House of Change by Daniel O'Brian.

Miranda liked the title, and that was the extend of it. The story itself was lackluster, fantasy aficionados wouldn't find much novelty, those looking to be afraid would miss the shiver down their spines.

That was for the literary criticism. Daniel was also her boyfriend, and he managed to become a published author, which in itself was a feat far beyond her personal appreciation of his book.

This, and more, she thought as she picked up the book to buy it from the store. The pile was rather low, she wasn't the first to buy, despite Daniel having no real reputation as writer to speak of.

"If I may, tell your boyfriend I adore his work," said the clerk, a young, somewhat sheepish looking man.

"Of course," she replied.

A few steps from the exit, she turned back and added, "how do you know my boyfriend wrote it?"

"I'm friends with him."

Odd. Daniel had never told her about him. Nor did she like the glint in his eyes. She left the store, forgetting the strange encounter once outside.

How long had it been since last time she sat on a bench to read a book? She couldn't remember. She decided to celebrate by rekindling this old habit. She found a lone bench in a park, sat down, well protected from the cold in her heavy coat. She smelled the book, just like new, and opened the first page.

She turned page after page. And didn't remember a thing.

Yet she had read several drafts, had encouraged Daniel to go for a bolder opening, had an idea of the general themes. So where was the story about adventure and polymorphism? Where were the sentences and style she knew to dislike?

Instead, the words flew in an alien way, she felt them worm their way under her eyes, and when she closed the book to gaze at the sky above, she still sensed how the words burrowed through her.

It was unpleasant, and incomprehensible. There was no story, she wasn't sure what she had read, only that it had an impact on her.

Passerby nodded at her, with a smile she could only describe as perfectly fake.

"Wonderful book, is it not?" said an elder woman walking with a crutch. In her bag, a copy from House of Change.

For a moment, all motion stopped in the park. Walkers and runners stood in place, gazing straight at Miranda, sporting the exact same wrong smile, carrying their copy of Daniel's book.

She rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again, movement had resumed, as if nothing had happened.

She was sick, had to be.

Against her better judgement, she opened the book again.

The words slipped down her spine, tickled her ribs, swelled her heart. The words played in her flesh like a mad spark ready to create chaos, and through the chaos, make her anew.

A gasp, someone stripped the book from her hands. She had stopped breathing, nearly passed out.

"Don't read too much into it," said the voice of the man who had taken the book.

She looked up.

"Daniel?"

No noise, no motion. They were all looking at them, without a smile, but with that glint in their eyes.

"What is this?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"It isn't a story," Daniel explained, "it's more of a guide. As a human you are both sculptor and sculpture, but I never liked the rudimentary ways we have to practice our art. So I devised... new methods."

Miranda would have told him to knock it off already. But the words still squirmed underneath her skin, eager to break free.

A young boy approached them. As he walked, his shadow distended, the audible crack of breaking bone was heard. His legs got longer with each step, muscles tearing to accommodate the new architecture, spine creaking, pulling on the nerves.

"Oh god," she whispered, as the looming child's frame hid the sun from her.

She passed out.

When she awoke, she was in bed.

What a nightmare it had been. What pleasure it was to wake up under a warm blanket, secure and cozy.

Miranda rubbed her eyes, gasped when she saw House of Change on the nightstand.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the book.

"Not you," said Daniel as he put his own hand on the book to keep it closed.

"Why not?"

"I don't want you to change."

Miranda shook her head, was about to scream, kept it in through sheer willpower.

"Enough. It's a bad joke. I'm just sick, that's all."

"You're not sick."

"I said enough," it was both an order and a plea.

Daniel sighed, and rose. She heard the already familiar crack, saw the bone splinters poke through the flesh and clothes, dragged the blanket to her as a feeble attempt to protect herself as a new set of bloody, spidery limbs protruded from Daniel's torn back.

There he stood, still, smiling, bloody, and bloodily happy.

Out of wits, Miranda asked:

"Why don't you want me to change?"

"Few things are precious enough to be kept as they are. You are one of them."

Daniel left the room with his book.

He pleaded with me as I packed my suitcase. "It's doesn't mean anything. It's just fiction."

"Based heavily on your actual life," I spat, tossing several shirts into my luggage. "And you and I both know that's bullshit because if it was just fiction, you would've shown me the real pages you wrote. Instead of just stroking my ego to keep me quiet."

I'd been so proud of him when he'd gotten the book deal. I knew how many years he'd spent trying to make it as a writer, all the novels he'd left unfinished, all the rejection letters he'd got. I'd comforted him after every single one. Until finally an offer letter.

