Hurrying to the latest, and last entry, I flip urgently to the final page, and any hope of finding out what happens next crashes.
"Fare thee well, Naia," the Red Knight says and releases my hand.
It's the last line of the story so far. Slamming my hands on the desk, I curse loudly enough to make Tuna back away and then click the chat window open again to see if LF is online. She's not, but I send her a message anyway. If she didn't think I was crazy last night, she will this morning.
How do I get back? Was any of it real?
Clicking send, I stand, restless and scared, my thoughts racing almost as fast as my heartbeat.
"What if it is just a book?" I shake my head and look around my apartment. "This is real life. How awful!" Am I going crazy? Was I crazy to believe I went to another world? The oppressiveness of my existence settles over me, a reminder of how much I've come to hate my life.
How can I possibly rescue a man when I've lost my magic?
"It's not real, Naia," I grate. "None of it is! You don't have any magic!"
There's a part of me that argues it's stupid for me to be so emotionally invested in fiction.
The part of me that lived it, and knows Black Moon Draw is more real to me than this life ever has been, roars in response. I've been there! I know it exists. I know he exists! A man who leaves me as confused as he does turned on, whose touch makes me quiver and who I crave more than all the chocolate in the world. I can't think more than two seconds about him without epic euphoria and primal lust.
I'm also wearing the clothes I wore in Black Moon Draw, the only physical proof, aside from the scent of our lovemaking on my skin.
I go to a window, recognizing the cityscape visible for miles. I can't stand the warring feelings tearing me apart, the instinct urging me to find a way back to him and the satisfaction of having hot water again. Unable to reconcile what the hell is going on, I finally flip out, the pent up anger, frustration, and fear getting the better of me.
Tearing off the clothing of a world that doesn't exist, I fling it across the living room with a shriek of pure anguish.
Just when I start falling in love with my favorite kind of Hero - nobly flawed and redeemable, a man who thought I was beautiful, who helped me believe in myself for once instead of criticizing me, whose courage may have saved an entire world - the world ends. I can't go back to being normal, to grocery store runs, the library, and hiding away in my apartment while waiting for another Jason to enter my life and string me along.