Chapter 6: The Great Realization

Besides the initial shock of waking up next to Clint, the morning of the next day passed without any issue. They both dressed themselves in the fashion of a couple that had been together so long that mornings became routine. After kissing her on the cheek, Clint left for his job at the horrible coffee shop in Klines that she and Phil had visited before, promising that he would be back later. She sat around doing basic housekeeping stuff and generally living life. It wasn’t until noon that she laid eyes on her tote bag and suddenly the bad taste in her mouth returned. Story Of A Fading Heartache seemed to whisper to her from beyond the canvas wall like an evil spirit promising a good time. Although she was already reading another book, she made the cautious approach to the bag and pulled it out. Was this always so heavy? 

The thin book felt like a block of steel in her hands as she carried it back to the chair. Falling into the seat, she hoisted the book onto her lap and pushed aside the cover. The second she opened it, she found herself unable to look away. At first she couldn’t help but laugh at the poor writing. It was like reading the work of a high school student who thinks that they are a good writer and had constructed this project between classes. But, as hours passed at the blink of an eye, she got further into the plot and she was hit by a name that hit harder than it had any right to. Millie, the main character, has a dad named Will. 

She laughed. That has to be a coincidence. Will is a common name. Her mind began to race. Anyone’s dad can be named Will. Just because that’s my dad’s name. 

Shaking her head, she continued to read. Then a couple of other, smaller, details started to jump out at her. She was a loner in high school who was too insecure to open up. She has a therapist for an anxiety problem. She reads a lot and… Collins. Her boyfriend Collins. He is so much like… Wait. 

Jo flipped back through the pages, skimming as she went. No… No No No. This doesn't make sense. It's all so… 

Like hitting a wall, she suddenly realized why this book was so familiar.  These things…I am not just reading this. I lived this! This author… How did the author write something so close to the story of my life? My life. Is this MY life? Did the author plagiarize… me? Sure, some lived experiences are very similar but this is unsettlingly close. I feel like I was somehow violated even if I wasn’t aware. Like being at the dentist. How could she plagiarize my life? You only plagiarize from people you know and books. I do not know this person. That would only leave…

The last couple weeks came to the front of her mind like a speeding truck, with cut brakes, slamming into her brain. 

Is that why my life has been so…off? Am I in a book? Am I going crazy? I must be… I have to be. It wouldn’t be the first time hahaha…That doesn’t make any sense. Anyone can have a bit of a crazy life that doesn't mean it’s ruled by an author. It's a coincidence. It has to be, right? Right? But this whole saga has felt like some cheap novel, full of tropes. Two boys yearning for my attention, a super handsome one to create drama. I was made a character for people to relate to but one without a personality so they can see themselves in me. This happens all the time in… It's all a cruel joke. My life, a stupid romance plot that doesn't make sense and has no end to the madness. It just keeps spinning and spinning and spinning and- 

Jo threw down the book watching the pages spread on the floor. Her mind could conjure nothing but dread as she looked around the house at the distorted image of all that she had thought she knew. 

A poorly written plot with even worse execution. So many plot holes too… Like the time. Is it July? Is it the middle of the year? I feel like I was just on break and now I am suddenly back at school. It's confusing and would be a terrible way of keeping readers even if I am fiction. God, if I am in a book then why was the author so lazy-  

She stood but did not know why. Looking around the room, it hit her that maybe she didn't exist. That didn’t make sense either. To her as she was as real as the book that she had thrown onto the ground. She looked down and found that the book was no longer on the floor but rather on the arm of her chair where it had never sat before.

Oh my God…am I not real? 

She began to pace making circles around the living room. She tried to force her mind to stop racing by focusing on nothing but her breathing. One… Two… Three…

She didn’t even notice Clint enter the room before he put his hands on her shoulders stopping her in her tracks. “Are you alright?” 

Jo put on her best smile that she could, and looked up at him. “Of course, darling. Why do you ask?” 