When I asked to read the book, he hesitated. It went over my head then, the way his eyes flooded with fear when I asked to read a couple pages. I just thought he was heady with champagne. He e-mailed them to me a few days later. Truthfully I was impressed but surprised the publishers had gone for it. His writing was beautiful, it always was. The characters were pulled straight from life. He might've changed a few names but clear as day I recognized his mother, his friends, his brothers. Even me. He'd included bits and pieces of our story, only the good parts which I was grateful for, even though deep down I felt it left the book without much conflict.

Little did I know, I'd only gotten the friends and family version.

"Did you really think, I wouldn't find out? That no one would find out?" I yelled. "That I am so easily appeased and illiterate that I wouldn't buy my own fiance's book?"

He sighed, ashamed. "I... didn't think it would matter."

I scoffed. "You didn't think it would matter that you tore me shreds in your book?"

"I changed the names!" he desperately reminded me. "It's not like anyone knows that it's you!"

"EVERYONE KNOWS THAT IT'S ME!" I roared. "WHO ELSE IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE?!"

I'd picked up a copy of the book yesterday, practically giddy when I saw it displayed front and center at our favorite bookstore. That giddiness turned to horror when I actually started reading it. He'd written about everything. Every single detail I shared with him in confidence. My parents, my depression, my mistakes... my assault. Raw and exaggerated, it was all out there for everyone to see.

And, see they did. Suddenly all the hushed whispers and side glances I'd been getting at work and from friends made sense.

He begged me to stay but I refused. I couldn't spend another night in the apartment, looking at his face. If I could've fit the last three years in the suitcase and taken it with me, I would've. I settled for a couple of outfits, some shoes and what was left of my dignity.

As I stood in the elevator waiting for it descend to the ground floor, I ruminated on all the times he'd kissed me on the forehead and called me his muse.

I used to think it was a compliment.

As I finish the book, I am confused by what I just read. I have to double check the cover a few times to make absolutely sure that I picked up the right book? Could this really be the right book? The draft that I read was a self-help book about how to organize your life and find inner peace through organization. It didn't have any mention of any dragons. And it certainly didn't have any male dragon on male dragon erotica.

I start thinking about what this could mean. Is this her way of saying that she is unsatisfied? Does she want me to dress like a dragon? If she does would I be willing to do it? I don't know, I guess I could.... Sounds like a hell of a costume. Where do I even go for such a thing.

Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe she doesn't want me to dress up at all. Maybe it is something else. I remember how vividly she described the dragons. How they had length and girth and veins. The monstrosity and power of the size. You know what, never mind. I'm gonna go with that she wants me to dress up as a dragon. Final answer. That is definitely it and nobody is going to change my mind. And if anyone even whispers "male fragility" I swear I will go slap city on you.

Sighing, I realize that the truth is I am just going to have to talk to her. Why would she hide this from me? Why is this a completely different book from what she said she was writing? And why did the one dragon breathe fire up the other dragon's bunghole?

I hear the garage and know that she has arrived.

I approached her with a smile and held the book up signaling that I bought it.

She smiles back but questions why I bought it when I've already read it at home.

I tell her the final draft was significantly different from the version I read.

She tells me the editor probably made a few final edits.

I tell her that she should try opening it up if she hasn't already.

And she does. At first there was confusion. Then shock. Then anger.

She is on the phone with her editor, her publicist, her agent. She is yelling about the smut that ended up in her book. There is confusion all around. Nobody knows how it happened. And the main thing that I think is that I guess I painted my balls green for nothing.

I have to admit, seeing my partner’s novel in colourful, glossy piles in the windows of the biggest bookshop in the city felt good. He’d been working on it for more than two years, while I paid the bills, and when he’d sent it away to a big publisher, the arrival of a massive, £50,000 advance cheque had been amazing.

Bill had done most of the work, but I’d done my bit: it was one of our rituals to read a few pages together, every Sunday afternoon and discuss the character, plot, and future developments. Bill preferred it that way. I left him alone for the rest of the week as he said he could concentrate better that way. In a little office he rented. No distraction.

I’d been looking forward to getting my hands on the first copy and I’d been queuing since 8 a.m., waiting for the shop to open. Bill was going to be so surprised when he got home tonight. I have to say, I was very surprised that the publisher didn’t give him an advance copy , if only to proof read it, but what do I know about publishing? Maybe they do it all by email these days? Well they’re paying, so I guess they get to call the shots.

There’d been a big publicity campaign, telling people how good the novel is. Transformational, one called it. Bill’s been giving interviews and telling people how it’s all based on his own life experiences. There’s been so much hype that the queue to buy it snaked round the block. I’m so proud…

My heart skipped a beat as the bookshop staff unlocked the door and the crowd surged forward, which caught me by surprise. They’re so keen! Still, I’d made sure I was near the head of the queue. I had to get a copy today! Bill’s first published novel!

At twenty quid, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s all money in Bill’s pocket, and from the way the crowd were buying the copies, they would be sold out soon!

