I Called For Help, He Called It Jealousy Chapter 11

I Called For Help, He Called It Jealousy Chapter 11

A blinding white light flashed. I opened my eyes with a gasp and sat up in a soft bed.

I looked down at my hands, whole and unburned, and let out a long breath. Then I pushed back the covers,

got out of bed, and walked over to my desk.

There it was: the battered manuscript of that terrible romance novel, Burning for You.

That was what had started all of this. I’d complained that its plot was unbelievably stupid, and I’d been dragged into its world and forced to play a part.

I picked up the manuscript and flipped straight to the final page. What had once been blank now held an

ending that had written itself.

[Ethan Cole died in a fire. Lily Harper grew old and died in prison.]

So much for the romantic leads.

“Nice work.”

I picked up the scissors from my desk and cut the manuscript to pieces without a second thought. Scraps of

paper fluttered into the trash like snow.

That disgusting plot and all its precious plot armor went into the garbage with them.

The first light of morning shone through the window. I took a glass of milk out onto the balcony.

Down in the small park, a group of older people were doing their morning stretches. Children with backpacks

chased each other along the sidewalk, chattering and laughing.

Everywhere I looked, people were simply getting on with their lives. This was what living was supposed to

feel like.

I changed into comfortable workout clothes, put on a little makeup, and grabbed my keys. Downstairs, I went

into the café and ordered an iced Americano and a croissant.

The young woman at the counter handed me my drink with a bright smile. “Here’s your iced Americano. Have

a wonderful day.”

I

“Thank you.” This time, the smile I gave back was real.

I found a seat by the window and opened a job-search app on my phone. For three years in that ridiculous

world, I’d been forced to make being someone’s girlfriend my entire life.

Every day had revolved around a man: his comfort, his moods, whatever he happened to need. I’d let my own

professional skills go unused while I worried about losing him.

Now I wanted my life back, all of it.

After applying for a few jobs I actually wanted, I lifted my cup and took a sip. The coffee’s bitterness gave

way to a faint sweetness.

A siren suddenly sounded at the intersection. A fire truck sped past, its bright red body flashing through my

view.

I watched it go without feeling a thing. The memory of being burned alive, the betrayal and the despair, all

belonged to a strange, terrible dream.

I was awake now. It no longer had any hold over me.

Maybe I’d meet someone someday. Maybe I’d fall in love again and have a normal, healthy relationship.

He wouldn’t need to be a hero. He just had to be honest and kind, someone who wouldn’t sacrifice me when

danger came.

Or maybe I’d stay single for the rest of my life and still have a wonderful one. Whatever happened, I would

never put my life in someone else’s hands again.

My coffee was gone, and the sunlight was just right.