She felt as if she could see every single of his attributes written across his face in simple Century font. Clint could see through her lie but decided not to pursue it “Um, nevermind. Hey, me and my friends are going out tonight. We heard there's a new bowling alley and wanted to check it out. Do you want to come with us?” 

She looked at him like he was absolutely mad. Shaking her head, she felt her knees beginning to buckle. It was all too perfect, too real. Fighting to make her voice seem normal she closed her eyes and spoke. “No, no you go have fun with your friends.” 

Clint reached toward her but she pushed his hand aside. “Are you sure? I can pay for you-” 

“Just go, god damn it. Leave me alone.” Jo never thought she would ever say those words again. Ever since her freshman year of college, she had created a pact with herself to never be alone. At least that she would never push away company. Clint simply assumed it was that time of month, never even thinking that he was the problem or rather that he was the catalyst. 

It was his fault that I read the damn book. He had been the one that manufactured a romantic crisis. He was the reason I was in that classroom. His smile, laugh, everything caused me to fall. He should feel bad. He should be ashamed. After all…

IT WAS ALL HIS FAULT! 

The door slammed with all the force of a soft hand and Clint was gone. She slumped to the floor, hands pressed against the hardwood.Why am I so cold? 

An almost flu-like feeling made her flesh both burn and freeze at the same time. She wasn’t sick, physically at least, but something was definitely wrong. The approach of Emily helped Jo to force herself out of her trance. She hugged the cat hard enough to make her meow in protest. Jo loosened her grip. “Sorry, honey. I am glad you are still here.” 

Emily purred and spun in her lap twice before settling on her crossed legs. Absent-mindedly, Jo stroked the long orange fur of the only friend she had left. The minute spent sitting there was enough to convince Jo to stand on wobbly knees and walk to the bedroom. Shaky hands did their best to help her change into her pajamas and to crawl into bed. Reaching for the nightstand, she wrapped her hand around the bottle of orexin. Forcing her hand to be still, she took the prescribed amount and one more. She wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and wake up from this nightmare. As she faded out of consciousness her mind was chanting a new mantra. Let tomorrow be normal. Let tomorrow be normal. Let…tomorrow…be…Norm-

Madison looked at the manuscript and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was too tired or some other arbitrary reason but, to her tired eyes, Clint was not making the cut. She tried and tried again to make it so that Jo would latch on to him more effectively but nothing seems to work. It was almost as if Jo was resisting her very writing. “My God…do I need to cut him from the story?” 

It was Elsa slumbering upon her lap to which she spoke. The cat was no help as usual and instead answered by hopping off of her in favor of the floor. If she was going to cut him then she would have to do it in a way that doesn’t change anything. Much like pulling the tablecloth, no glass must move. Perhaps once Jo had fallen asleep she could pull a bait and switch. Yes, yes, that was as good an idea as any. Madison was a fan of when characters seemed to take the story into their own hands as it makes it far more interesting. However, Clint was only going to bog her down. So, cracking her knuckles, she prepared to use her metaphorical scissors. No… knife.

The click of a lock and the creak of steel rang through the dark house awakening a mostly asleep Jo. Her drowsy brain immediately began to jump to conclusions Intruder… 

She felt for Clint only to find an empty bed. Oh, right. 

She began to get out from under the covers. You’re worrying too much. 

She stopped to consider her options before hearing a distinct voice from the kitchen. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” 

The alerted mumbling tickled the inside of her strained ears. Clint. When did he come back? 

Jo pushed off the covers, put on her glasses, and silently walked to the door. Ear to the wood she was able to make out another voice, a woman. “Hello, Clint. I don’t believe we have met, my name is Madison Wood.” 

Jo opened the door just enough to see a shorter woman standing as if she owned the world. Opposite her stood Clint holding a knife, on the table beside him was a half cut apple and a jar of peanut butter. The woman named Madison held out a hand to Clint, to which he responded by only gripping the knife tighter. “How did you get into our house?” 