I hugged my precious copy to my chest and made my way to the checkout.

“I’ve heard it’s brilliant!!” The cashier was bubbling with enthusiasm. “Best erotic fantasy since Fifty Shades! Better, even!”

“Erotic fantasy? But I thought it was a mystery novel…”

“Oh no. It’s about a bored husband who manages to sleep with every woman under the age of 70 in his entire street! He tells his wife he’s writing a novel, but sets up a shag-pad and gets to it…

I didn’t need an imagination to know what “it” was.

I put the book back on the shelf. No point in letting Bill know that I knew. I dare say I’ll be able to pick up a copy in a few months as evidence in the divorce courts. I can wait. Half of a just published author’s assets aren’t much. But half of a multimillion selling author’s assets are something else entirely.

‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book. I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’. Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.

I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.

It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.

Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.

Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.

I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.

I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.

I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.

But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her. The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.

When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.

Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.

Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.

I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.

There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.

I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.

I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac. There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.

She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her

When I bought this book, I didn't know what I expected. It certainly wasn't this, though.

When Angela told me she had managed to get a publishing deal for the book she wrote and I helped edit, I was ecstatic for her. She had managed to achieve her dream, after all.

But this was... Well, it was crap. Nothing like what she wrote in the first place. I felt bad for her now, money or no money. It sure feels hollow when dreams are fulfilled in seemingly the worst way possible...

It was as if someone took her story, removed all evidence of good writing, then turned it into yet another vapid teen romance book about a vampire! The characters were renamed, story aspects that made it make sense before were removed and replaced nonsense, and many dialogs were edited heavily in a way that made the characters seem more juvenile... The only part that stayed true to form was the sex scenes, bizarrely, though they lacked the previous immaculate romantic context.

"This fucking sucks" I said to myself, finishing the first few chapters while sitting in the bookstore parking lot. "I hope Angie isn't too disappointed"

When I got home, I thought about how to ask her delicately about the travesty that was her book, but it seems my brain got ahead of me before I could think it through all the way.

"Honey, why is your book trashier than a dumpster fire now"?

I probably could have worded that better.

"Excuse me?"

Yup, judging by her sudden glare, I definitely could have worded it better.

"Yeeah, what's with the vampire nonsense and the suddenly awful dialog?“

Maybe I shouldn't have doubled down but my dumbass ADHD brain was on a roll tonight

"Vampire nonsense? What? Give me that"

Luckily, that seemed to catch her attention. I quickly handed her the book before she could try to rip it out of my hands.

After a few minutes of reading, I swear I could see the veins in her face like she was some kind of cartoon character.

"It seems I have to take another look at that publishing contract."

As she spoke through a clenched jaw, her expression was simultaneously pained and enraged like someone hit a baboon with a whiffle bat as hard as they could. I backed away a bit. This wasn't good.

"Uhh...anything I can help you with?"

I was pretty lost at how to handle this and definitely did not want to be lashed out at. I tried the safe option.

"If you could make me a drink and start dinner I'd appreciate it. I have a contract to read, a lawyer to call and an angry letter to write"

"Yes ma'am! Happy to help! Ummm... Good luck with that?“

She rubbed her temples and sighed loudly.

"...just shut up and get me that drink before you dig yourself a hole"

"Okay!"

I smiled at her as cheerfully as possible And that was that. I stifled my private chuckle as she groaned at me again.

I really do hope she gets this works out. I forsee a looong week ahead of me.

sitting on the couch, i pick the book up, flipping it over and smiling at my husband face on the back, the cover look different then I remember, but i shrug it off. I only ever saw the finished cover once. I flipped the page open and start to read but to my surprise, it was different. the sweet and kind words that my husband show me was replace with an different language, one i didn’t know. “i swore i pick up the english verison.” i look at it and stare, i could read it perfectly. “okay; weird.” i shake my head, wondering if i was daydreaming, i was suck into the book, each word flowing through my brain, i lost track of time, suddenly it was yank out of my head and i met my husband eyes.

“nonono!” my husband shirked. “we have an deal! if i write the book!-“ “we will leave your wife alone,” my body mocked, standing up. i tried to move but couldn’t. i was stuck. “we did, she still here.” my husband take an step back. “we have an deal! give me my wife back or i-“

“i’ll what?” my body mock, picking up the book before hitting my husband hard in the head. “you really thought we was going let you and your wife live on as human?”

"Regret is the bitchy older sibling of reflection."

Those words screeched from Gary's television as he lounged on his couch; cherry-flavored ice cream rested on his lap as he devoured his favorite television program, Cheaters. He sat in darkness to enhance the glare of the show, scooping greedy spoonfuls of cherries and scheming his dark secrets. The scene was so tranquil until it wasn't.

