Chapter 30 (part 2)

Chapter 30 (part 2)
And my mom knows it too. I’m so devastated—everyone knows, but no one dared to tell me! They planned to hide it from me forever. It sounds like a joke. This is my life, and they’re joking about it. Right now, I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have let myself fall for those green eyes. I’m old enough not to believe in fairy tales; I shouldn’t have believed in it.

…

Mr. Archer snaps me back to reality. He’s looking at me with worry in his eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asks. He’s losing the ‘R’—that’s how Harry talks. Of course, he’s British like him.
I nodded.
“Are we going to start?” He asks.
“Yes,” I say.

Today is my fourth day of shooting. Shooting is a little hard—I never thought I would be acting. It makes it harder remembering Harry in those songs I wrote for him. It’s been two days since that night. And I don’t want to go back to that feeling.

“Okay, Elise. Take number 48! And… action!” Mr. Archer signs.

By the way, fuck that song! I know the story behind it and why I wrote it. Of course, I know it—I wrote the song. So why the hell did they decide this would be a great debut for my career?

The director instructs me to play the song with my guitar as I sit on the grass facing the highway.

The night light on the highway
And a car racing on the highway
Wind kissing our skin
And the moon staring at us
Night light
Trees follow

Mountain
Driving
Looking for something
Moon looking above us

Chorus:
Take me home
Drive me home
Walk me home
But I know night light follows
Take me home
Drive me home
Walk me home
But I know we were together

You hand me
You open the door
Kiss me while the stars sparkle
Pull a chair for me

I stopped in the middle of the song. I couldn’t help but cry. I leave the set and walk straight to the restroom. I don’t even look at the people around. I don’t care what they would think. I needed to breathe. I need to speak to him because I want to see him. I leave the shoot and on my way to the apartment.

The set is quite far from the apartment. I had to take a cab, but I decide to walk for a minute. Maybe I needed to wander a bit. After walking for a bit longer, I decide to take a cab.

There’s someone at the front door. At first, I was frightened, but when I realize it’s Landon, I immediately come closer to where he’s sitting. I sit beside him.

“What brought you here?” I say as I sit down.
“Harry told us what happened.” He looks at me then return to his phone. “We don’t know about the friend of his—the one you’ve been talking about. She was the best friend.” He explains.
“Wanna come in?” I ask. I stand waiting for his answer.
“Sounds great.” He looks at me and stands.

If my apartment had a smell, it would be sadness. The aura of it is nothing but forlorn. The smell is what I always smell and felt when I was in the Philippines. I thought I’m done, but I am wrong—I never thought I could bring it here.

Landon looks neutral when he enter his old apartment. He ignores the smell and the aura. He sits on the couch, wrapping himself in the gloomy atmosphere.

“Want something?” I ask.
“I guess water?” he says, but by the look in his eyes, he isn’t please. He doesn’t really want water or anything.

I got water for Landon and make chocolate milk for myself. Landon’s gesture is uneasy when I return. He’s sitting with his hands clasped, looking at nowhere. There is something in his demeanor. I place the water and chocolate milk on the table. He looks at me, alarm. I sit next to him.

“Is there something?” I ask.

I sat across from him.

His voice is calm. “When are you going to talk to him?”
“Is that your reason for visiting?”
He replies in panic. “No! I just want to see that you’re okay.”
“Maybe.” He adds.

“I’m fine. As you can see.” I cross my legs, placing my elbow on my knee and put my chin on my hands. “Look,” I start. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m about to see him.”

His face glows. I put down my hands, leaving them hanging. He holds my hands. “I’m always here for you.” He smiles. “I’m glad you’ll talk to him. He needs you.”

I look at him. “If Harry told you to check on me, know that you have nothing to worry about.”

“This has nothing to do with Harry. I just want to see if you’re doing fine. That friend of yours really meant something to you. Especially since she died without saying goodbye.” He paused for a second. “Then you learn to trust and love, but it turns out he had something to do with her death.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” I try to stand, but Landon holds my hand.
“You can’t forever run from the things you don’t want to face, Elise.” He says.

He stands towering me.
“I’m not RUNNING!” I yell. “I just told you I’ll talk to him.”
He replies calmly, “Elise, if you’re planning to talk to him, what are you doing here? You’re avoiding it.”
“I’m NOT!” I yell again.
“What are you doing, then?” He stands. “If this is not running, what is this? If this is not avoiding, what is this?”
I stand. “Why do you care so much?”

“I’ve never seen Harry.” He’s fighting with himself whether to continue.
“What is it?” I say. “What’s happening?”
“He…” He avoids my eyes, clasps his hands together, and didn’t continue his sentence.
“Landon. Tell me.”
“Two days ago he got into a fight in a bar. And since then he hasn’t left his room. He hasn’t eaten nor drunk. We called his mom, but even she can’t help.” He looks at me. “You’re the only one who can help him. The truth? His mom told me to talk to you.”

I left the house; Landon followed me. I didn’t say anything, but Landon seems to understand what I’m doing. I take the driver’s seat, but he told me he’d drive. We drive to his apartment, and I go straight to his room. His mom is standing in front of his door, pleading for him to come out.

“God, Elise,” his mom says. “Thank God you’re here.”

I knock on his door once, and he opens it. He peeks out first, and his face glows. I still didn’t say anything. His hair is messy. He opens the door wide and attempt to hug me, but I step backward. He’s still wearing the same shirt he wore two days ago.

When I’m mad, I’m silent. And...
“Elise,” he says smiling, but I could hear the loneliness in his voice.
I punch him in the face.