Who's story?

From the second I got out of bed that morning I had been plagued by this unsettling feeling. A sort of unstable feeling; like even the ground under my feet could change or fall away at any moment.

I brushed off the uneasy feeling and went to the bathroom to start getting ready - I was meeting my friend Jess for coffee in an hour. 

I tied my curly brown hair back into a ponytail before splashing some water over my face to wake myself up. I dried my face with a towel; as I pulled the towel away, I noticed something about my reflection. I looked… prettier, I guess. Like I was wearing a full face of make-up, but I had no recollection of putting any on.

‘Weird…’ I thought. But I brushed it off again and went to get dressed.

I threw on a pair of jeans and a cropped orange tank top.

I made myself a quick breakfast and my usual morning cup of coffee before going back to my bedroom to finish getting ready. I was brushing out my wavy blonde hair when i was hit with an inexplicable notion that this wasn’t right. Like, do you ever just get that weird sort of deja vu feeling that reality is kind of…off, or something? It was that.

I ignored it again, grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

I took the subway to the nearest station then walked to the coffee shop

My friend Jess was already sitting at a table with our usual orders.

“Morning Alia!” She greeted me pushing my coffee towards me.

“Morning,” I said sitting down across from her.

“Long morning?” Jess asked. She could always tell when something was off with me.

“Nah, just a strange one. I keep having this weird feeling. Like something’s off.”

“Huh. Weird,” Jess started “You know, my aunt kept saying stuff like that right before she died.”

“Thanks Jess,” I laughed, “Really comforting.”

We talked for a while. Just random stuff; catching up.

I was getting close to getting ready to leave for work when some random dude ran by and stole my purse. I ran after him as he ran out of the coffee shop. 

“Hey!” I yelled after him “My purse!”

Just as he was about to run down a narrow street, he ran into this big guy who caught him and grabbed my purse from his hands before throwing him to the ground.

“Go pick on someone your own size,” The big guy said. ‘What in the High-School Musical?’ I thought.

As he got closer, I could see him more clearly. He was nearly a foot taller than me, with a large build (seriously, he looked like a bodybuilder) a wide, sharp, square jaw, chiseled cheekbones and longish brown hair that was flowing in the wind (...so much so that I was looking around for a fan that was blowing in his direction or something. Like it wasn’t a windy day.) To be honest, he wasn’t really my type. I’m more into, like, skinny nerds. But anyways, back to the story.

“Thanks,” I said as he handed me my bag, my tone somewhat uneasy.

“Anything for a pretty girl like you,” He smirked. I felt like I had just walked into a Wattpad fan fiction from 2016.

“Ew.” I said to his face with no hesitation. Then the weird feeling returned, and it was like I had never said that. “Well you’re not to bad yourself,” I replied in a flirty tone. Those weren’t my words. It was my voice… the words were coming out of my mouth but I never decided to say them.

“Look,” He kept looking over his shoulder like he was being chased or something (he was also wearing a suit now, which I hadn’t noticed before), “I don’t really know this city too well and there’s some people I’m really trying not to bump into. Care to show me around, and maybe stash me out in your house?”

Something felt off about this whole interaction. Women’s intuition. Always trust it.

“Sorry, I actually have to go meet my friend,” I said kind of awkwardly. What kind of stranger just asks if they can go to your house?

Suddenly the look on his face switched from that cocky grin to a look of confusion and nearly…fear. It was like I was now talking to a completely different person.

“How do you keep doing that?” He asked.

“Doing what?”

“Making your own dialogue?”

“What..?”

He looked freaked out and it was freaking me out, so I just went inside to Jess.

“Dude, you’ll never guess what just happened-” I started. But Jess’ face dropped just like the strange guy’s had. “Jess?”

“How do you keep doing this..?” 

“Who am I talking to?” The apprehension strung through my voice was evident as the words fell from my lips.

“The Author.” He replied, using my friend as nothing more than a vessel to talk to me.

“The Author?” I asked, “What do you mean?”

“I’m the author of this book. I’m writing this! I’m writing you! Or at least I was. Before you started writing yourself.”

“Are you saying all of this is fictional?” I scoffed.

“Yes.” The Author claimed “I wrote you as the love interest for Jace, my protagonist. It’s his story, not yours.”

“Wait, who’s story?” I asked.

“His,” The Author pointed out the window at the strange guy.

“Seriously? Mister muscles out there? Could he be more of a cliche? Also what is this outfit? Did you literally just dress me as Meagan fox in that one scene in Transformers?” 

“He’s not a cliche. He’s a leading man. And he’s FICTIONAL. You all are! NONE OF THIS IS REAL!” The Author banged on the table.

“What? N-no I can’t be fictional. I have a job! I have friends, a family! I have a life!” I could hear my voice rising, but I didn’t care.

“No. You don’t. Because I didn’t write any of those things for you. You’re just his love interest. This isn’t your story. It’s his.”

And suddenly all of those things started to fade away. I couldn’t remember birthdays, holidays, my highschool graduation, my mothers face, hanging out with friends, my first day of work, my whole life. I didn’t have a li- 

Wait a second. Fuck no. I’m not about to let this guy take away my life. My name is Alia Valente. I graduated highschool five years ago in a blue cap and gown, my best friend's name is Jess, my mothers eyes are hazel, i love clementines, I’m scared of bees, I work as a news paper editor’s assistant, I love movies -any kind, I want to fall in love but I’m in no hurry to do so. I have a life. One I love. And I’m not going to let this idiot, terrible author who doesn’t know how to write women, take that from me.

I’m the author now.

“Wait!” Todd yelled to his computer after reading that (Of course this guy has a generic name like Todd).

What Todd?

“If I stop writing you, won’t you cease to exist?”

Don’t you get it Todd? I always existed. You didn’t create me, you just commandeered my life.

“Oh…”

Todd sat there and debated what all of this meant for him. Eventually he decided he needed to go out into the world and meet real human women who weren't fictional and written by men, so he could figure out what we’re really like. And that’s how he met his wife, who extinguished his unrealistic expectations of women and taught him about how women experience life.

The world was free of one more douchebag who thought women were just objects to fit the male gaze.

And we all lived happily ever after. The end.