She Let Me Die—Now I’m Taking Back My Life / Chapter 4: No More Playing Nice
She Let Me Die—Now I’m Taking Back My Life

She Let Me Die—Now I’m Taking Back My Life

Author: Amanda Reyes

Chapter 4: No More Playing Nice

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After thinking it over, I decided to go get a new number.

Didn’t want to risk running into her. I grabbed my jacket, slipped out the back stairwell, and headed to the nearest cell phone store. The clerk barely looked up as I requested a new SIM card, but I didn’t care. I needed a fresh start, a clean slate.

Then, using the new number, I tipped off Marissa Lane’s obsessive boyfriend.

Felt like a spy. I hunched over my phone in a corner booth at the all-night diner, fingers flying across the screen. My heart pounded as I typed, adrenaline fueling every word. This was risky, but it was the only way.

“Your girlfriend’s at the Maple Heights police station. If you want to find her, go wait outside.”

I kept it short, anonymous. I wanted him distracted, out of my hair. Let them deal with each other for once.

He replied almost instantly.

Typical. His message popped up: “Who are you?” His paranoia was as sharp as ever. I almost smiled.

I typed: “Just a good Samaritan who wants to see you two chained together for life.”

I hit send, then deleted the thread and powered the phone off. Let them chase each other in circles—I was done being their pawn. Finally free.

That evening, Marissa Lane called me again.

She always found a way. My new number hadn’t kept her away for long. I stared at the screen, debating whether to answer. In the end, curiosity won out.

First thing she said was:

“Did you snitch? Did you tell Dylan I was at the station?”

Her voice was icy, accusatory. She never wasted time on pleasantries when she thought she’d been wronged. Straight to the point.

“What? I just finished working overtime. What’s up?”

I played dumb, keeping my tone casual. I wasn’t about to give her anything to work with.

“If no one snitched, why was Dylan waiting for me outside the station? If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

Always someone else’s fault. She sounded frantic, desperate for someone to blame. I pictured her pacing in her apartment, phone pressed to her ear, eyes wild.

“Huh? Why were you at the police station? Are you okay?”

I kept my voice light, feigning concern. I wasn’t going to let her drag me back into her mess. Not this time.

“Ugh! Is this really the time to ask that? Dylan hit me outside the station and the cops arrested him. What am I supposed to do?”

She could cry on command. She was on the verge of tears, but I didn’t buy it. She’d always been able to turn on the waterworks when it suited her.

She sounded anxious. “Can you find someone to bail him out? He’s spoiled—he can’t handle a place like that.”

Unbelievable. The audacity left me speechless for a moment. I’d just dodged a bullet—literally—and she wanted me to rescue the guy who’d tried to kill me?

“He hit you and got arrested, and you’re still worried about him?”

She really didn’t get it. My disbelief was obvious. I couldn’t hide the incredulity in my voice, even if I tried.

“What do you know?” Her voice was chilly, tinged with disdain. “He hit me because he loves me, because he cares. He only did it because he thought I’d reported him. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t have hit me.”

No use arguing. She said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. I wanted to shake her, to make her see how twisted that logic was. But I knew better than to argue with someone so far gone.

“Then maybe you should get yourself arrested too and keep him company. You two could chat.”

Enough was enough. I couldn’t help myself. The sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it. I was done playing nice.

“What’s with your attitude? If you hadn’t worked overtime and kept me out, none of this would’ve happened! You have to get him out, or I’ll never forgive you!”

Like a kid throwing a tantrum. She was shouting now, voice cracking with anger. I could almost see her stomping her foot, arms crossed, daring me to defy her.

Before I could reply, she hung up in a huff.

Wouldn’t put it past her. The line went dead. I stared at the phone, half-expecting her to call back. Instead, another familiar number flashed on the screen.

A second later, another familiar number popped up.

Here we go. My stomach dropped. I recognized it immediately—Marissa’s mom. This was going to be good.

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