He heard it before his eyes witnessed it, the thunderous footsteps of his wife storming down the stair to disturb him. She wasted no time kicking his door open, posturing a wide grin with a thick stack of papers in her hand. He cocked his head back and held back a groan.

"Babe, guess what? Your brilliant, gorgeous, and creative wife just got published." She said. Her arms flew like an inflatable tube woman at a car dealership as she flicked on the lights.

The light's glare attacked Gary as he clapped and refocused on the television. "Great job Pani! I'm sorry, I was kind of in the middle of some-"

"I want you to read it." Pani thrust the manuscript at him, stalking him down like a predator. Then, she burst into a sprint as her prey began his escape.

"Never been much of a reader, you know that," Gary said. He jumped over the couch's ledge and paced around her, hoping to slip past her into the staircase.

Nothing doing. Pani nipped his escape attempt in the bud, cutting off his route and closing in on her prey.

"I want you to be the first to read it!" She cupped his hands together and plopped the manuscript into them. "Most men would be honored if their wife held them in such high regard."

"Most men don't hate their wives making them read as much as I."

"Me." She said.

"Exactly. You want to make me feel stupid with your fanciful words and speech."

"Prose."

"See? This is just your way of punishing me for no reason." He paused. "Wait. I'm not even the first to read it. Didn't the publisher have to read it to approve it?"

Pani darted her eyes to the side; she courted with several cheeky remarks before saying, "you're the first who matters to me." She rubbed his slumped shoulders and said, "don't worry, the message in my novel is so clear I know you'll get it.

"You sure? You know how everyone whispers jokes about me? If you ever want to keep a secret from him, just put it in a book. You know the man can't read."

"Yes, but if you ever had a secret for me, I'm sure it'd be on a tv show somewhere."

They both laughed, and Gary caved in, flipping to the first page of the manuscript and reading:

The green-eyes man was in a band. Stand the green-eyes man said. Cand. Is what the green-eyed man land. Hand is needed for the man to befriend. Wuh-wuh-wuh-sand.

Gary couldn't believe it. His eyes glossed over, his arms went limp, and his jaw slacked as he processed. That sounds like some shit I'd write. Oh, dear. He looked everywhere he could beside his wife's unguarded eyes as he gathered the right words, the right words to avoid an argument.

"Good." He said.

She stared at him as if he was the god of ignorance. "You've read one page."

He flipped to the end and smacked his fingers. "Mmmmm, mmm, finger-licking good story right here."

"That's cheating! You don't just go to the back of the story!"

"You know I don't like reading."

"You could be great at it if you exercised a little commitment!"

Argument unavoided.

The following two weeks were rough for poor Gary. Pani refused to speak, look at him, or even nag him. The tension in the air was ripe as a Georgia Peach. How a woman of her miniature stature could emit such animosity was the next great wonder of the world, or a great question, something like that. It was a secret she knew, and Gary had his own secret.

He adored his wife with all his heart, yet she wasn't the finest apple in the orchard. She could satisfy hunger pains from time to time, but she lacked that lushness, that utter fulfillment factor you got from biting into a juicy morsel of forbidden fruit. The peaches are always sweeter in someone else's yard, as some would say, or maybe that was just him.

Gary isn't his novelist wife, so let's be straightforward. He was cheating on her.

Almost every month, like clockwork, he'd meet his Mistress - Emma - at a hotel on the third Saturday of the month. Today was that Saturday. When his wife approached him, he was fully prepared to go on another 'purposeless drive' around town. But her words cut through that plan.

"Baby, the Galleria Mall has a 90% off sale on lotion and hand soaps. Do you think you can get some?" She asked.

The Galleria Mall was in Houston. Four hours from their home in San Antonio. A ridiculous distance for lotion, regardless of price, but a chance to get out of the dog house.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind at all! You know I love my Saturday drives anyway."

She wrinkled her nose and kissed him. "Sure do. Thanks, babe."

He hopped in his purple-coated Chevrolet Corvette and marched to the Houston mall, wishing he'd picked a better lie for his Saturday excursions. He'd always hated driving.

Shoppers crammed into the mall, making it nearly impossible to move. The lotion store's line overflew, extending past the Gamestop several stores over. Awkward conversations between image-sensitive women and men who didn't own mirrors occurred.

I'll just tell her they ran out. It wasn't much of a lie; surely they'd run out when he made it through the line. He pocketed his hands and whistled the Cheaters tune, eyes scanning the scene.

A lot of beautiful women out were in the mall. Everywhere he looked, he saw nines, tens, elevens out of ten. Everywhere except one location, a cardboard cutout of his wife enshrined with novels.

He walked towards the bookstore - Novels-A-Million- and felt his jaw drop. Young girls were practically fighting to pick up a copy of his wife's novel. All for a copy of that trash? There must have been something good in the middle section he skipped.

