Snowstorm

Snowstorm
Part Seven

The sunlight awoke me and it took a moment to realize that I was alone in the bed. Sheets tangled beneath and around me. A shaft of sunlight stretched from the window across the bed and my face. I groaned, rolled over and held a hand to my eyes, squinting.

All at once the events of the previous night flashed through my mind and I sat up, looked down and realized I was once more dressed in the oversized sweatshirt. I was amused to find myself wearing a loose pair of cotton pajama bottoms. The drawstring was pulled tight and tied, but loose enough to allow me to breath. I noticed the cuffs were rolled up to prevent me from tripping.

"I found them tucked away behind the linen," I turned to see Alan standing in the doorway, dressed in a light blue t-shirt, an white shirt unbuttoned over that and a pair of faded jeans with snow-encrusted leather boots. I knew he must have been outside.

"They're a little big, though, sorry about that..." I glanced at his feet and then towards the window. The sun was streaking inside full-blast, and only a few flakes of snow were still drifting, carried by a slight wind. "Looks like the storm is over..." I said, almost to myself, "Are the phone lines...?"

Before I could finish the half-asked question, there came a shrill ringing and I followed Alan into the living room, where he crossed the room to the phone and picked it up. I sat down on the sofa, still in a state of shock as to the events over the past few days.

Did I just go from surviving a tragic car crash to screwing one of the world's most prominent actors inside a snowed-in cabin in the middle of the Idaho woods?! God, could this get any more surreal?

I was only half aware of he was saying on the phone, my mind was filled with other things. "Hmm...? Oh, yes. Yes, I understand. It was horrid..." I sighed and wandered over near the window, sitting down on the sofa and turning my head to look outside.

The sun was so bright where it reflected off the snow it hurt my eyes and I had to look away. "I'll call you tomorrow," I heard him say, on the phone, "Hmm-hmm, I know. I shall...love you, bye now." I watched him place the phone back on the receiver and approach me. He sat down next to me on the sofa.

"Beth," he began, and took a deep breath, "I think you need to call someone…your parents? A Friend, perhaps? Let them know you’re all right… The roads are still bad, which possibly will be for another couple of days at the least and I sure someone is worried about you and,” he finished, “I hope you don't mind staying with me for a few more days, Beth..."

"Of course not, Alan...I..." I wondered about the wisdom of calling my parents and telling them where I was. Would they blab to the media that this was where Alan Rickman was staying? Would he bombarded with reporters and photographers from rag mags? I didn't relish the idea of accidentally being the one to bring any rabid fans pounding on his door. I trusted my father to keep quiet. My mother on the other hand…

The last thing I wasn't to do was be an inconvenience or the cause of any harm coming to him. I was about to open my mouth the say this, when, I realized he wasn't finished speaking to me. I clammed up to listen to what he had to say.

"Beth, You know, the police may want to talk to you," he interrupted me, quickly, and I could tell this was painful for him to have to speak with me about this, because he saw the darkness cross my face as he spoke, "About...well, about what happened...with the...the car...We should really contact them as well…"

"I know..." I murmured, but he didn't seem to hear. He kept talking... "Beth, I know you feel you can't face this, but..."

"I said, 'I know'" I interrupted him, louder, this time, "It's all right.... I knew I'd have to face sooner or later… but, I’ll…take care of…later, all right?”

“All right,” he said, not pushing me further. I would call my parents and deal with the situation of speaking with the police a bit later. Oh, my procrastinating ways…

"Speaking of reality...what we did last night..."

"That wasn't real?" I asked, as my hand drifted between my thighs, rubbing myself a bit, "I'm still sore... It felt real enough for me..." I really wasn't meaning to behave like a tease.

I really was sore down there! However, I failed to realize the effect my actions would have on the poor man. His face turned a shade darker and he reached out to still my hand before speaking.

"That's not what I mea.... Beth... stop that," he took my hand from my crotch and held it, "It's very distracting...Beth...I...Christ..." he groaned and turned away.

