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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
The cotton ball on my arm was already turning pink when I realized nobody at the clinic had asked me whether I wanted to stay and see Brendan.<\/p>\n
I had spent forty minutes giving blood because his friends had told me he was fighting for his life. They had called after midnight, one voice after another breaking through the darkness with fragments of panic: a crash, a private track, severe injuries, an urgent need for compatible blood.<\/p>\n
I believed them because Brendan had been my boyfriend for three years, and because loving someone had always meant, to me, showing up when things became frightening.<\/p>\n
The private clinic in La Jolla was almost unnaturally quiet. The polished floors reflected the fluorescent lights, and somewhere behind the reception desk a printer hummed steadily. My legs still felt unsteady from the donation, so I walked slowly toward the elevator, pressing one hand against the wall for balance.<\/p>\n
Then I noticed a woman in pale blue scrubs carrying a small insulated medical cooler.<\/p>\n
There was nothing unusual about that until she turned slightly and I saw the handwritten label taped across the lid.<\/p>\n
CHLOE BENNETT.<\/p>\n
My name.<\/p>\n
I stopped walking.<\/p>\n
For several seconds, I simply stared at it. The woman continued down the corridor, apparently unaware that I was following her with my eyes.<\/p>\n
Then she pushed open a side door.<\/p>\n
Something about that movement bothered me. I couldn’t have explained why. Maybe it was the fact that my name was written on a medical container. Maybe it was the strange absence of urgency in a hospital where I had supposedly just donated blood to save someone’s life.<\/p>\n
I followed.<\/p>\n
The door swung inward, and I saw the woman remove my blood bag from the cooler.<\/p>\n
She looked at it for barely a second before dropping it into a red biohazard container.<\/p>\n
I froze.<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n
For a moment I wondered whether dizziness had distorted what I was seeing. I had just given blood. Perhaps my mind was connecting unrelated things.<\/p>\n
Then laughter came from farther down the corridor.<\/p>\n
It was muffled at first, then clearer as I moved toward the sound.<\/p>\n
Someone said my name.<\/p>\n
I stepped closer to a partially open VIP-suite door.<\/p>\n
\u201cI still can’t believe Chloe fell for that.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words were followed by several bursts of laughter.<\/p>\n
My hand went cold.<\/p>\n
I knew that voice.<\/p>\n
Brendan.<\/p>\n
I leaned toward the opening.<\/p>\n
He was sitting comfortably on a hospital bed, his phone in one hand, his hair neatly styled. There was no blood on his clothes. No oxygen mask. No bandage. No visible injury. Nothing about him suggested that he had been involved in a catastrophic accident.<\/p>\n
Around him stood Mason, Wyatt, and several of the same friends who had called me hours earlier sounding as though they could barely speak through their grief.<\/p>\n
Brendan glanced at them and smiled.<\/p>\n
Mason slapped the side of the bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat has to be one of our best yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wyatt lifted his hand and began counting on his fingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cNinety-six.\u201d<\/p>\n
The number meant nothing to me.<\/p>\n
Then they started laughing again.<\/p>\n
I stood outside the door, unable to move.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe silver bracelet was still funnier,\u201d one of them said. \u201cRemember when we convinced her Brendan had lost it in the park?\u201d<\/p>\n
Wyatt laughed. \u201cShe searched through that storm for hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe got sick afterward,\u201d Mason added.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd still called Brendan the next morning asking whether he had found it.\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened.<\/p>\n
I remembered that night.<\/p>\n
I remembered the rain soaking through my jacket. I remembered crawling beneath benches and searching through muddy grass because I thought the bracelet mattered to him. I remembered waking with a fever and apologizing because I hadn’t found it.<\/p>\n
At the time, Brendan had kissed my forehead and told me I worried too much.<\/p>\n
Now his friends were laughing about it.<\/p>\n
I stayed near the wall, barely breathing.<\/p>\n
Another story followed.<\/p>\n
They had once convinced me Brendan had suffered complications after surgery and was unconscious. I had spent an entire night sitting in a chapel, praying for him.<\/p>\n
They remembered the plagiarism accusation during my final semester at university, too.<\/p>\n
Someone had sent anonymous evidence claiming I had copied another student’s work. I had spent days defending myself, terrified that the accusation would destroy my degree.<\/p>\n
I missed my own graduation ceremony.<\/p>\n
Brendan had told me afterward that life sometimes handed good people unfair circumstances.<\/p>\n
I had believed him.<\/p>\n
The room suddenly seemed smaller.<\/p>\n
All those moments I had filed away as bad luck were sitting in that room as entertainment.<\/p>\n
