Disclaimer/Author's Note: I do not own Tree Hill, the characters of Haley James Scott or Chris Keller, or anything pertaining to One Tree Hill at all. Kudos to Mark Schwann.
This story is inspired by the awesome song "There's More To Me Than You" by Jessica Andrews. In an alternate universe that exists, thank Mark, only in my mind, Haley never returned to Tree Hill during or after the tour. Instead, she stayed with Chris and they continued working on their music together. I hope you enjoy! I absolutely love reviews, so please take some time to leave one!
You know, I can't believe I've spent so much of my time in the past few years believing that I needed him in order to be worth anything. I thought that I couldn't make it without him. He was the perfect – and, it seemed, the only - opportunity to get out of Tree Hill and make my dreams come true, so I grabbed it. It's funny, I never was one to snatch such chances when they headed my way. Sometimes miracles, if you could call them that, just happened for me, but more often I just went with the flow, for better or for worse. But Chris… He wouldn't have happened if I hadn't made the first move. Now, I have no idea what I was thinking. But I was just a young girl, vulnerable and naive. I swallowed every lie he fed me with complete trust, never considering the idea that he wasn't being honest with me. What a fool I was to lose everything I had to his mirage of perfection.
I am forced out of my thoughts by his confident attempts at persuading me to stay. "Come on, Hales, you know that you need me. You couldn't leave even if you wanted to. Why waste your time packing your bags and making a fuss? We could just skip right to the apologies," Chris moves closer to my body suggestively, his eyes glimmering. He honestly believes that his charm could convince me to stay. Why shouldn't he? It's worked hundreds of times before, just like he said. A fight breaks out and I claim to be leaving, ripping clothes at random from the closet and tearing through the bathroom for such things as shampoo and my toothbrush, filling my suitcases halfway before I finally break down and can't continue. Like a superhero rescuing a damsel in distress, he stays by my side until he can kiss away my tears and everything seems to be alright again.
I glare at his assured grin and shining eyes; it won't work this time. But part of me scoffs at this thought, laughing bitterly at the fact that I've refused to let him get to me every other time before, and I always end up giving in. What makes me so sure that this time will really be different? "Don't call me Hales. You know I don't like it when you do that, Chris," I fiercely respond, evading a direct answer to his question for the time being. Ever since I left Tree Hill, I've hated that nickname. It brings back too many memories of… well, the things in my past that I left behind. We'll just leave it at that.
I can tell Chris is starting to get frustrated. I haven't held out this long during a fight in months. I rarely get as far as opening our closet door before I fall into his arms, sobbing and begging him to forgive me. He's too used to having his way to put too much effort into making me stay. A simple empathizing glance and a few sweet words should be enough to do the trick, as far as he's concerned. But that's why a magician should never tell someone his secrets. Once I noticed how little he actually has to struggle to get me to stay, how half-heartedly he even shows how much he cares about me, and how irritated he gets when his strategy doesn't work as easily as usual, I realized that I deserve better. Or maybe I just hope I deserve better.
"I'm leaving, Chris. There's nothing you can do to stop me! Except maybe show a little true affection for once, but that's not going to happen in this lifetime. You don't give a damn about me, all you care about is our next record deal and being able to show me off like your prize trophy. I'm sick and tired of your stupid games," I yell at him, watching his eyes cloud over with anger and a prominent frown form on his face. This isn't the way things are supposed to go. This isn't how he planned it at all.
I had struck the right nerve. Losing his carefully maintained control, Chris begins to scream hoarsely back at me with almost as much fervor as I had shown. "Oh yeah, what are you going to do? Run back to your tiny hometown into the arms of your loser husband and spend the rest of your life as the loyal wife of a middle school basketball coach? That's all you're ever going to be with him, Haley! With me, you can be Haley James, the beautiful and talented singer. In Tree Hill, you are nothing and always will be!" Taking a breath from his rant, he glowers at me vehemently to let his words sink in. Chris Keller is no Shaquille O'Neal; he barely measures in at a little over six foot. But there are times when he seems to just sprout right up like a magic beanstalk, his presence reaching towards the apartment ceiling like Alice in Wonderland. He's never laid a violent hand on me, despite the verbal abuse I constantly receive, but his intimidating stature causes me to fearfully cower a bit anyway. I allow a slight automatic flinch, but immediately stand up straight once again, looking Chris square in the eye.
"Mr. Keller, I appreciate your help thus far in my blossoming career as a musician. I have learned a large amount from you and am very grateful for this opportunity. But our relationship as business partners, and any other relationship for that matter, is ending right now. I do not care how much work I will have to do in order to find another record deal to sign or a tour to travel, I am willing to do whatever it takes and I know that it will be possible. Even without the 'infamous' Chris Keller by my side to hold my hand and whisper such encouraging insults in my ear. I am leaving and that is final," I say in what I hope sounds like a firm, all-business voice. I'm actually not sure what I'm going to do once I'm out that door standing open just behind me, but it's better, more strategic, to pretend like I have a plan. To appear strong and together, not weak and lost. No need to hand him objections on a silver platter.
With that, I pick up my last bag, the final remnants of evidence that I was ever here, and turn on my heel before he has a chance to awake from his stunned state and find his voice. I'm out the door and starting my little blue Civic before I even see his silhouette in the front window, silently watching me finally follow through with what he never thought I had the strength to do. I can't be sure what he's thinking, but I know one thing: I'm going to be just fine without him. It takes every ounce of energy I have left to flip on my headlights, shift gears to drive, and never ever look back.