"I shouldn't be feeling so...randy...when you must be going through hell..." I hadn't forgotten about the reason I was here in the first place. I only wished I could pretend to forget, for a while longer. I knew it wasn't possible. I would have to face it, as I'd mentioned. I sighed and sunk lower into the sofa, drawing my legs under me as I did so. I became quiet for a long time.

"Beth, I..." Alan began, and I looked at him, shocked and dismayed to see the look of regret written across his kind features, "About last night...I didn't mean to...Oh, god, what have I done...?" I watched him lower his head into his hands and rub his temples, and it suddenly dawned on me what the man was so upset about. He thought he'd taken advantage of me!

Oh, my god! I couldn't let him believe that! I reached out and took one of his hands in my own, lowering it from his face and said; "I know what you're thinking, Alan, and it's completely insane...it's no more your fault than it is mine!"

"We shouldn't have...I shouldn't have...Beth, I'm so sorry..." he stumbled, and it touched me that he would be so concerned, that he would take on the blame for what we did, as if there should be any blame at all, upon himself, "I should have had more control." he finished and I couldn't help but laugh.

He looked startled and hurt until I amended quickly; "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at the idea that any man could have such control when a woman's eagerly suck..."

"Beth..." he interrupted, shaking his head, "I know...it's just..."

"Just nothing," I said, squeezing his hand, "What we did last night...was wonderful. You helped me more than you will ever know. No matter what the future brings, I'll always thank you for giving me that one night..."

I leaned over and brushed his cheek lightly with my lips. He hadn't shaven yet and his stubble tickled my face. I released his hand and sat back against the sofa cushion, resting my head back and closing my eyes. I wasn't ready to deal with any more reality just then. I wanted a few moments to just...think.

Alan had built a fire while I'd still be asleep and it crackled merrily away within the hearth, warming the living room as bright shafts of sunlight drifted through the window behind the sofa. Alan rose and left me to enter the kitchen, which I could see from my place upon the end of the sofa, had my eyes been open. I heard him rummaging around in there so I knew he was planning on cooking something.

"I'm making tea...it will get my mind off of...well...you know..." he said with a slight tinge something I couldn't quite place, and this time it was my turn to flush as I realized what he was referring to. I had opened my eyes to see him holding aloft the brass kettle I'd noticed set upon the stove the night before, and closed them once more, briefly, to await the blush to pass.

"I have my own stash which I bring with me from London," he explained, taking little note of my heated features, (either that or choosing to politely ignore them), which were slowly cooling as he continued to speak about such mundane activities as heating water for tea.

No microwaves! Funny, I had the same rule. "And no American tea!" Well, I couldn't help that, now could I? Coming from, as I did, America and enjoying teas I as I always have. Though, being a fan of his, albeit not a rabid one, thank goodness, I'd read the articles and watched the talk-show interviews he'd done so I all ready knew his rule about not imbibing American-made tea.

I nodded and smiled softly at his words as he glanced at me from the kitchen doorway. "Would you care for a cup, Beth?" He raised a single brow in question as I recalled the warm, slightly sweetened tea he'd brought me upon my arrival, "It might make you feel a bit better..." he finished, and shrugged, waiting. After a moment, I nodded once again and replied; "I certainly wouldn't turn it down. Thank you..."

Three of life's simple pleasures; a bath, sex, and a cup of tea. When all three were hot, they had the power to heal... I strongly believed in this. But then, I had once strongly believed in the Easter Bunny and Unicorns... and that the people I loved would be with me forever... I fought down the pain and the tears once more.

The pain was still too fresh to think about overlong. Still too raw... It would be awhile, I knew... A long, long while, before I would be able to think about Katie and Thomas without feeling as if my insides had been ripped apart by a pack of wild dogs.

Still, as I listened to Alan light the stove and run the tap once more, (I wondered that the pipes hadn't frozen...well, he probably ran the hot water at night for a bit to ensure that didn't happen), I thought to myself; there had to be some things left to believe in, hadn't there?