A/N: Yesterday, I tried to upload this chapter, but for some reason chapter seven got repeated. Here is the real chapter nine. Sorry for the confusion...Enjoy!
Nine
Annaleigh…November 2
I remember how your eyes looked that day. They were brown and soft, like liquid. They invited me in, made me feel loved, like I was welcome in your life. Like you wanted me here, there was nothing to worry about. Yet at the same time, I knew there was.
We were in your garage and your parents weren't home. You'd invited me over, and I'd happily accepted, nervous and excited rolled into one. You answered the door with a guarded expression on your face, like you knew at this time that anything could happen. And you would let it.
It was cold in your garage. There wasn't a heater and it was pouring rain outside. I felt goosebumps rise on my legs and arms, and shifted uncomfortably on the workout bench I'd been sitting on. I shivered and you noticed this, yet you didn't lend me your sweater. You let me sit there. Cold.
You walked to the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. At this time, I'd panicked. You couldn't know what this bottle did to my heart. But I played it cool. Like this happened to me every day. And in a way, I guess it did.
In one swift motion, you took the top off the wine. You didn't use any sort of opener. Then you took a swig straight from the bottle. You kept your eyes on me the whole time. Brown, soft, guarded, loving.
"Wow," I'd said to you after a moment, "color me impressed."
I saw your eyes noticeably change expression when I said this as you put the bottle down on the ground. Your face hardened and I saw an emotion that I cannot describe. I looked at you curiously, wondering what it was you were thinking. I felt vulnerable, like anyone could hurt me. But I didn't think it would be you.
Then, you put the bottle to your lips again, and you said, "No. Color you warned."
Love and fear meet yet again, two opposite emotions trying to fit on the same path. Once again, it's had a terrible affect. I'm scared of you. I have been since the first day I met you. I used to be scared and in love with you. Now, I'm just scared.
"Annaleigh! Are you done? You've been writing furiously for like, the past ten minutes. I gotta write too, you know."
I put the pencil down and slowly lifted my gaze up to Scott's. He looked irritated, anxious; like he'd just been sitting there for the past hour tweedling his thumbs and playing tic-tac-toe on his arm. When really, he had been flirting with his new victim. If only he knew what he had just interrupted. He would want to go back to Angela.
"Why do you look like a little girl waiting in line for cotton candy?" I asked Scott.
He laughed. "What?"
"You look excited."
"Excited for what?"
I shrugged.
"Whatever, dude," Scott said, rolling his eyes and taking the pink notebook from me. "I gotta write. And you gotta leave."
"Okay, dude."
I got up, scanning the room. Students were paired up, looking at notebooks. Some were talking, some were writing, others just sat there looking awkward next to each other. I looked at Mr. Thompson, who was sitting at his desk looking at the students, too. When he caught my eye, he smiled and winked, looking at Scott hunched over the notebook. And that's when I knew that Mr. Thompson paired Scott and me up on purpose. But why? Scott Fields and Annaleigh Vaughn sharing their emotions with each other. Perfect match. Yeah, right.
I left Mr. Thompson's class then, taking a bathroom pass, though I knew that wasn't where I was going. Lately, the bathroom has been like my escape to go when I'm scared, when I don't feel like handling what's obviously in front of me. I stare at my face, which usually is the sole reason for why I'm there. It never makes me feel better, though. My face is so beautiful to the others around me, but to me, it haunts me. Reminds me what's happened because of it.
But going to the bathroom and staring at myself is not really an escape. An escape is somewhere you go to free yourself from your problems. You get rid of your past forever, going somewhere where you feel safe and loved for eternity. When you go somewhere just for a short period of time to avoid something that will later come back to haunt you, it's not escaping. It's hiding. And I did not want to hide anymore.
I walked up and down the halls of my school. This school that I've gone to for the past two and a half years. I've walked down these halls in misery, feeling horrible and vulnerable. I can remember my exact thoughts, looking at everyone talking and laughing by their lockers, and I just walk by everyone's scene. Silent.
