“Damn,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. “This
character’s insane.” He stood up, helping me to
my feet. “If he wants to die, he should just do it
himself. Why make someone else carry the
guilt? Who wrote this crap, anyway?”
The play wasn’t over. This was the new ending,
the one I’d planned with the director. A play
within a play. The crew, energized, began
whispering to the stunned audience, explaining
the new message.
“Seriously, making someone kill you? How
manipulative is that? It’s emotional blackmail
disguised as love.”
L
“And the ‘don’t forget me, take me home‘ bit?
Is he setting up a sequel? So cheesy. Even my dog wouldn’t watch this!”
Ethan’s face hardened. He stared at me, searching my expression.
I leaned against Julian, glancing at the fake blood on his neck. “Go wipe that off,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
“You’re the one who wanted to experience
Garrett’s ‘selfless‘ love,” Julian retorted. “Now you’re disgusted?”
I dabbed at the stage blood with a tissue. “I
had to see for myself how messed up it is to be
the one left behind, burdened with guilt,
destined to make amends in the next life.” I
glanced at Ethan. He clutched his chest, his
breathing ragged, trying to control his
emotions. I knew that pain. It had haunted me
for
<
enough for her, so he pulled this stunt to make
her feel guilty forever.”
Julian chuckled.
I was making it up as I went along, returning the years of emotional manipulation.
Ethan slumped in his seat, his shoulders dreeping, despair etched on his face. My heart ashed, especially after reliving our past life in the hypnosis. But I had to push through the pain:
The final scene. Julian asked, “After all this, de you still think his love was greater than mine?”
I knew what he meant. He was asking for
himself. I glanced at Ethan, the pull, the sense
of destiny, almost overwhelming.
But I refused to surrender, to be controlled by
whoever was writing this story, this eruel,
I looked into Julian’s eyes, eyes filled with
genuine affection, with the spark I’d felt for him, the real spark.
“Screw destiny,” I said firmly. “It’s just a story. I’m not buying it.” I dreamt it. I’m not buying it.
Julian pulled me into his arms. The curtain fell as the narrator’s voice echoed through the theater. “There’s no such thing as destiny. If there is, it’s the person you choose, freely and willingly, without compromise, without regret.”
As the curtain closed, I saw Ethan collapse in his seat.
- 16.
The play, a fresh take on female empowerment, was a hit. We toured for months. I never saw
Ethan again. I hoped he was as resilient as
Garrett, that he’d see the flaws in the narrative,
LITUL
ད
- 17.
Free from Garrett, my symptoms faded. I was
finally free from the author’s pen. After the final performance, Julian finally confessed his
feelings, not on stage, not during rehearsals, but privately, as himself, not a character. He asked me to be with him.
I saw that certainty in his eyes again. Months of performing together, the countless rehearsals,
the unguarded moments
―
he knew we felt
something real.
“Nancy,” he said, his gaze unwavering, “thank
you for breaking free and coming to me.” He
held out a ring, his face full of hope.
I didn’t take it.
“Is getting me to wear this ring… part of your
mission?” I asked softly.
<
The ring clattered to the floor. Julian, the
master of playing any role, looked genuinely
shocked. He recovered quickly, then laughed, a self–deprecating laugh.
“Of course. A woman who can defy destiny
would see right through me.”
I’d suspected a connection between him and Garrett, that he was meant to be my savior. But it wasn’t until Ethan’s return, the fear in Julian’s eyes – not the fear of losing a lover, but
something else
―
– that I considered the
possibility that he was a player in this game, a
character sent to “win me over.” It was just a
theory. My question, the “certainty” I’d
pretended to see, was a test.
He’d given me the worst possible answer.
The air grew thick with tension. Stripped of its
pretense, our intimacy felt fragile, fake. The
sweet moments we’d shared now mocked him.
He lit a cigarette, the smoke making him squint,
as if holding back tears.
“What happens when you complete your
mission?” I asked.
He looked at me through the smoke. “I leave. I go back to my world.”
He was afraid. He was so close. He was afraid I wouldn’t let him go.
I picked up the ring, examining the inscription inside: our initials. He’d put thought into it. He’d even gotten the size right without asking. I slid
it onto my finger. A tear rolled down Julian’s
cheek. He coughed, pretending it was the
smoke.
“Don’t feel bad,” I said, wiping away my own
tears. “We both got what we wanted.”
He looked at me, confused. He should have
known. The therapist had given me two options: detox with Ethan, or transfer my affections.
Julian was just another form of treatment. I’d
suspected him from the moment I read the play, from the moment we met. He was a convenient cure. I wasn’t going to waste it.
Understanding dawned in his eyes. He
chuckled, then took a long drag of his cigarette, and laughed.
He raised his glass. I clinked mine against his.
“Well played, Ms. Nancy.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Garrett.”
We toasted our mutually beneficial
arrangement, tears streaming down our faces.
- 18.
The final curtain fell on our last performance.
Julian held me tight, reluctant to let go.
“This is really goodbye, Mr. Garrett.”
“Go. I’ll be fine. I don’t love you. Or Ethan.” I wouldn’t love someone chosen for me, a puppet master’s toy, not even a savior. I’d fought too
hard for my freedom, for the right to love on my
own terms.
He finally released me, turning to take his bow.
And me, after two lifetimes of scripted
heartbreak, I was finally free.
