Falling into Forever (Falling into You)

by Lauren Abrams

  “You know what I think Hallie would appreciate?” I try to remember what my next words are supposed to be, but my head is fuzzy and I’ve lost my thought, so I frown at Marcus instead.

  “Chris, it’s not a good idea.”

  “Since when were women ever a good idea?” I lean back against the cool metal of the elevator and let it linger on my skin for a minute. Bile is starting to rise in my throat and I manage to choke it down again. I feel like shit. And I need Hallie.

  “Except for Hallie. Hallie is always a good idea.”

  “Fine. Hallie is always a good idea. Just like it’s a good idea to let her see you like this. But what do I know? You’re just going to do whatever it is that you want to do anyway. Just like always.”

  The elevator doors suddenly open to a dizzying array of enormous plants and an endless series of doors with numbers. I look to Marcus for help.

  “It’s 1235.”

  “I knew that.”

  “Of course you did. You know everything, right? You’re perfectly aware of your limits.”

  “Are you trying to say that I can’t handle myself? Fuck you, Marcus. And your little dog, too.”

  Just as the elevator doors start to close on his face, I realize that I have no idea where I’m going.

  “Hey! Where’s my room?”

  “1235. I’ll see you tomorrow. Try to actually get your ass to the plane on time. Not like last time.”

  I shove my middle finger in his direction and try to make myself stand up straighter. Hallie. Where’s Hallie?

  I tap each of the doors as I pass them. 1234. 1236. What the hell is the number again? And where is my fucking key? I dig through my jeans, and I can’t even find where my wallet is supposed to be, so I knock again and again on the door that seems like the right one.

  “Hallie. Open the goddamn door.”

  I hear a click. Hallie is standing in the middle of the door frame, curly puffs of long hair floating all around her face. She looks pissed. Very, very pissed. She moves aside to let me in before shutting the door behind us. With a slightly disgusted look, she takes a step back and then another.

  “Hallie. My love.”

  I cross the distance between us, pick her up and swing her into my arms. I start to cover her face with kisses, but she’s wriggles against me. I’m knocked off balance and she sways precariously in my arms.

  “Chris. Put me down. Put me down now.”

  “Nope. Not until I get what I came for.”

  “Chris. Now.”

  I lock my arms tighter around her body and push my lips into her hair.

  “You smell like honey. Why do you always smell like honey?”

  “It’s called taking a shower. You should try it.” She manages to free herself and the lack of weight in my arms throws off my equilibrium. I stumble backwards and she flicks the light switch on.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Good guess! Twenty points to a Miss Hallie Caldwell for being such as astute judge of drunkenness.”

  I kick off the shoes I’ve been wearing and toss them in the trash can. I never want to see those goddamn shoes again.

  “I’m glad I get points for being such an astute judge of your particular kind of drunkenness, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess that you would come home drunk. You’ve come home drunk every night we’ve been in London. And we’ve been here for almost three months.”

  “You got to give the people what they want, baby.”

  “And tell me, how exactly is you being drunk every night giving the people what they want? What exactly is that supposed to accomplish? Enlighten me.”

  “I’m living the dream. Just living the dream. The people want to see someone who’s doing that. And I am.”

  I flop onto the bed and try to forget that the world is not actually rotating. I mean, it’s rotating, but my world isn’t. Something like that.

  “Is this what the dream is supposed to be? Tell me, Chris. When exactly did this, you drunk in some hotel room, become living the dream? I thought…” She bites her lip and looks away from me. Instead of actually telling me what she wants to say, she picks up the jeans that I threw on the floor and folds them neatly.

  “Never mind what I thought.”

  “No. Tell me what you thought. You’re going to say it anyway, so tell me what you really think.”

  She turns to me with her hands on her hips. Everything is spinning and her face is slightly out of focus.

  “I think you’ve been drinking too much. No. That’s an understatement. I think you’ve been drinking so much that you need to get help before it’s too late. I think you’ve let the James Ross and the Ecstasy success go to your head. You used to laugh about being a big movie star. Remember? You told me that you were afraid that this,” she motions around the hotel suite, “was going to change you, that playing all of these different characters was going to make you forget yourself. You were afraid that maybe you wouldn’t like the person that you were becoming.”

  “Well, I was fucking wrong. I fucking love this. I fucking love me. Who wouldn’t?”

  “I don’t. I don’t love this. This isn’t a movie. You’re not playing a character right now. It’s just you and me.”

  “This is me. This suite, and this life, those things are all me. I’m sorry if you can’t accept that, if this is too much for you to handle. I should have thought about that, really. I mean, with your background, this is all new for you.”

  “With my background? My little Midwestern, small town, small life, small dreams background? That’s what you really want to say, isn’t it? That this isn’t my world. That this was never going to be my world. Well, maybe you’re right.”

