Runaway

by Winterfelt, Helen

  Runaway

  By

  Helen Winterfelt

  Copyright © 2015 by Helen Winterfelt

  HW Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please contact the author via email.

  Chapter One

  The internet will tell you several things that might seem pretty true because, well, it’s the internet. It’s right there on that screen, and somebody who you’ve never met or even seen before wrote it, so it must be true, right?

  But I can tell you that that’s pretty much total bullshit. Like, they say 1% of the internet is porn. But at least that’s an honest remark, considering the other 99% is more suspect than Pinocchio’s honest labour credentials.

  For example, if you Google my height it’ll tell you that I’m 5”7, when I’m really closer to 5”5 - thank my mom for the perfect-posture force-feeding.

  If you Google my weight it’ll tell you that I’m 110lbs. On a shooting schedule, maybe, but when Casey and me spend a week off binge-watching something on Netflix surrounded by half my local grocery store’s dessert aisle, you can bet it ain’t even close. That’s force-feeding I can blame on myself rather than my mom.

  Point is, it’ll tell you pretty much anything about me, including food preferences, religious connotations and what I grades I got in high school, all of which are far from the truth. Talk about constructed narratives.

  But ironically enough, there is one thing that the reporters of the world seem to know more about than even I myself do. And that’s my dating history.

  Roll down to the Personal Life section on my Wikipedia profile and you’ll see a little precursor line that says how I prefer to keep my personal life private. But then it proceeds with a rather charming ‘Nevertheless, Clarke has been romantically linked with…’ And then the shame-train begins, complete with links to my ex-partner’s profiles if they have them, as well as the exact timelines down to mid-monthly measures. Maybe one day I’ll get drunk enough to log on and vandalise my own page, but then I wouldn’t want anybody to find out that I’d actually Googled myself… Which of course I’ve done. I apologise in advance for being such a dweeb.

  But that wasn’t what I was thinking about as I took a breath and checked myself in the flip-down mirror in the backseat of the limo that my agent had hired for the premiere of Changing Lanes, the Rom-Com from earlier this year in which I had played the quirky female lead alongside my on-screen hubby Marcus Layton.

  The on-screen hubby that I had formed a real relationship with during principal photography for the movie. And the on-screen hubby who was opening my door for me at that very moment.

  I stepped out of the car in my red dress into the thrall of what I can only refer to as stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. The screaming of fans, the rolling flashes of a sea of cameras, the waving of hands and every other little thing that my senses tried to cope with, and in the midst of it all two things stuck out to me.

  The first was the realisation that I had forgotten to wear deodorant. Smooth. And the second was the car door shutting behind me as I turned my head to see the source of said door-shutting – and it was a delicious source indeed.

  I had been with Marcus since about a week into shooting. I had heard of things like this happening before, where an on-screen romance turns into something much closer to home… But in all honesty I had always thought that that kind of thing was complete trash. I just pinned it down to them getting too caught up in their roles, and once they were out of character reality would eventually set back in.

  And I had always told myself to do a reality check several times a day, to remind myself of who I was… But now it had actually happened to me. I had watched it happen so many times in other people’s lives, and now it was happening in mine.

  I felt Marcus lift my slender, bare arm up so that I could wrap it securely through his. I prompted me to look him over for the umpteenth time since we had met, surveying his desirable figure.

  Marcus stood a little over 6”3, with the kind of dark hair, frame and facial features you see airbrushed onto a model for a D&G ad in a magazine, except with two important differences that made him all the more desirable. Firstly, those features weren’t airbrushed onto him – they were very real, something I should have known considering the number of times we had… No, what am I saying, you don’t need to know about that, even if I would love to chatter with you about all of it.

  The second was that he had the ability to actually change his face from that smouldering, personality-void look that so many models and actors pulled when they stare at you from out of the page or the screen. The one he pulled that I couldn’t resist was the one with the toothy smile that flashed his pearly white teeth and made these adorable dimples and his cheeks and- God, listen to me. I was smitten.

  And it was that face that he was pulling right now as he looked down at me with an expectant expression.

  ‘Ready?’ He said, smiling down at me.

  Sure, he had a reputation amongst the press for being something of a Lothario. Well, a lot of a Lothario. That was what had caused such a fuss when he was cast in a film such as this. And the same could be said for when I was cast alongside him. And that times about one hundred when we had started dating. But I wasn’t worried about any reputation that he had. At least, I didn’t think I was…

  Reality check: Quit staring at Marcus and remember where you are!

  I shook my head, my curled hair swaying lightly from side to side and smiled back at Marcus, nodding my head before turning back to the red path ahead, scattered haphazardly with our co-stars, crew, guests and the occasional allowed reporter, while either side of the carpet behind barriers crowded swathes of fans and gossip columnists. Screaming met our appearance as we began our walk up the carpet, slowly and casually, our smiles stamped permanently to our faces.