White knuckled, He held the knife out before his quivering self as if he were wielding a sword against an opponent upon the battlefield. Madison merely looked at the tip that hovered inches from her face, smiling with the smug look of a general with command over thousands of archers behind her.  “Look, Clint.” 

She put a finger on the tip and began to lower it. “If I were to explain what was happening we would be sitting here for another couple pages. So, could you just lower the knife before you try to do something rash that I know you won't be able to accomplish? I don’t want this to be any more painful. I have wasted a lot of words on you after all.” 

Stubborn resilience and dumbfounded fear kept Clint’s arm firm within its defensive grip. “Answer the damn question. Or I will.”

He raised the knife as if preparing to perform a killing strike to the unsettling intruder. Madison sighed, allowing her head to hang in disappointment. “Are you happy, Clint? And I don't mean with the current situation, of which I have made sure you aren’t, or anything. I mean with Jo.” 

A creole of emotion flashed across his face but not a word escaped his tongue. Madison took a step closer, slowly lowering her hand onto his. “Just as I thought, tongue tied.” 

Clint allowed the knife to fall into the strange woman’s hand like a marionette on her string, “All the charm and quite the face too. It is a shame that these gifts I have bestowed will all be for naught but, for a creative writer, you should be more quick witted.” 

She shook her head, examining the blade and wiping the peanut butter from the edge onto a napkin that had appeared in her hand. “It's a shame, really. I really did like writing…you.” 

A precise motion, like a snake upon a mouse, the blade buried itself into Clint’s stomach, “You just…didn’t read well.” 

Jo felt anchored to the floor as she watched her lover collapse into a heap of clothing and blood. The clatter of the knife on the floor jolted Jo out of her state of shock. She tried to scream but her voice was gone. Something had taken it away. It had become as if she had never wanted to scream. Tears urged their way onto her cheeks as she dropped to her knees. She could feel her knees bruise and the pain was enough to force her to her shaking feet once more. Then the tears were gone. As were the bruises. They were never there. Jo threw the bedroom door open harder than she intended. Although there was probably a hole in the drywall she didn’t care, she had to find the psychopath who did this. But, when Jo had pushed aside the tears that weren’t there, enough to see the woman was gone, like smoke. The folded man groaned causing her focus to shift. Unbruised knees hit the hard floor, once more creating welts that this time stayed. Now it made sense. When she was on the ground, Jo attempted to roll over Clint and found him heavy. She found him light. She found him easy to turn over. No, it was hard and therefore rewarding when she eventually did after struggling for five… ten minutes. Once he was on his back her first instinct was to check pulse, but the groaning had ceased and Jo could do nothing but look at his still eyes. Jo could do nothing but look at the gaping wound. Jo couldn’t not look at his eyes. She always looked at his eyes before as she did now.

Out, she had to get out. Anywhere was bound to be better than here. She rubbed her eyes until they stung and tried to think somewhat clearly. If I call the police they will think I killed him and if I stick around it will have the same effect… 

Absent-mindedly, Jo yanked the butterfly tote bag off of the coat rack. Into it she shoved her wallet and phone. As she was doing so, the image of the stupid romance book on her nightstand caught her eye. Adrenaline fueled panic tore ‘Story Of A Fading Heartache’ in half, littering the floor with pages that now meant nothing to her. Back in the living room, Jo stomped on her beaten up Converse, not bothering to tie them. Actually she tied them tight. Once her laces were double knotted, she leaned over Clint once more. Shaking lips kissed his cold forehead. Kissed his lips. His cheek. No, his forehead is so much more dramatic. She ran to the front door only to find it still locked. Damn it. 

Quaking hand undid the lock while the other gripped the handle. In a matter of seconds Jo stood in the street. Night filled her lungs as Jo looked to the deep blackness of the sky. Voice cracking with fear, she screamed into the ignorant void “I know what I am!”