Gillovny RPF Submitted by @allyinthekeyofx

INAPPROPRIATE DISPLAYS OF PUBLIC AFFECTION

By

AllyinthekeyofX

She leans back against the seat, head bent slightly forward, eyes closed as she tries to release the tension that has been steadily building all evening, trying to centre herself, to control her breathing even as her stomach stirs uncomfortably against the creeping edges of panic that are curling insidiously around her, seeking purchase now that she can finally drop the facade she has been only barely maintaining.

If he were here now he would know; he would recognise the signs of her anxiety just by the feel of her beside him.  She wouldn’t have to speak, to make a plea for him to notice that she is barely hanging on right now; she wouldn’t need to reach for him because he would reach for her first.  His long fingers would brush against her bare skin with a feather- light touch that would speak of friendship, of understanding and of a connection that seems to have lasted a lifetime for them.

Because he knows her.  He knows how to just be.

An effortless understanding that defies explanation in the same way as the sun rises each morning it is the understanding that he will be there to catch her when she falls.  Always.

And right now she is falling – has been falling for hours in fact, painfully aware that no one was really noticing because to anyone who doesn’t know her well, she was fine.  Impeccably presented as always, the dress she was initially unsure of causing a flurry of compliments from those around her as she smiled in response, forcing herself to keep breathing, to do everything right even though she has spent the entire evening feeling about as out of control as she has ever been.

So out of control in fact that the temptation to just grab a couple of drinks had been almost too strong to resist.  But of course she had agreed not to drink alcohol lest she let something slip – some tiny word or gesture that might be pounced upon and fed to the media.  A mistake that would shatter the illusion she has so carefully strived to maintain, making everything for nothing; and so she had settled instead for caffeine and cigarettes, falling back on to her on again/off again habit that has stalked her throughout her adult life and which she has never entirely been able to let go of.

When she is with him though she doesn’t need to buoy herself with nicotine in the way she once did. Because he became her fix and she didn’t need anything else and if he had been with her tonight she would have spent the night glued to his side, blissfully basking in the protectiveness of his presence as he gently guided her through the minefield that was an LA awards evening, knowing that he had her back; that he would somehow make the whole plastic Hollywood experience real again.

She had snuck quietly out of the ceremony on the pretence of needing a cigarette but in actuality it was to find a dark corner away from prying eyes where she could pull out her phone and watch the clip of him at the Con where he tells the prank story, to take comfort from the fact that even if they aren’t together he is thinking of her; no doubt in her mind that it was no coincidence that the panel ended on that one specific question – that he engineered it exactly that way so the last reference he made was to her -an unspoken and easily explainable confirmation that she is on his mind; that she is always on his mind.  But there had been no time before she was summoned back inside to re-take her place beside her date for the evening and for the first time she had realised that she was somebody’s ‘plus one’ and that the rules of engagement were very much different in that situation.  She was there to play a role just as surely as if she held a script in her hand. 

She remembers once laughing disdainfully during an awards show years ago at the sheer amount of ‘names’ who had turned up at the side of various fellow ‘names’.  Arm candy she had whispered in his ear and he had squeezed her hand and asked if he could be considered her arm candy for the night, his lips barely brushing her skin, the feel of his breath sending her senses reeling and her desire rocketing upwards as a warm flush gradually worked its way up her body, prickling her nerve endings in delicious anticipation of what would come later; when they could be alone together and not concerned that their frequent and slightly inappropriate displays of public affection would get out of control and connections be made that they would both as soon keep under wraps. 

No such public displays tonight though in fact, no real affection of any kind which is really the cause of her tension.  She knows this and should have prepared for it so really, she knows she only has herself to blame.  The agreement was to not give the press any ammunition one way or the other – to keep people guessing as to what the relationship status is.  A few well placed snippets drip fed to a public hungry for answers; a small article here, an unnamed source there, a gradual block of social media interaction with the fans as her handlers take over from her, allowing her only the most basic command of her own accounts.  And she misses it; misses the chance to show her real side to people in the fandom who have remained loyal to her for years; decades even.

She wonders what they are making of tonight’s events and she isn’t stupid – she knows there will be a backlash from some quarters and even if she tries to ignore it, to laugh it off, she will not succeed and it will hurt in the same way it always does.  Because somehow, without her really doing anything to encourage it, she has become their Queen; in fact it’s an endearment she sees regularly from her fans and which is now painfully ironic given the man she is sharing the car with.

Looking down she notices a small pink spot on the pristine whiteness of her gifted gown and she idly wonders whether red bull can be removed from chiffon or whether the dress will be unceremoniously thrown in the trash like so much rubbish; she suspects though that there is an arsenal of chemicals designed to deal with far more insidious stains than sugar-laden energy drinks and that the dress will probably live to fight another day.  If it can be cleaned she will auction it off or donate to a cause because as beautiful as it is, she will never wear it again – couldn’t bear to wear it again.

Because it is all part of a lie that has somehow spiralled out of control and become something so much bigger than she ever expected it could be.

But then, for all her posturing, all her confidence and all her talk of empowerment, really she has always been a little naive with regards to her own powers of manipulation.

When the idea had first been floated to her she had been all for it – carried along by the prospect of no one getting hurt and mutual benefits for both parties.  A simple exercise in PR that would achieve publicity for one and a greater bargaining chip for the other; a denying of one relationship by the apparent commencement of another that would result in renewed interest in one area whilst taking the heat away from the other; a few carefully chosen ‘sightings’ and photographs leaked to social media to keep the pot stirring and there it was.  The perfect deception.