  Before things had taken off for me it was difficult to wonder why so many people in this industry were such egotistical jerks, but now that I was actually here, the reason was easy to see. In a situation where your attention and presence is craved for by hundreds of people at a time, it’s no wonder why so many let themselves lose track of their own rampaging senses of self-worth.

  Reality check: You’re just a person. A person who forgot to wear deodorant.

  I made my way over to the railings behind which the crowds stood. Pen after pen was handed to me to sign magazine covers, I still feeling like I was half awake because of how insane this all was.

  And things would have been going great without a single hitch, if I hadn’t suddenly heard-

  ‘Emma, how about a comment on your new hubby?’

  I would recognise that voice from a mile away. In high-winds. While I was in a coma.

  Colbie Roberts was a gossip journalist who ran Colbie’s Fantasia, one of the most widely read celebrity websites in the world. It was the kind of festering hub of hardly-truths and outright lies that had been built solely for the purpose of attracting nosy eyes and clicking fingers, where all of the reports on the personal lives of its subjects were traced from a ‘source.’ The source being, most of the time, Colbie’s deluded imagination. But still, readers flocked to her site in droves.

  It was she who had originally published the photos of Marcus and I getting dinner together, of me suffering from delusions of grandeur and depression on the same day, and who had been spreading rumours since the start of our relationship about how it was on the verge of collap
sing. So you can probably ascertain that I didn’t regard as a very nice person.

  And now she was prompting me for a q&a on my personal life.

  I flashed my smiling face in her direction, meeting her undeniably scheming eyes that hid behind her expertly-rehearsed expression of faux-happy-curiosity. I kept my smile, the two of us exchanging these false looks as it suddenly occurred to me how the acting wasn’t always reserved for scenes before the camera. This was a world of false faces and public presentations, and I had to play the part.

  What was it my agent had said?

  Believe me, Emma, if you don’t want to talk about something just say ‘no comment’ and move on.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ I smiled across at Colbie.

  ‘Everybody’s talking about your relationship with Marcus, how are things, Miss Clarke?’ She repeated holding her microphone out before me, beckoning me to speak. Around her, several fans waited intently for some word, as did fellow reporters, eager to share in the knowledge.

  ‘I’d rather not comment,’ I said firmly but politely, holding my smile.

  But immediately I realised that I shouldn’t have said that; the words that should’ve come out of my mouth should’ve been exactly those that my agent had said, and no variation. She had it now.

  ‘And why’s that? Trouble in paradise?’ She said slyly, leaning the microphone out towards me again. By her side, I glanced over at the lens held by her cameraman, filming my every movement and reaction. I was suddenly conscious of every part of myself.

  And Casey would have told me to just smile and move on... But I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘It means that I’d rather keep my personal life just that, personal, rather than parading it around in front of parasites like you, Colbie.’

  O faces streaked across the expressions of everybody in earshot, even Colbie’s cameraman, as sounds of mocking laughter swept in her direction. Colbie lowered her microphone, I watching as her smile fell indignantly away and she glared at me with what I can only describe as malice. I could literally see her thought process as she shoved her tongue into her cheek and clamped her mouth shut, holding herself back from saying anything she might regret. With a careless movement she flicked the power switch on the camera by her side, turning it off as the cameraman lowered it and looked between me and her.

  ‘Fine… I’m sure something’ll pop up from a source or two…’ She said flatly, turning and dragging her assistant away with her.

  I took a deep breath and returned to the fans, enthusiastically signing magazine covers and taking photos with them, my smile still permanently stamped across my face. Only now it was undeniably real.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later I returned to Marcus’s warm, safe side as we entered the front doors of the Palladium Theatre for the premiere of the movie. We entered the lavish, sprawling room and found our seats amongst our co-stars and crew.

  ‘So, and be honest…’ Marcus said from my right side as he turned to me with a charmingly raised eyebrow, ‘How much are you looking forward to this?’

  ‘Hardly…’ I sighed honestly.

  ‘Really? I thought you were joking when you said you weren’t looking forward to this.’

  ‘No, I really mean it,’ I said, clutching at Marcus’s toned forearm, ‘This is quite possibly my worst nightmare… Okay, calling it my worst nightmare is a bit of an exaggeration, but I really don’t enjoy these things.’

  And it was true. I loved almost everything about premieres. I loved seeing fans and signing and chatting with the crowd and all that stuff, and I loved talking with interviewers – aside from Colbie – and I loved being back with the crew together again for the first time since the actual shooting of the movie. I loved all of it. Aside from having to watch myself being another person on-screen. It was cringy as all hell, seeing a side of myself that I would never see in any other situation, and I just wanted to get through it as quickly as possible.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, Hayley leaned over from Marcus’s other side and winked over at me.

  ‘Hey, I don’t suppose you read any of the pre-screening reviews?’

  ‘No, actually,’ I said, ‘Have you?’

  ‘Mmhmm, oh yeah. We got a solid 60% positive.’