He wrestled with a Zoomer for one of the last copies, licked his fingers - he's seen it on tv, and turned to page one.

A few things shook him.

Most pressing, his wife's name was in the story. That was different from when he had read the story before. His reading skills weren't that bad.

Pani was a superhero in this story. A magical woman adored by men and women alike. In the story, she fought the forces of evil, all demons of sin.

She fought a demon of pride, lust, and so on. His wife was crazy for sure, so many enem-

He fingered the words on the page, the demon of adultery, Gary. Surely a coincidence, he continued to read the story:

Emma, Gary's dumbass assistant, aided his demonic endeavors. Emma was a bimbo with a robust body, able to bring a grown man to tears. Not from their eyes but from where the sun doesn't shine.

Gary felt his blood freeze over. Emma? Did she know about her? Flustered, he flipped to the back of the book.

...and when Gary returned to his little lair, he found it empty with divorce papers on the counter.

The book escaped his fingers and crashed as he rushed back to his car. He raced home, unlocked the door, and ran to the kitchen. He stopped at the sight of an emptied room. A stack of papers lay on the kitchen counter.

Halfway through the manuscript his wife shared with him, lay divorce papers.

It was a miricale that John got a book publishing deal. I don't how he pulled it off, but for whatever reason. I'm so happy for him.

He told me it was his dream to publish a book. I already had an idea of what he was writing about. The style he was going for wasn't my cup of tea.

I like books that are sweet, filled with love, and have happy endings. That kind that pulls your heart, filling your stomach with butterflies.

His style was more dark, it pulls you in for a ride your not ready for. It left sprinkles of sweetness in the story, but it felt liked it was forced in.

I didn't want to read what he wrote. I told him how it made me feel and eventually he stop giving me a draft.

It wasn't until a year later when he published his book.

I forgot about it. I wouldn't have remember if it wasn't for my coworker. Sally ranted to me that it was the most tear-jerking, disgusting and the most romantic srory she has ever read. I ask for the name of the book. She told me the name and author of the book.

I recongnize the author, it was my husbands pen name.

I asked Sally if I should read the book too. She was hesitant. She was pondering on the decision. She told me yes, but ready your heart.

After work, I stopped by the bookstore and asked for the book. The librarian nodded and retrive it for me. I grabbed the book from her hands. As i head for the door the librarian told me, "Be ready for the wonderful tale." I just waved back and walked off.

I wanted to read before i got home. I wanted to know what John wrote. I don't like theae kinds of books. But for my husband, I'll read it.

I don't have words to describe what I just read. From this however, I learned a lot of things about John. The way he weaved his words into my soul, crushing it and sooting it at the same time. About the ugliness and the beauty of it. I also know how he got the publishing job.

My legs are shaking, am I really scared to go back home? To meet John?

I was left with a question from the book, why? The book didn't answer it.

I'll meet John to get that answered.

I made it home the smell of the food penetrated my nose with an alluring aroma. John was in the kitchen, making dinner ready for tonight.

"Welcome home, your just in time for dinner. Foods hot and ready." John was smiling like he always does, it has another meaning after reading the book.

"Hey John... i read your book."

John paused in place. His face is not in view, i can't tell what he is thinking.

I asked him " Was everything in the book true?"

"Yes."

"All the stuff about your coworkers?"

"Yes."

"John if you needed help, I could've-"

"No."

"But why John!?"

John refused to show me his emotion, he brought out a bag and dig around in it before pulling out a book. The exact book I had in my hand. He handed it to me.

"John I already read-"

the cover was diffrent. It didn't have the words of the title nor did it have his pen name. All it said was:

To Janet,

My Loving Wife

I carefully grabbed the book and start reading.

I got lost in it, it was sweet, every word in the page it filled with love, not only I got the the butterflies, I got the tinglies too. The little girl inside me was jumping with joy. The story was about me and John living happly ever after. A tear left me with joy.

"This is the reason why. I wanted to tell my love about you. I didn't want anyone else finding out about how much I love you. I learned it was embarrasing for me to tell that in public. I wanted you to know anyway. I wasn"t gping to give it to you half-washed. I waited till it was ready, till you were ready. To accept all of me."

I couldn't help but to accept him. He made me very happy.

My only wish is that I didn't know why he kept his mouth so clean.

-Jack Rock

The door slams open as I walk in with a fresh copy of “The Memoir of Beppy”. The love of my life jumps before she whirls in her swivel seat to face me. “Jack, you scared me! I thought-“ She stops as she sees one of her new books in my hand. “Oh, did you pick that up this morning? How sweet!”

“Laura, this is serious. Why is it like this?” I ask seriously. Her smile drops.

“I’m… sorry?”

“Why is it so different?” I ask. She shrugs.