But tonight has demonstrated just how wrong she has been.

Because this is wrong; it’s all so fucking wrong that she can’t bear it but she knows that to either confirm or deny right now would send everything tumbling down around them all and with the knowledge comes a creeping exhaustion that leaves her feeling more vulnerable to attack than she has ever been. And without him with her she knows she won’t be able to adequately deflect the bullets that are already starting to come her way and it doesn’t escape her that her relationship with him has become almost as encompassing as that of the characters they both played for so many years; that lines have become blurred and that somehow along the way they became everything to each other.

She feels the burning sensation at the back of her throat which has become an all too familiar feeling for her these past few months and almost unconsciously, just as she has repeated regularly all evening, her hand reaches across to her opposite wrist to touch the bracelet she has worn almost constantly since he bought it for her and which represents the invisible chain which binds them together even when they are apart.  But of course she isn’t wearing it because even she had acknowledged that to do so would seem odd given the luxuriant elegance of her outfit tonight.  And so she had left it secured in the electronic safe that was hidden behind a panel in her hotel room and chased away the regret of leaving it behind with idle musings of just who had come before her and placed other personally priceless objects behind the small steel door. 

And she forces back the tears that suddenly film her eyes with the realisation that she needs him right now; she needs him to pull her in to his arms and tell her that she is doing the right thing – that everything will be okay.

But he isn’t here and with the schedules they both have going on right now it might be weeks before she sees him again; relying on texts and calls and e-mails that might close the wound temporarily but in no way even marginally heals it; but it doesn’t prevent her from wishing she could just be with him for one more night.  To feel his warm body spooned against hers as he trails kisses along the delicate curve of her shoulders; affirming as always that whatever else is wrong, them being together is right.  The thought brings a gentle smile that just barely curves the edges of her lips but it feels good to smile without feeling forced and strained and worried that others will see the sadness she has tried so hard to conceal.

“That’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen all night.”

The voice beside her is concerned; softly gentle in the silence of the car’s interior and for just a moment she feels regretful for him.  He is a good man; an honourable man and he has been both a supportive friend and constant mentor to her since they met.  It is a friendship based on genuine like and mutual respect and she knows he is finding this whole situation as wearing as she is, especially now the fans have begun to vent their frustration on him in a wholly inappropriate manner which he has certainly done nothing to deserve.  Like her, he has become a pawn in a game that seems to have no end and she hopes fervently that their friendship will somehow be intact when they both finally come out the other end.

“I’m fine.  It’s just been a very long day and I’m looking forward to a bath and an expensive bed” she assures him.

And as if on cue the car rolls to a gradual stop outside her hotel – a different hotel to the one she had stayed at the night before; this one smaller and more intimate and much more to her taste.  Large hotels intimidate her in their unilateral sameness and in large hotels she sometimes forgets who she really is.  Smaller hotels too tend to be more giving of their discretion too – usually the price reflects the level of discretion but she can afford it at whatever price; has come to rely on it over the last few years.

She leans forward to exit the car but before the door is opened she turns to graze her lips against the jaw of the man beside her.  The kiss she very nearly gave him earlier when, amidst tumultuous applause he had risen to go collect his award and a kiss he had deftly side stepped with a fleeting smile of apology but which now, in the confines of the car she is finally able to deliver.

“Congratulations again.”

And then, in with a whisper of chiffon and swirling silk, she is gone.

@@@@@@@@

Despite her exhaustion she finds sleep alludes her and alone in the huge bed that her small frame barely impacts, she finally allows herself to cry.  He hasn’t phoned, hasn’t texted or even dropped her anything on social media and she hates herself for reacting like this especially since he had made no promises to her as to whether he would be able to contact her before morning; it’s just the way it is for them; how it has always been but that knowledge doesn’t make it hurt any less.

She could phone him but it’s almost 2am and she has no idea where he is or what he is doing other than he was flying back from New Orleans at some point and logically, he has probably crashed with exhaustion given the amount of travelling he has endured over the last couple of days.  She forgets sometimes that neither one of them are getting any younger because to her, he hasn’t aged a day since she first met him so many years ago even though logically, she knows that they are both wearing those years like the badges of honour they are.  Two decades of shared experiences, of love and of loss and of a final re-connection that she knows now will last eternal if they manage not to fuck it up again.

A sudden knock at the door makes her jump and before she can even adequately process it, she is kicking off the comforter and flying across the room.  Because the voice that accompanied the knock, the voice that spoke her name just as he has spoken her name a thousand times before can’t really belong to him; it just can’t.

And even as she flings open the door she is crying, barely allowing him to step over the threshold before she is pressed against him, trying to get control of herself even as her breath comes in huge shuddering gasps as she finally breaks down in his arms; the pressure of the previous twenty four hours reaching the point of no return and demanding release.

He doesn’t speak for long moments as he holds her against him; seemingly unsurprised to garner such a reaction from her and later he will tell her that he was glued to social media all evening and that he had been able to read her confusion and distress just as surely as if she had been in the room with her; that the painful realisation that she was hurting and he wasn’t there was enough to send him straight to the airport and on the first available plane.  Because he will always find a way to reach her regardless of circumstance; it’s a role he has taken willingly but right now, he just needs to hold her, whispering in to her hair that he is here; that it will be okay – that they will be okay.

And for now, in this moment as she breathes in his familiar scent and clutches him as though he represents life itself, she allows herself to believe him.

End