Some days were worse than others. Some days I missed her so much it was unbearable, and I felt torn apart. Sometimes, I would wonder what she was doing right at that very moment. Was she drunk? Was she thinking of me? Or did she even remember my existence at all? That last thought always set me off, though I hid it as best as I could. I had to be Annaleigh Vaughn, the actress. The quiet girl. The well-behaved one. I couldn't be anyone else.
Sometimes I wondered what would happen if my dad knew how I felt about her absence. If he really could comprehend how much I loved my mother. I wondered if he knew the feeling of being lost; looking through a glass window at the world you once had. Did he know what it was like to be so unhappy, so deserted, it became unlivable?
But then I would look at the world around me, my father's and mine. I'd look at the world we had created after she left, and I'd see everything she left behind: a grape juice stain on the white rug, a cracked mirror in my bathroom, a pair of socks she'd left under my bed, and that stupid truck. She'd taken everything else, leaving us with nothing. But the nothing she left us with soon turned into everything. It was like my mother had died and those minor remnants of her past were her tombstones. And in a way, they were. For as far as we knew, the old Cynthia Vaughn was no where to be found.
It might have been easier for my dad and me if my mother really had died. It would make us feel less deserted, less unloved. We tried to make it seem like this issue was her problem, and if she was going to continue with this lifestyle then we wanted nothing to do with it. But in my heart, I knew that was wrong. My mother had left us, lied to us, betrayed us, but she was still my mother. She was the person who raised me. She was my best friend. And she left us. Willingly. She took everything that made me, me, and ran off with it.
And just like that, my life was gone. No more jokes about my hair, no more fights over the T.V. remote, and most of all: no more talking. There was no one there to inspire me, to motivate me to keep going. All of a sudden, I was alone. Empty. Hollow. And I looked at my father, and he just continued through the mechanics of life: work, golf, occasional drinks at the club. I didn't see any signs of wallowing or sorrow. No remorse, no tears, and no breakdowns. I noticed his silence more than ever, then. Noticed how unsociable he really was.
And that's when I knew that he really did understand how I felt. That he missed her just as much as I did. That he felt deserted, pained, and unloved. I saw as he would stop short when he passed by that broken mirror, or when he was careful not to step on the stained carpet, as if not to disturb her. The only thing he didn't steer clear of was the truck. And I don't know why.
We should have moved away from Cornflower Way. And when Riley left, it should have been a sign that we should, also. But my father refused to. He had to have this house, the house my mother wanted so badly. She loved the flowers in front, the pale pink trim on the first story. And most of all, she loved the name: Cornflower Way. She loved the originality of it, how it made her feel happy. And my father and I obliged, knowing it was a favor to ourselves keeping my mother happy. But now that I see what living on this street has done to her, all I want to do is get the hell out.
"Annaleigh?" I heard my name called from down the hall. I blinked, coming back to reality. Looking down, I realized that I'd sunk to the ground and was now sitting miserably against someone's locker. "Annaleigh!" I heard it called again.
I saw Scott's figure appear in front of me. I looked up, not knowing what my expression looked like.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" he asked, glaring down at me.
I shrugged.
"Mr. Thompson got worried and sent me to look for you."
I looked at my shoes.
Scott continued talking and sat down next to me. "And I'm glad I found you, so I could ask what the hell this is?" He pointed to my page in the pink notebook.
I swallowed. "What about it?"
He shook his head. "You're unbelievable. You expect me to read this crap and not do anything about it? Just let you sit here looking torn apart?"
I shrugged, again. I could feel myself starting to get enraged, though. When ever in my life has Scott Fields cared about me?
He motioned to the notebook again. "Annaleigh, come on. What is this about?"
I felt a fire start to burn inside me. He didn't care. No one did.
"Fine. Don't talk," Scott said.
