Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
You Were Never Real
My whole body aches as if I’ve been in a hit and run. I’m left weak and catatonic, scouring the swarms of people shuffling through the theater.
“Holden.”
“Holden…”
“Holden!!”
Each time, I get progressively louder than the last.
I know where I am, but everyone and everything feels disjointed. Nobody seems to notice a woman wound up tightly like a rubber-band ball, charging through the theater, brushing past anyone who gets in her way.
No, I’m as invisible now as I was ten minutes ago. My feet only stop charging forward when a hand grips at the center of my silk dress, propelling me forward, stumbling my way into a tiny room with no lights.
“Holden?” I say with a shaky breath. He flips the light switch of the room. I take an exasperated breath and see his eyes narrowing on me. Hardened and cold. Jaw twitching as it clenches together. Analyzing every inch of this supply closet he has just dragged me into.
With my back against the wall, he asks, “Did you sell photos of me at the acting class?”
His tone is sharp and piercing, searing into my soul as everything I want to say comes out jumbled.
“No—I mean, yes,” I say.
“Which one is it?” He bites back even stronger, his body no longer leaning over me and trapping me in one place as I sidestep to the other edge of the closet to create distance between us.
How could we have gone from holding hands and giving soft kisses to plummeting on a downward track, where my stomach has dropped so fast that I am queasy and anxious all at once?
“And the premiere—did you know both of them would be here?” He elevates his voice, now pacing in front of me in the shoebox supply closet, barely big enough for the both of us.
“I—”
Everything is caught in my throat.
“Just be honest. That’s what I liked about you.”
“Holden. It’s not what you think…”
“I think you are still working for Blackburn. That you did all of this to convince me to go along with everything.”
“That’s not true.” My words are trembling and I’m fighting the urge to cry that is welling up in my eyes.
“Then, what’s the truth, Charlotte? Because Chris just called me.”
I pause for a moment to ask, “What happened, Holden?” My voice is soft and low as I try not to spook him.
He rubs the back of his neck a few times before shifting on his feet and saying, “You toyed with me. Just like everyone else. You did your job. I was stupid to think otherwise.”
With his ruthless stare and unwavering opinions, I can see that everything feels so factual to him. That any truth I can bring to the issue doesn’t matter. The cracks that formed in him years ago had a tight grip around his neck.
I want to say everything. To say—I see you, Holden. I truly do. The way I see you would probably sting. Instead, I repeat my question.
“What happened while I was gone?”
He cracks his neck before sliding down to the carpeted floor, his lips pressed tightly together and his nostrils flaring. Staring at only his feet.
“Chris told me your plan from the start.”
“What plan?”
My index finger rushes to my temple, holding on to the pulsing headache coming on.
“Pushing me toward Sloane and Graham, so it’s one big media frenzy. Next thing I know, you are going to trap me in a room with them.”
“I would never do that,” I mumble.
His words are packed with bitterness. Whatever I felt was happening between me and Holden is quickly demolished in this moment. We weren’t a what-if. We are at a middle-of-nowhere gas station that is a saving grace while you refuel and get back on the road.
He is back on the road. And I—was never supposed to be here.
I move an inch forward to where he is standing and mouth, I’m sorry. I gently place my hand on top of his. This gesture only seems to repulse him and he shoves it off, pushing me away.
“Sorry,” I repeat before pushing myself off the floor, my shoulders forming goose bumps as the vents blow more air toward us.
“He is your client. Treat him like one,” Skye whispers in my left ear then my right ear. My jaw tightens, noticing the glow sparkling across my neck.
Her words have set me straight. I am standing tall now, shoulders back. Preparing myself to start acting less like an obedient servant and more like a goddamn human being with thoughts and feelings just like anyone else.
I don’t need the necklace to make this painful.
“You were right, Holden. I had a plan. It was devious. I wanted to trick the whole world into believing that you are America’s sweetheart. That everyone deserved to see a side of you that is tucked away, hidden in a little box just like the room in your house full of scripts you want to act in.
“I wanted you to succeed so badly that I shoved down the media’s throat that you loved acting and helping others. That your costars from YEARS ago didn’t bother you. Because what is in the past is the past and you have grown.
“But I miscalculated.”
He says nothing. He just bites harder on his nails, still staring at his feet.
“You can be mad at me all you want. But you wanted to fix your image. That’s why we are here. And I am here to remind you that you are an actor.” I gulp, knowing what is on the edge of my tongue…
“You like to pretend, right? Let’s pretend like they didn’t hurt you. Let’s pretend they didn’t take away your trust and you’re better without them. Maybe—just maybe—the longer you keep pretending, you might actually believe that it’s true. Forget them?”
His eyes go wide, appalled that maybe I know too much or understand deeply that this was never about me.
“You don’t get it, do you? You’ve had ten minutes of this,” he says, and every bit of it stings. I try to keep myself detached from his words, avoiding his gaze, letting his erratic stream of consciousness flow out of him. I’ll let him have this, because as soon as we are done here—that’s it.
“You want to know why I picked on you that day?”
My eyes focus on the sets of spare light bulbs, the first-aid kit, and the cleaning supplies on the black storage rack behind him. Counting each item to myself as he pierces me with his stare.
“You had no real power. I thought I could appease my manager by going with Blackburn with you at the helm. No real change. I didn’t want any of this.”
I inhale the largest breath possible. Regulating my breathing feels like the hardest task in the world.
Disposable. Weak. Nothing more than an agenda-setter, a coffee-runner. My knees feel wobbly, and my legs are starting to give out.
He is looking at me in a way I never thought possible. I am gutted. Before I can run, cry, or do anything that involves me turning into a puddle, he digs in deeper.
I brace for impact.
His voice cracks. “You were never real. Were you?”
My dull gaze is cracking, harder to maintain. The only thing I can do is bite the inside of my cheek with so much pressure I can taste my own blood.
Holden Strauss is only a client, and nothing more.
The Portuguese chant starts up again. “A luz sabe, duas almas incompletas, uma guia a outra.”
I walk over to him and kiss him softly on the cheek to answer his question. I whisper, “Only when I was with you,” before bolting out the door.