  “Maybe I am. You’re jealous. You’re totally and completely jealous. What is it? Are you still mad about the fake girlfriend thing? That was all Marcus’s idea. And the James Ross people. That’s Hollywood bullshit, Hals. I’ve told you that a million times. We had to make it look real, so I kissed her once for the cameras at the premiere.”

  “This has nothing to do with some fake date that you took to a premiere. It doesn’t even have anything to do with the fact that we can’t be seen in public because some producers that you’ve never even met are afraid that having a girlfriend would make you less desirable to the preteen set. I’m not jealous. You’re an asshole, did you know that?”

  She’s looking at me like she’s never seen me before.

  Part of me wants to fall at her feet and take back everything I said, and pretend that this hasn’t been festering between us for too long. But I can’t. I’m too angry with her, and maybe even with myself. I feel myself falling further into the hole, but I can’t stop it.

  “Oh, who’s the asshole? Of course you’re jealous. What are you doing in London, Hallie? Besides taking advantage of the free room and board, that is.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I really have no idea what I’m doing here.”

  She bites her lip again and turns so that only her back is visible to me. I can see her start to shake. I should want to comfort her, but the fact that she’s turning away makes me even angrier.

  “You need to get your own dreams, instead of hanging around me like some stupid puppy dog. You need to figure out who you want to be in life, because I can tell you right now that I don’t need a nursemaid, or a mother, or another person trying to tell me how to live my life. I mean, really, don’t you think it’s time that you figured out how to have a life outside of me?”

  She spins around suddenly and faces me head-on. “I think you’re right about that. I do need to figure out how to have a life that involves something and someone other than you. Because you know what I don’t want? I don’t want to keep doing this. Because you do need a nursemaid, or a mother. Someone needs to tell you how to live your life, because you sure as hell aren’t doing a very good job of that right now. I’ll tell you right now, though, I didn’t apply for the position of personal assistant to a movie star.”

&
nbsp; “No. You applied for the position of my girlfriend. I don’t see you turning down any of the perks of that, though. That’s probably what you wanted all along, to get a taste of what it would be like to be rich and famous. Isn’t it? How was it, Hallie? Fucking a movie star?”

  She takes a long breath and her eyes narrow into slits.

  “You once told me that you were never going to turn into your father. I have to say that I think you’re doing a pretty fine imitation right now, except for the fact that your father realized his mistakes and he tried to atone for them. But you’re not sorry about anything. And you never will be.”

  Chapter 19

  HALLIE

  5 Years Earlier

  London

  As soon as I say the words, I want to take them back. I’m not sure he’s even heard anything I’ve said, up to that point, but I know the word father caught his attention, because his face fills with rage.

  “Chris…I didn’t mean to say…”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “I just…I’m scared for you. That’s all.”

  “Scared for me? That’s a load of bullshit, Hals. You think…you think that I’m like my father, huh? Like this?”

  He picks up the glass tumbler from beside the bed and throws it against the wall. The shreds of glass shatter and spill onto the carpet. I shrink back into a corner and cover my face. This is how the world ends.

  At least, this is how my world ends.

  “Now you’re afraid of me? You’re afraid I’m going to hurt you? Like that guy did? Back when you were in high school?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve heard you talking on the phone. To Ben. I bet there are a lot of things that you shared with Ben. A lot of things.”

  There’s a nasty little undertone in his voice and I shake my head.

  “That’s unfair.”

  “Yeah. A lot of things in life are unfair. The fact that my girlfriend of almost two years, the one who supposedly loves me to the ends of the earth and back again, tells some random guy everything about her life—that’s unfair. Damn it.” He holds the edge of the counter with his hand and I can see the barely concealed rage starting to shake his body. “I’m willing to accept that because you’ve managed to infiltrate every part of me. You’re stuck so far inside my head that it makes me crazy to think about you and Ben, with your hands all over each other. That’s it, right? You’re leaving me because you’ve had your fill and you’re going to run off and be with him now.”

  He’s acting like a lunatic. I don’t even know what he’s saying. He takes a step closer to me and takes my chin in his hand. He reeks of whiskey and I can practically see the smoke coming off his jacket, and I don’t want him to touch me. For the first time since I met him, all I can think about is how to get his hands off me.

  “You’re scaring me, Chris.”

  “If you’re so afraid, why don’t you just leave?”

  He places his sticky lips near mine. I push him away.

  “Because this isn’t you. The drinking and the late nights and the partying and the movie premieres and taking a Valium every two hours just to get through the day. I know you. The real you…he doesn’t scare me. The fact that the real you might be lost forever…that’s what scares me.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. This is me. And if you don’t like it, then leave.” He lets out a vicious little laugh and moves away from me. “Run away, Hallie. It’s what you’re good at.”

  “Have another drink, Chris. It’s what you’re good at.”

  “I think I will.”

  He walks over to the minibar and takes a small bottle of whiskey and drains it before picking up another, then another.

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  It’s another second before I realize that I’ve said the words aloud. I grab my purse and the suitcase that I packed earlier that night, which is sitting neatly in the corner of the suite, and move them closer to the door.