“I mean, I know a story about a dead clown’s not mainstream but-“ I sigh, stopping her. I rub the bridge of my nose and rephrase my question.

“No, why is it not… why is it not so meh?” I ask. Laura gives a confused chuckle.

“Um… thank you, I guess?” She says hesitantly.

“No- Laura, I’m being serious here! It’s good! It’s original! It’s entertaining! It’s fun to read!” I ramble off, frustrated.

“Okay, I know my drafts weren’t the best, but you didn’t have to-“

“Just tell me what happened, please. I’m half-wondering if you’re really good, and half-wondering if you stole someone’s ideas,” I say. Finally, my girlfriend sighs, and answers my question with a bit of annoyance.

“After you read my draft and told me how you felt about it, I could see you didn’t like it. So, I rewrote the whole thing, from start to finish. Different gags, different styles, goodness, I used a whole different plot,” she explains. “I almost threw it away after I was done because I thought it still wasn’t good, but I figured why not send it over to my interested publisher and see if he liked it. Turns out he loved it.” She crosses her arms and leans back, expecting a reaction from me as I stare at her.

“… You rewrote… almost four hundred pages, in how long?” I ask. She looks up in thought before shrugging.

“Two days,” she says.

“Two da- Two whole days!?” I yell. “You basically took a skeleton of a premise, restarted, and finished it, in two days!?” Laura nods.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” she says with annoyance. I think for a bit before nodding.

“Could I… see your other drafts? One’s you’ve restarted, I mean,” I clarify. She sighs.

“Honey, they’re not any good-“

“Let me read them, please,” I say. She sighs and looks toward her laptop. Pulling them up, she lets me read over her shoulder. As I skim read, it takes about ten minutes before I look at her with amazement. “It says there’s three hundred and seventy two pages here,” I mention.

“Yes?” She says with confusion. “Honey, could you tell me what-“

“Send me more of your drafts, I want to read them before I make dinner tonight,” I say, backing off.

Later, after reading four separate drafts totally redone by my love, I walk over to Laura from my room, who’s watching some crime drama on the television. “Laura,” I say. She looks up and smiles.

“Hey honey! I didn’t see you all afternoon, what-“

“You’re sending these drafts to the publisher tomorrow morning,” I say, sitting next to her and hugging her.

“Uh- what?” She asks.

“Sweetie, your drafts are amazing. It’s like you worked out every single dent in your first draft. I- I love your work,” I say, smiling. I’m so proud of her, I don’t even know how to word it like she would.

“Love?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are explicit details about our sex life in what was supposed to be a young adult novel about unicorns accepting a troubled rhinoceros.”

“Ah. Yes. That. The publisher thought a different direction maybe.”

“This seems a very different direction. Although opportunities for a ‘horny’ joke abound.”

“Very adult of you to refrain.”

“She says, yet abstaining from offering an explanation.”

“She is working on that.”

“He’s listening.”

“The book sucked. I threw together a romance at the last minute to meet a deadline. And they say write what you know so I…”

“Wrote about my ‘magnificent throbbing-‘“

“Okay! So I was in a mood and we’d just gotten back from vacation and we’d had a lot of fun and it very much on my mind and, well, it was all I could come up with.”

“Us? Cast as a mysterious traveler possibly a spy and a disenchanted heiress looking for love?”

“It’s selling very well.”

“I imagine it is, it’s pornography with a dust jacket.”

“You’re for real? Not happy for me? For us?”

“You’re better than this. You’re better than unicorns and rhinos too! You’re as good as Madeline Miller, as Amor Towles, as Richard Powers! You can write like that! Why do you write drivel when you could write that?!”

“So what if I am? So what if this is it? Isn’t this enough? Isn’t this good enough? It’s selling so who cares? The deadline’s met, the thing is published, so who cares?”

“I care that the love of my life is scribbling with crayons on a silly placemat when she could be changing the world!”

“I’m not good enough for you.”

“No. You’re just better than this. It’s not about me. It’s about you treating your enormous talent like you’re somehow unworthy of it.”

Terra was as Creative and persistent, more than most to be honest. It’s these qualities that drive me to her and made me fall in love. Her dream as a child was to change lives, now, it’s to do that through literature. “Change for the now by terra grace”. That’s the book she wrote, an inspirational sort of Novel that might cater to the younger generation, one that had humor, sadness and inspiration written in its pages. After proof reading it I was beyond excited to see it hit the shelves, key word being was.

The day came for the book drop, only available online I naturally preordered one even though she insisted I didn’t. As to why she wanted me not to read it, well at the time I couldn’t imagine, thought she might be embarrassed, but how could she, I already read the first rough copy and loved it, I pushed that thought aside.

The book came in, neatly packaged with a weird medallion taped to it. The medallion had a fist clenching what seemed to be an assault rifle, the words “occidere omnem resistentiam” inscribed across, weird, I don’t remember that at all.