We sat there in silence for a couple beats, but then he said, "Why do you do this? It's like you enjoy making yourself miserable. I remember when you were happy. I remember when you had friends. This isn't you, Annaleigh. It's not."
I looked over at him and glared fiercely. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough," he said. "I know that you have a problem with alcohol, whether it was your experience or not. I know there was an issue with your mother, and some boy who you had a connection with had something to do with it."
"You don't know anything," I repeated.
He was silent for a moment.
"And what about you?" I asked. "You write about all that love crap. You pour your heart out on this little paper, and I read the stupid thing while you're practically undressing some girl."
"I wasn't undressing her," he said softly.
"You might as well have been! You lead some sort of double life. You're so asshole-y in person, but then suddenly you get all sentimental. At least what I write in that stupid journal is real. It's me. At least I can come out and admit that my life is messed up. At least I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not!"
I could feel Scott's expression change next to me. I didn't know what he was thinking. I sat there, trying to control my breathing. Scott knew way too much. I wasn't thinking when I wrote those entries; I didn't think to worry about how Scott would interpret it. I was just writing for me.
Suddenly, Scott stood up. He held out his hand to help me up, and I let him, confused. Then he gave me the pink journal, looking down at me. "You're right," he said.
He walked away, then, leaving me pressed against the locker.
"So, Annaleigh, if you were to look in a crystal ball, what would you see?"
I looked up at Miss Campbell and shrugged. She was the type of person that any type of motion would satisfy her. Not this time though, it seemed.
"So," she continued, "you have no idea what you want to do."
"Do?"
"As an adult. Your career."
"Oh."
It was silent for a moment.
"So? What do you see in the crystal ball?"
It was always like this in the counselor's office, especially Miss Campbell's. They try to get you to talk, to open up to them about your life, and it just turns into a repetitive cycle of nonsense.
"Annaleigh?"
I sighed. "I guess…acting."
"Acting!" Miss Campbell exclaimed. "Now that's exciting! Maybe you should take some courses, maybe get involved in some of the school plays."
I stared at her. Could she be that uninvolved in the school? How could she not know that I've had the lead in the school play since freshman year?
I just said, "I am."
"Well, that's great! It's good to put yourself out there."
I nodded.
"Have you thought about colleges?"
I wanted to tell Miss Campbell how naïve she was. How I've had a partial scholarship to Julliard since the end of sophomore year. How I've been acting my whole life, and yes, I've taken acting classes.
But, again, I refrained. "Yes."
"And?"
"I'm optimistic."
"For what college?"
"Julliard."
"Oh my!" Her hand flew up to her mouth. "That's quite a prestigious school, Annaleigh. I don't want to be the bad news rain cloud, but I don't think you should get your hopes up. Julliard is a very difficult school to get into. Last year in the graduating class, no one got accepted, and we sure had some talented students."
"I think I'll be fine."
"Well I just don't want to see you get hurt."
I nodded stiffly, glancing at the clock.
"What do your parents think of this?" Miss Campbell wondered.
I sighed. She was starting to irritate me. "Well," I said, "considering my dad was the one who informed me of the acceptance, I'm pretty sure he approves."
"Acceptance?"
I stared at her.
"You mean…you have an early admission to Julliard?"
"Partial scholarship," I amended.
"But…you're only a junior!" She pulled on one of her long blond curls, as if this news upset her.
"Partial scholarship," I said again.
"Shouldn't I have known about this? I mean, I am your counselor. And here I was asking you if you had taken acting lessons." She shook her head.
"It's okay," I said. "But can I go? I still have to eat lunch."
"Oh, of course," she murmured, still looking troubled. I got up to leave, but then she said, "Tell me how it goes. The Julliard thing. And I'll be happy to help in any way I can."
I gave her a small smile. "Thanks."