Then Mason said something that made my chest stop.<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly three more.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wyatt frowned. \u201cThree more what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThree more revenge acts. Then the hundredth\u2014or whatever number we agreed on\u2014doesn’t matter anymore. The deal is done.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brendan smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd after that?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mason leaned against the wall.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou finally end things with Chloe and get Scarlett back.\u201d<\/p>\n
Scarlett.<\/p>\n
Her name struck with a familiarity I couldn’t place at first.<\/p>\n
Then the memory returned.<\/p>\n
Scarlett Montgomery had been the dancer everyone expected to win the regional contemporary championship four years earlier.<\/p>\n
She had elite coaches, expensive training, sponsors, and a family whose name opened doors.<\/p>\n
I had none of that.<\/p>\n
My father worked as an accountant in San Bernardino. My mother taught at an elementary school. I had trained in borrowed studios and worn costumes repaired by my mother at the kitchen table.<\/p>\n
Yet I won.<\/p>\n
I could still remember my parents standing in the front row.<\/p>\n
My mother cried.<\/p>\n
My father recorded the entire performance on an old phone whose battery nearly died before the final applause.<\/p>\n
I had always considered that night one of the happiest memories of my life.<\/p>\n
Apparently, someone else had considered it an unforgivable insult.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe beat Scarlett,\u201d one of the men said. \u201cBrendan never accepted that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat’s why he started dating her.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped breathing.<\/p>\n
Brendan didn’t correct them.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe needed Chloe completely attached before he started,\u201d Mason continued. \u201cThe point was to make sure she understood what it felt like to lose something every time she thought she was finally safe.\u201d<\/p>\n
A strange ringing filled my ears.<\/p>\n
Three years.<\/p>\n
Three years of dinners, holidays, birthdays, arguments, reconciliations, promises, and whispered conversations in the dark.<\/p>\n
Three years of thinking I was building a life with someone who loved me.<\/p>\n
Brendan leaned back against the pillow.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon’t make it sound dramatic,\u201d he said. \u201cNobody forced her to do anything. Chloe always gets herself involved.\u201d<\/p>\n
The casualness of his voice hurt more than shouting would have.<\/p>\n
He wasn’t ashamed.<\/p>\n
He wasn’t even angry.<\/p>\n
To him, I was simply a willing participant in a game I had never known existed.<\/p>\n
I stepped backward.<\/p>\n
My heel caught against the wall.<\/p>\n
Nobody noticed.<\/p>\n
I kept moving until I reached the elevator, then pressed the button repeatedly with shaking fingers.<\/p>\n
When the doors opened, I stepped inside and finally allowed myself to breathe.<\/p>\n
The elevator descended slowly.<\/p>\n
I stared at the bruise beginning to form around the needle mark on my arm.<\/p>\n
My blood had been collected under the assumption that someone I loved was dying.<\/p>\n
It had been thrown away.<\/p>\n
I walked outside and sat on a concrete bench near the entrance.<\/p>\n
The night air was cool against my face.<\/p>\n
My phone vibrated.<\/p>\n
Mom.<\/p>\n
I almost didn’t answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cChloe?\u201d she said. \u201cAre you awake?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father finalized everything today. The house in Tucson is ready. We’re moving next week.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked down at the bruise.<\/p>\n
For months, my parents had been asking me to move with them.<\/p>\n
I had always refused.<\/p>\n
Brendan was here.<\/p>\n
My life was here.<\/p>\n
My future was here.<\/p>\n
I suddenly realized none of those things were true anymore.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you save me a room?\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause.<\/p>\n
Then her voice softened.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I’m coming home.\u201d<\/p>\n
After we hung up, another notification appeared.<\/p>\n
Brendan.<\/p>\n
COME OVER TOMORROW MORNING. WE STILL HAVE THREE THINGS TO RESOLVE.<\/p>\n
I stared at the message.<\/p>\n
Three things.<\/p>\n
Three remaining acts.<\/p>\n
Whatever he thought was coming next, I knew one thing for certain.<\/p>\n
I wasn’t going to meet him as the woman who had walked into that clinic.<\/p>\n
I was going to meet him as someone who finally knew the truth.<\/p>\n
The cotton ball on my arm was already turning pink when I realized nobody at the clinic had asked me whether I wanted to stay and see Brendan. I had … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5755,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5756","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-sharestory"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5756","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5756"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5756\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5782,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5756\/revisions\/5782"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5755"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5756"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5756"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5756"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}