I opened to page 1, “introduction to the fight” in italic read across the top, none of these words looked familiar. As I kept reading I realized something horrible, this wasn’t a motivational book at all, this was a manifesto, a plan, a guide. I realized that she planned to rally and overthrow the existing government and all its sympathizers, this woman, this tame, beautiful soft spoken loving women, was planning mass murder and treason, and it was happening right under my nose.

“I tried to stop you Cody”. It was her, but she was speaking in a cold grey tone, not with love, but with irritation. “You could’ve kept yourself from knowing, and you would’ve been fine, but no, you had to give in to curiousity” she stated. “Why though, why lie to me, deicieve me, did our vows mean nothing”, “no” she said, no emotion in her answer. “I could’ve spared you, you fucked that yo Cody, now you join them”. She pointed the concealed 9mm she kept in her pocket and pointed it at me, and sent a slug through my brain.

I awoke in the hospital about 2 months later, she had tried but failed to kill me. The neighbor heard the shot, called The cops, and the whole operation was seized, she was given life in federal prison for conspiracy of treason, I had to relearn how to walk. 9,567 other members were tried and convicted, bringin down the Largest treason plotting in history.

"Hey bug!" I say, walking through the door, after getting back from the book store, "I uh, picked up your book from the store, I was unaware you could wrote Novels like this! It is very captivating!"

My husband hurriedly gets off the phone with his boss, Michelle, and looks over at me with shock in his eyes "Uhh... you picked up my book?"

"Well of course I did! I wanted to support my Number One Supporter!"

"Are you sure you want to read that? I mean, you didn't particular enjoy my last writings, are you sure you want to?"

"Well from what I read so far, its very good! I had no idea you wrote romance novels, it feels so real, so genuine, though the topic seems a bit tabue, the whole cheating spouse thing, but it feels so...real, I mean all the other writing was very much like 'fallout meets the last of us meets call of duty" you know?"

"Ah yeah, it just uh, all clicked together, you know? You really don't need to read it, I know how much you hate Romance Novels"

"No! Of course I want to read it! You spent such a long time on it, I need to read it!"

As the week progressed, I sat down, and read it, front to cover, and back again, It just felt so raw, and so realistic, I never knew my husband was such a romantic, but after reading it, I noticed him doing cute little things for me, buying me flowers, taking me shopping, even cooking dinner for me every once in a while! He is such a sweet heart, he may be making up for all of the week nights he had to stay late in the office, or went to the cafe early on the weekends to finish up his book. The more the days go on ,I just fall further into love with him The other day, I noticed his location was off, I think he is getting ready to pop the big question! I ran to the salon to get my Nails done, just in case! I did find it strange however.

The lady's name in the book was Michelle

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

As Blaire closed the book, A lost soul, placed it open on her lap and leaned back in the arm chair with a look of utter surprise on her face. She just wanted to support him. That was all. Damien's book had just hit the shelves. She only planned to buy the book...yet here she sat hours later, with the book finished, completely and utterly baffled at how wrong she was.

Years ago he had started writing a book. One about a typical romance and bits of fighting. Back then. when she read a small excerpt, she merely gave him a placating response. In truth, she found the premise and portion she read to be nothing more than drivel. The plot void of any intrigue and the main character dry. She could not have been more wrong.

His book had started off slow, but after the first chapter, Blaire found herself enraptured with the main character, Wittmore, who at first was a boring everyday man, was in fact a half demon investigating a cultish group that intentions were to disrupt the order of the world using dark magic. Wittmore lived by day as a doctor, by night as a hunter and balanced his day life with the night, with both coming to odds at some points and that was only the tip of things. Every chapter after the first had been twist after twist and filled with betrayals, unlikely allies and steamy romance all building up to the finale.

But the last line of the book was even more unexpected than her enjoyment of it. Blaire's lips curved in amusement as her fingers delicately traced over the last lines of the riveting novel.

To be continued.....

"What are you doing?" A voice said from behind her.

Startled, Blaire turned abruptly, nearly knocking the book from her lap. "Damien, you're home." She said lowly, pushing a stray hair behind her ear.

"Yeah...it's 9pm, I normally get home this time after work." He said plainly as he took off his jacket and tossed it onto the back of the chair, and walked around to sit across from her. It was then that he noticed the book, his book. He stiffened. "Oh." His eyes dropped down. "So...." He started as sheepishly raised his gaze back to hers.

"Damien, I....well..." She started. How did she even begin to explain. She didn't want to hurt him but didn't want to lie either. "It's much better than I thought."

Damien visibly relaxed. "Oh thank goodness...wait." His head tilted to the side in confusion. "Than you thought? But you said it was good before and just need polishing."