I left her office then, and headed to the cafeteria. Talking about Julliard suddenly made high school seem so…juvenile. I looked at all the cliques and flirting, and none of that really mattered in the end. Freshman year, I got myself so rapped up in Riley because he made me feel special, only to get crushed in the end. What was the point of making any sort of relationships in high school? In the end, nothing really lasts.
"We're making great progress in the play," Mr. Mason said, center stage. "It's going to be a great production when your parents come to see it next month. But until then, we have a lot of rehearsing to do. So? Annaleigh and Riley? Let's do it."
Everyone went to their positions and I climbed on stage. I set myself, ready for Riley to make some stupid comment, when I realized that Riley wasn't there.
Mr. Mason noticed this at the same time as I did. "Where's Riley?"
I shrugged.
"Does anyone know where Riley Fillmore is?" Mr. Mason called.
I heard a few murmured no's, and then, "He wasn't in my math class today," someone said.
"I suppose he's sick," Mr. Mason concluded. "Well, I guess we can do a scene between Damien and Rosalina. Scott!"
Scott emerged from behind the curtains. "What?"
"Act two, scene four. You and Annaleigh."
"Cool!" he said. "Where's Marcus?"
"Dead," I answered.
Scott grinned.
I rolled my eyes. I was not looking forward to doing a scene with Scott, especially after our conversation earlier that day. It's hard to interact with someone when they knew so much about you.
"Do you know this scene?" I asked him.
Scott smiled and shook his head. "Annaleigh, Annaleigh, Annaleigh! How long have you known me? Two…three years?"
I shrugged.
"When have I ever not known the scene?"
I thought about it. "Beginning of sophomore year. Day after Homecoming. Major hangover."
Scott smiled, remembering. "That was a fun night. Anyways, what I was trying to say is that while sober, Scott Fields always knows his lines!"
"And Scott Fields is a huge ass!"
"Hey, at least I didn't forget my lines during one of the most important scenes in Rosalina and Damien history."
"Just shut up and get on with it."
"With pleasure."
"Okay!" Mr. Mason called from his chair. "I think we've had enough, you two. Forget how much you hate each other and fall in love."
I jerked my head in his direction. "W-What?"
"He means Rosalina and Damien, Blondie," Scott said.
I sighed and we got in positions. I sat on a bench and Scott went right stage.
"And…action!" Mr. Mason called.
Scott started walking along the stage, when suddenly, "Rosalina? Rosalina, is that you?"
I looked up, squinting my eyes to see him.
"Oh my! Rosalina, it really is you." Scott came over and sat by me. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? I'm at the park by my house that you know I always go to. I think the better question is what are you doing here?"
Scott grinned sheepishly.
"Oh, Damien," I said, shaking my head.
"I had to see you," he said. "I had to make sure you were okay."
"And why wouldn't I be okay? Wasn't I the one who ended things?"
"Yes, but I was the one who caused it."
I shrugged, like I couldn't care less. But I knew deep down that Rosalina still loved Damien. She knew in her heart they were meant to be together.
"You shouldn't have come," I said, quietly.
"Why?"
I stayed silent and tugged on the ends of my hair. It was unusual for Rosalina to not say anything. I knew this pause was significant.
"Why, Rosalina?" Scott asked again.
"Because it hurts, okay? It hurts to see you."
"I've said I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. What else do you want me to say?"
"Say that you love me. Say that it was a mistake. Say that you'll never cheat on me again. That you didn't even like that girl. That I'm better than her. Just anything, but you're sorry. I'm tired of hearing it."
"I don't know what to say."
I looked over at him, my eyebrows raised in hurt. "You don't love me?"
"Of course I do. You know that. You know that I think we're made for each other. And I know you think so also."
"No, you don't know that."
"Yes, I do. If you were really over us, you wouldn't be avoiding me so much. You wouldn't say it hurt too much to even talk to me. You're trying to convince yourself that I'm bad for you, that I'm all wrong. But really, you're ignoring what's right in front of you. Which is that you're in love with me. And I'm in love with you."
