Falling Helplessly

Chapter 1 | Everything is Perfect

Falling Helplessly

1
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ISABELLA

"Not this movie again!" I cry out as Addison hits play, staring at the TV with an impish smile. I lunge at her, trying to pry the remote from her hands, but she doesn't let me, she doesn't budge. Her blonde hair cascades over my face, some strands fall into my mouth, causing me to choke.

I spit them out as we roll around on the couch like children. Just as I reach for the remote, she shoves my face into the cushions, and our arms fly furiously through the air. "How can you not want to watch The Notebook!" she shouts as I attempt to pin her to the couch.

I pause and my mouth falls open. "We have watched it twice this week!" I reach for the remote once more, but she holds it high in the air behind her.

"So what? You watch Gilmore Girls daily," she mocks out of breath.

"It's a tv show, meaning the plot progresses each episode! The Notebook is the same thing every time."

She resorts to her typical pouty face. Her plump lips protrude outward, slightly quivering. I roll my eyes dramatically. She had to go there. And if I don't give in, she will sulk the rest of the night. I contemplate whether I want to deal with her sulking and eventually surrender. She leans into the couch, a victorious grin dancing on her face like she won a race, and she hits play.

I huff, shoving popcorn into my mouth. "I hate you."

"Love you." She elongates the vowels, puckers her lips, then takes the bowl of popcorn from my lap.

Sometimes I wish I had a submissive best friend. But then I think about how boring my life would be if Addison was ordinary.

Addison and I have been best friends since our freshman year of college. We met at a party when I saw a boy feeling her up. She tried telling him she wasn't interested, but he didn't listen. Me being me, I stepped in to stand up for her. Long story short, the guy left with a bloody nose, and I left with a new best friend.

I look over, noticing her eyes welling with tears as the movie title illuminates the screen. I shake my head. She always tears up before the movie starts, it doesn't make sense.

"Your eyes are wet," I say.

She sits up, running her hand under her wet nose. "It's my allergies."

"You don't have allergies," I state, but she ignores my comment.

She keeps me sane most of the time: emphasis on most.

My attention is elsewhere during the start of the movie. But every so often, I glance toward her. Her hair hides the side of her face, her body is turned away, and her hand rests on her chin—most likely gnawing on her nails. I know she is crying again, and I can't stifle my laughter. I take the popcorn bowl from her lap and replace it with a tissue box from the coffee table, then munch away.

Halfway through the movie, an odd smell emanates through the air. I scrunch my nose, trying to gauge the scent. "Addy," I say, getting her attention.

"Bell, I said I'm not crying—"

"No, what is that smell?"

She sits up abruptly, and her eyes dart back and forth through our apartment. A slew of swear words spews out as she dashes into the kitchen. I follow suit. "When you were showering, I thought I'd try making brownies," she says, opening the oven. Suddenly, thick, black smoke pours out, surrounding us like storm clouds, and we start coughing.