  ‘That’s… Actually not bad.’

  ‘I know, right?’

  Hayley leant back in her seat as opened my bag and retrieved my phone, checking it. There were a couple of messages from friends that I would respond to after the movie, but the one I was going to get back to right now was Casey. Casey was my best friend and pseudo-assistant. When things took off for me she was still in need of a job, and there was no way that I was going to leave my best friend in the whole freaking world behind. She handled the less important things that my agent didn’t have time for, and in turn we got to chill out when things weren’t so hectic.

  Casey: Has it started yet honey? I mean I guess if you don’t respond to this it already has, and if that’s the case then have fun! xx

  Me: Nope but it’s about to. I’m mortified.

  Casey: Oh sweetie it’ll be fine just close your eyes and pretend it’s all a bad dream.

  Me: Great advice coach.

  Casey: I live to serve my dear! Try and enjoy it xx

  I locked my phone and dropped it back into my bag just as the lights began to dim and our director took to the stage, his presence met by a torrent of applause. He made a speech as I snuggled up to Marcus’s arm. The film considered, life was wonderful. I had a career that was taking off, one of the hottest guys in the country by my side, and little to no qualms at all.

  What could go wrong?

  Right. That’s what I thought…

  Chapter Two

  The nightmare hits me again, the one that I have had so many times before but I still find it difficult to comprehend. There’s screaming, splashing, bubbles of oxygen on the surface of freezing water, hands scrambling both above and below… And the most overwhelming feeling of dread that I’ve ever had. A life unlived… And I have to deal with that, to live with it myself… A blur as it all become distorted… And then complete silence – that’s the most terrifying thing of all.

  My eyes flickered open in the light seeping around my half-closed apartment blinds. For a minute I remembered where I was and who I was, laying there in bed, the blaring sound of my alarm clock on my bedside table suddenly registering to me as I leaned over and hit it with the flat of my hand, during which I caught the time; 10:37am. The alarm had been going off for over 90 minutes and I hadn’t heard a damn thing as I groggily sat up in my double bed and looked around at my bedroom. Honestly, if paparazzi had access to film actors and actresses first thing on a morning, the world would be a much more interesting place.

  Marcus wasn’t here, but much of the time we didn’t sleep in the same bed seeing as how busy our schedules were… But where had he gone last night? There was nowhere he needed to be today… At least I didn’t think so…

  I sat up and looked about my apartment, a lavishly open space with plenty of closed-off rooms, oddly enough facing away from the sun. A lot of people feel head over heel for natural light, but not me – I liked things dim and out of the way, protected from the camera flash and the blinding light in the sky. I guess I just liked having a place to myself.

  My apartment was in New York on the upper eastside, the kind of place where the artists and the poets of decades ago lived and worked prior to the rent and property price increases by thousands of percent. Now it was home to schmucks and sell-outs like me, highly paid business owners and celebrities who occupied apartments costing millions, the size of which you could rent for a few hundred dollars a month in a Midwestern city… But I liked where I lived – not because it was New York, with all its reputation and whatever, but because it was busy; here I could just slip away into the crowd, become just another person walking the sidewalk. It also meant that the paparazzi had a hard time finding me – sure, they knew where I lived, but
what use was that? Catching me looking trashy in the morning while heading out for a latte? I had learnt a while back not to care what anybody thought of me in this industry – plenty will pass criticism, but you’ve just got to develop and iron shell and push through. Otherwise you’ll go crazy.

  I dragged myself out of bed, clad in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of black underwear, hugging my slender figure. I rubbed my eyes as I looked at myself in the mirror of my dressing table, squinting back at myself in the early morning light before scratching at my messy hair and pulling a face.

  Honestly, if anybody knew the kind of stuff I did when nobody was around.

  I grabbed my phone and wandered through the quiet apartment, passing all manner of objects and props I had kept from sets over the past few years, odd little curios and contextless things that I couldn’t even begin to explain the meaning of – but again, that was how I liked it. Things around me, a cosy place to kick back.

  That said, it was nothing like Casey’s – her apartment was a minimalist’s heaven, with nothing but the bare essentials…

  As the thought of Casey crossed my mind I clicked my phone, illuminating the screen without wondering what to expect – and I what I saw I certainly did not expect. Usually I woke up to a few, but this was madness.

  My closest friends had texted me several times asking if I was okay or if they would like me to come over, and there were others from scattered associates and colleagues, all with this repeated contextless lines, or some freaking variation of it – ‘are you okay?’ ‘Do you need me to come over?’ and the like.

  ‘What the fuck…’ I couldn’t help but whisper to myself, streaming through them all. What were they referring to? Had something happened last night after all the drinking? I couldn’t remember much… I knew I had gotten home fine, and that I had gone early, but…

  My phone suddenly dinged off another three times with messages from Casey asking where I was-

  Me: At my apartment, where else would I be?? What’s wrong??? x