It's weird how Scott and I can change characters so quickly. We can go from hating on each other to confessing our eternal love. And as I looked into Scott's eyes, all I saw was love. But I knew the truth. I knew he really didn't love me. He wasn't capable of love.
It was just acting. It all was just acting, even outside of the theater. All anyone ever does is act. No one is ever themselves. How many times did I wish that I was Rosalina? How many times did I convince myself that I could be Rosalina if I just tried harder and harder? If I pushed myself and acted like I was her? No one is real. Everyone is trying to be someone they're not. Isn't that what acting is all about?
For once in my life, I wanted to be real. To be Annaleigh Vaughn. I don't think I've ever really been her.
"Okay," I said quietly, completely ignoring the script.
"Okay?" Scott asked. I looked up at him. I felt vulnerable, which is not a quality of Rosalina. But I didn't feel like Rosalina, then. And Scott knew that.
"Okay."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Mr. Mason called from his chair. "Again, Annaleigh? You forgot your lines again?"
I shook my head. "No, Mr. Mason. I didn't forget them."
I knew how important that line was. I knew how it would affect Mr. Mason and Scott. That's why I said, "I'm sorry, I have to leave. I have a dentist appointment." And I left the drama room, then. Walked out to the sidewalk and sat down on the curb.
It wasn't long until I sensed Scott's presence behind me. He sat down and we stared out at the parking lot. There were only a few cars left in the lot. Most of the spaces were empty. No one really had B period. Only the students who were pre-accepted into Julliard.
After a while, I said, "Is it possible to be too good at acting?
"
Scott exhaled from beside me. He leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. "I guess. If it takes over your life and you get super cocky about it. Like me."
I narrowed my eyes. "What if…it starts to become who I am?"
"What does?"
"Rosalina."
"You're comparing yourself to Rosalina?"
"No. I mean the acting."
"I'm not following you, Annaleigh."
"No one does."
"Why do you have to be like this? Why can't you ever let anyone in?"
"Because I experience things. And then learn from them."
He shifted his body so he was almost facing me. "So you've been hurt?"
It was such a simple question — have I been hurt? — yet such a complicated answer. I sighed.
"What if I act so much on stage that it starts to become who I am?"
He was silent.
"When I said that you don't know anything about me, I wasn't lying. But I also wasn't telling the truth. No one really knows anything about me. But from what I've written in that stupid journal, you know the most."
He remained quiet.
"I guess I don't really know anything about myself, either. I just know what's happened to me. And I suppose my experiences don't make who I am, though I've thought that for the longest time.
"I've been acting for so long it's just become a part of who I am. Rosalina has, too. But I've brought it upon myself. I've given myself this life. This life of acting. Pretending to be someone I'm not."
"Isn't that what acting is though? Pretending to be someone else?"
"But what if what I pretend to be doesn't stay in the theater? What then? What if I've been pretending to be someone I'm not for my whole life?"
"I saw you freshman year. I saw when you had friends and you smiled. I saw you when you were happy. It just seemed so natural. Like the smile was meant to be on that face. But you were different. You were real."
I shook my head. "I wasn't. I haven't ever been."
He stared into my eyes, trying to find the answer. "Then who are you, Annaleigh?"
I looked down at my shoes and his, noticing how close they were together. "I don't know," I said.
Suddenly, a car swerved into the parking lot. We both jumped at the abrupt change of atmosphere. It stopped in front of us, a couple feet down. The driver got out and slammed the door. There was a loud bang and some swearing. And then I saw him. Spiky hair, stubby nose, light freckles. Riley Fillmore.
He walked up and glared down at us. I looked up, meeting his eyes, and almost fainted. I knew those eyes. I knew them better than anything. Red around the edge, pupils straying and slightly dizzying, sending a psychotic message.
I stood up and looked at him in disgust. "Are you drunk, Riley?"
He continued to glare down at me. I couldn't bring myself to look away. Finally, he said in a low, mesmerizing voice, "What do you want from me, Annaleigh?" His words slurred, his lips barely moving.