"Well yes, I did say that." Blaire admitted plainly. "To be fair this was much different than what you showed me then. Wittmore is incredible and so captivating. And the plot really reels you in. I can't believe you left it on a cliffhanger. I mean sure one big part of the plot was resolved but what about the link he found to being kidnapped as a child, what did that mean? Where is it going to lead."

"Wait you finished it?" His book, The Enima Wittmore, had only released today.

"Y-Yeah, she replied sheepishly. "I...er...couldn't put it down."

He couldn't help but smile at how animated she was about it. She was so adorable. While it did sting a bit learning she had only been nice about it, her pure interest now made it not feel less so. "I'm glad, but you know you could have just told me. Criticism is important in writing."

She nodded. "I won't next time."

"You just want to know what's gonna happen next."

"Well that's true too."

Damien shifted stood back to his feet and walked over to stand before her.

"Wittmore's captivating, huh?" He teased as he braced his hands on the arms of the chair. "How so? Not more than me I hope."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Of course not." She answered incredulously. "Seriously? he's your character."

He chuckled. "All the more reason why I'm curious."

A sudden realization hit her. The corners of her lips twitched upward. "You're not gonna tell me anything are you?"

"Not even a hint." He whispered before his lips claimed hers.

When he got the publishing deal I really was excited for him. And I honestly had meant to read more of it. I cared-a lot. But making time to read had been hard. I thought I'd read enough to catch the gist of it but now...wow. I did not get to dig into the context the first time.

I stared at the last page feeling a strong mix of emotions-at least a few variations of guilt. I never felt like I failed to appreciate him, but taking so long to have read this weighed heavily on me. He'd deserved more enthusiasm from me. More authentic engagement. And he even seemed like he believed that I understood it. Now that I have...my response at that time just hadn't been enough.

When I first picked it up it felt like a whole different book but as I read I came across the parts I actually had made a few moments to read before-only with different clarity. The depth he'd...already given.

That I hadn't made the time to see the first time. Ugh.

Right then an app notification went off. I knew without looking it meant he'd pulled into the driveway. It was about that time of the day. I scurried to put the book away so that I could look normalish when he walked in.

I'd already decided days ago that I would address it today but I wanted to be tactful about it.

I heard him come in and hang his coat, just as he always did. Alright. Acting casual. Casual. "Hi baby! How are you?" I leaned in to peck him on the cheek and he returned in kind. I gave him the same hug as ever-full of sincerity.

"Oh, you finished the book."

"Uhm. What. I-"

"You did finish it right?"

"No I-yea befor- I-what. I-how could you-"

"Because I can see it in your eyes. The click. You're doing the fangirl look."

"No I'm n-"

"I knew you'd like it. It's about time you actually did read it. Not surprised you took so long. You've had a lot on your plate."

"You're not upset? I feel so guilty."

"Good.", he said with a wink, "Next time don't wait so long."

"Oh yay. So you're writing another one then?"

"Of course you hadn't noticed. Juuust kidding, I'm just starting it. What's for dinner?"

"Uhhh. I...didn't cook. I'm so- are you ok with pizza...? You see what I mean. I should've-you deserve-"

"Sounds good to me. Pizza works. And stop looking at me like that. I'm still the same person."

"That's just it," I pout, "I've been taking you for granted. You've been this person the whole time all...talented and look at me, married to a hotshot author acting like you're any ol' body."

"Uh I prefer it that way, so really if you could go back to that it'd be terrific. And you've always looked at me doe-eyed anyways- so who're we doing for pizza?"

"Nuh uhhh...I dooo not-...I just-I love you."

"I love you too. Pizza?"

"Ok yea. Pizza. Right. And tomorrow-what do you want me to cook? Anything you want. Anything."

"How long are you gonna be like this?"

"Forever probably. Or next week. So-pepperoni?"

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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"What is this? What?" I said in shock, turning the pages in the bookstore. But why did I say it? And turning the pages of what? None other than the book written by my significant other, or my wife as I call her. Hardly the occasion for shock and surprise, you'd think. Surely I'd read the book before it was published. And I had. When she got her book deal and handed me a copy of the manuscript, I'd read every word, beaming with pride, even if I didn't actually enjoy the writing, though I might have. And that was that, or so I thought. "The book is getting published, and off it goes to the shelves, and that's it. Same book I just read", I said to myself. But one day in a bookstore, a strange thought occurred to me. An odd notion, almost as if it was beamed into my brain by some incredibly advanced alien species, far beyond the cosmos, their machinations totally unknown to us. "Why not buy the book?" I thought. "What if I, just out of nowhere, right here in this bookstore, buy my wife's own book?" I picked it up and paid the price. But I paid the price in more than one way. While flipping through the book, I felt shock. I felt terror and fear. "Wh-what is this?" I stammered as I threw the book to the floor. It was completely different. The entire book had changed.