fuse shortening, about to blow.

"I'm not. I had a nice dress and I wanted t..."

SLAP! It strikes me with such ferocity that it sends my head spinning, hair whipping around me.

"You fucking dirty whore!" Scott spits, teeth gritting. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid Rebecca?! Do you really think I'd believe you were heading to your parents?!"

I do my best to face him standing over me, but my face is on fire, and clutching it feels like a red hot blister.

"I knew your fucking plans! I just wanted to see if you'd actually go through with them, and what do you know...turns out you're the worthless piece of shit I thought you were!"

Scott confirms my thoughts – that he'd sieved through my personal things, emails, my receipts.

He throws out his arms in disbelief, "You wanna talk about touching personal things?! Some guy's had his dick in my girlfriend! I'd say that's fucking personal wouldn't you!"

His whiplash push from my lack of response weighs heavy on my shoulder, his hackled body towering above me.

"Were you just going to keep fucking him Rebecca? Hoping I wouldn't find out? Whore! That's what you are. You and your little cunt!"

I can feel myself about to burst. Fear of his actions is the only thing that keeps my lips sealed.

"Yeah, that's right, you fucking cower like the little pussy you are! Look at me! Look at me!"

He grabs my face brutally and wrenches it to his, spitting through his teeth.

"How can you sit there and lie to me and tell me you were on a trip with your parents! Tell me! Who is he?!" He bellows in my face, reapeating himself until I burst.

"You don't need to know!" I howl. "This relationship is fucking toxic! You said it yourself, that I'm a worthless piece of shit so why are you flipping your lid! Leave me!"

Scott's fingers embed against either side of my jawbone so vice-like that I whine out loud and attempt to push him off, but my need to defend myself only warrants a fist in place of his fingers. The pain is phenomenal, pulsing to my ear. I can't talk, just hang my head enduring the bolts that give me the feeling of lock-jaw.