"Damn it. You're drunk."
"Hell if I'm drunk. Listen. You have to listen to me."
"No."
He grabbed hold of my shoulders. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry! What else is there to say?"
I felt a wash of de ja vu. I could feel Scott's gaze on my back as I said, "Sorry doesn't make it better."
He groaned in frustration, a wave of alcohol settling on me. "I'm freaking sorry, Annaleigh! How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?"
"Considering this is the first time you've ever said it, you'll be saying it your entire life."
"You're so damn stubborn and self-absorbed. You only think of yourself. I can't believe you."
I felt myself starting to get angry. Furious. Enraged. "What I can't believe is that you show up to apologize to me, drunk out of your mind! Do you even realize what you're doing? You're drunk, Riley!"
He licked his lips as his eyes wavered.
"You can't take it back, Riley. And don't say that you would if you could, 'cause you won't."
"How do you know that?"
"Really, Riley? What would you do? What is there to say that would make it better? Are you gonna go to Las Vegas or Atlanta, or wherever the hell my mother is because of you, and tell her it was all your fault? Say that you were the one who tempted her with her weakness? That damn bottle of addiction?"
I heard Scott intake breath behind me. I forgot that he was still there. And that I had written that in the journal, too.
"What then? Are you gonna force her to come home? To get off the wagon? Well you can't do that, since because of you, my mother is forever an alcoholic. She finally had her life back, you know. She had everything under control. And then you went and ruined her life. And mine, too."
Riley closed his eyes for a long time.
"Go," I said. "Now."
He grabbed on to my shoulders again, and shook. Hard. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm sorry! It's never enough. Nothing is ever enough with you, is it?"
And then he let go with so much force that I fell backwards onto the sidewalk. I wasn't hurt, but as soon as I hit the ground, I saw Scott get up for the first time.
"Where the hell did you come from?" Riley asked.
"Leave now," Scott said, "before I call the police."
"No!" Riley yelled. "I'm tired of everyone telling me what to do!"
"You can't drive in this condition," Scott said. "You'll hurt someone."
"Hey," Riley said, squinting his eyes, "aren't you the ass?" He laughed. "Well, well, well. The ass turns into the hero. Well congrats, dude." And then he punched Scott square in the eye. I gasped, in shock. Riley smirked at both of us, turned around to get in his car, and drove off, leaving both of us there on the sidewalk, broken.
I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks now. I could feel my heart being torn down the middle. What had happened to him? Scott walked over, his eye already starting to swell, and put his arm around me.
I sobbed into his shoulder, feeling like a complete idiot. "I'm so sorry, Scott. I'm sorry about Riley."
"Nothing to apologize for. Though maybe you should talk to my doctor."
I continued crying into him. I couldn't stop. "I was so in love with him," I said. "So in love."
He sighed, stroking my hair. I could feel his breath on my head as he tried to comfort me. "I know," he murmured. "I know."
I felt safe there, sitting in front of my school. After a while, I looked up. "Scott?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think you're an ass anymore."
He smiled, sadly. "I guess we both need to work on leaving the acting on stage."
He looked down on my face. I didn't know what he was looking for, but when he smiled, I realized he found it.
"What?" I wondered.
His smile widened. "You really are beautiful."
I bit my lip. This was different from when he had called me goddamn gorgeous that day in the cafeteria. It was different from when Riley swooped me off my feet with lies. I was tired of denying it, of fighting everyone about it
"Thanks," I said.
He grinned. "Anytime."
Scott kept his arms around me, then. The tears were gone, but I made no move to get up. His arms were strong; I felt healthy and unharmed. Maybe we stayed there on the curb because we were too lazy to get up. Maybe it was because we were avoiding what was waiting for us at home. Or maybe, we were still in shock. But when I looked up and his eyes met mine, I knew it was because neither of us wanted to let go.