  “I think it’s time for me to get my own life. Isn’t that what you said? That I have to find another reason to live outside of you?”

  I sound bitter and angry, but I can’t keep either of those things out of my voice, because I think that maybe he was right, that maybe I need to be someone besides Chris Jensen’s hanger-on.

  The inevitable tears are starting to bubble in my throat, but I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing them.

  He glances down at the bottle and looks back up at me. “Come on. You know I didn’t mean it. I just had one too many drinks, you know, with the movie finishing and going back home and I guess maybe I was a little bit drunker than I thought.”

  He laughs nervously, and I see a flicker of the Chris that I fell in love with. He’s taking steps towards me, his face filled with contrition. It weakens my resolve, but I can’t let it, so I take another step towards the door, the suitcase in my hand.

  “You did mean it. And I think I did, too.”

  “I’m sorry. I love you, Hals.”

  He does still love me. I can see it in his eyes and I can feel it in the tender touch of his fingers in my hair. I’m not sure if it’s good enough. I’m not sure if it will ever be good enough.

  I have two choices. He still loves me. I still love him. I can stay, and I can try to fix this. I can try to fix him. I can try to fix me.

  In an instant, I see our life spread out before me. This scene will play over and over, in another hotel suite in another city, after another night at the club. We’ll keep repeating these words until there’s nothing left but anger and regret.

  But there’s another option. I can run away, as he put it. I can leave this hotel room and try to put together some semblance of a life without him.

  The bitch of it is that I still love him. I will always be hopelessly, crazy in love with him.

  I look deeply into his eyes, which are already starting to haze over with the extra infusion of alcohol. It makes the decision easier, but no less painful.

  “Goodbye, Chris. I really hope that you manage to find whatever it is that you’re looking for. Because I’m not it.”

  “Hallie, stop. Stop.”

  His face crumples and I almost break down right there and then. But I’m already turning away. I can’t let this drag out any longer. I can’t stay here.

  “Hals, you still love me. I know you do. You can’t just throw this away. Please. Don’t do this. You know you’re going to regret this in the morning. I’ll even go get those bagels from that place in Notting Hill. We’ll call it apology lox. We’re going back to the States tomorrow and you can go dancing with Sam and everything will be fine.”

  I turn back to him and force myself to meet his eyes. I pray that he’s drunk enough to believe the lie that I’m about to tell.

  “I don’t love you.”

  It costs me more than I can bear to say it.

  “What?”

  It’s easier to say it this time, because he’s already turned away from me. I don’t have to lie with my face, only my words.

  “I don’t love you.”

  His body shakes slightly. It would be imperceptible to almost anyone else, but I’ve spent the past two years of my life memorizing every movement of his muscles. He’s hurting, and every impulse that I have is telling me to throw myself into his arms and try to forget that this whole night even happened. There’s a good chance he won’t remember anyway. I’m halfway across the room when he turns back to me, his face contorted into a rueful little grin.

  “What a sick little game you’ve been playing, Hallie.”

  “I didn’t mean to…”

  “Save it. I never want to see you again. Don’t call. Don’t write.”

  “Chris.”

  “Don’t say my name. Because I can promise you that in a few days, I won’t remember yours. I’m planning to forget that you ever existed.”

  I pick up my suitcase and force my legs, which have turned into stone, to move.

&
nbsp; “Take care of yourself. Please.”

  With that, I shut the door between us.

  I manage to make it to the elevator before I shatter.

  Chapter 20

  CHRIS

  5 Years Later

  Chicago

  I’ve had five years to think about the things that we said to each other in that hotel room. I’m no closer to figuring out what I could have done differently, other than not letting alcohol and fame turn me into a total jackass. But it was already too late for that by the time we got to London.

  The old maxim is that time heals all wounds, but this particular wound has stayed fresh. It doesn’t help that I pick at the edges every once in a while. I guess some small part of me is still hoping that I can conjure up an alternate version of events, some reality in which she doesn’t utter those words: “I don’t love you.”

  The sun is starting to dawn over the horizon, but it doesn’t feel like a new day. It feels like the same old shit.

  I clench my hand into a fist and punch the wall in my hotel suite.

  Nothing is resolved. My apology, five years too late, hadn’t magically rewritten history.

  Pull it together, Jensen.

  I bury my head in my hands before standing up and pacing back and forth. I’ve given her enough time to think. I can’t keep doing this again and again. There’s only one way to fix this, and it doesn’t involve pouting. I grab my jacket, because I fully intend to pound on her door until she answers. There has to be something to say. Anything to say.

  I’m halfway to the door when I hear a voice and the click of a lock.

  “Jensen!”

  The sight of Marcus standing in the middle of the room enrages me. I take the opportunity to use some of the less popular swear words. Even he looks impressed.

  “Are you finished, Jensen?”

  “How the hell did you get a key?”

  “You’re not the only one that can be persuasive.”