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for The Exception, Act 2

2/9/2019 c2 zagato
This is the sweetest and loveliest thing ever. After the heartbreak in The Exception, this is a fitting and wonderful sequel. A bit fantastic but truly wonderful. Thank you!
6/3/2018 c2 8Lady80
Hello. Hello. I rise from the dead.

I was avoiding my email to get away from work, but when I saw your notification, nothing could stop me from reading part 1. When I saw your author's note at the top, my heart sped up and I had to put my phone away. I read chapter two at home, smiling with my feet up. Thank you.

In that review I left you a different lifetime ago, I confessed to you that I saw so much of myself in Lilia. Nobody wants to be that girl; the kind who identifies more with a character from a novel or a story, like Lilia would Elizabeth Bennett. In the end of this chapter she throws up the facade and drinks the damn beer. So I should drink the damn beer. I know I'm not Lilia.

A cynic would point out that because I'm not a written character, no fabulous Tom is going to come after me. God. Maybe I should hang around wedding libraries more. But right now, I can't. My Jay ran away with his exception; an equally attractive, not-so-tall dark and handsome who's wormed his way into my heart, even though I was desperately jealous. I don't know if the fact that I loved him too has made all this any easier, or if I am just brilliant at lying to myself.
I never got that moment in the bathroom stall; but before Our incident, I spent a night with my Jay in a hotel room, dinner, drinks until late check out and breakfast, he was hungover in the morning and dragged me back to bed, even though I was dressed up and ready to leave, and he was half-naked.
We holed up with sweet nothings and I Love Yous that he repeated the whole night until we fell asleep, and there was nothing like waking up that morning to a leg pushed between mine and both arms around me, so I couldn't escape.

We didn't have sex and we didn't kiss and we didn't ask for any clarification of the messy feelings, he didn't ask if I was in love with him and I didn't tell him I was because there was nothing we could've done anyway. They were in love, they were ready, and I don't know what I want. He had someone waiting for him on one end and I was lost hanging somewhere in the middle.

I still don't know what I want.
And I know it's kinda dumb to wish for someone to rescue me, and manic pixie dreamboats don't exist in real life, and I would like to be that for someone else, but I'm just so tired. Tired of making the big decisions. Tired of doing the hard thing. So when he calls me at 3am, the giant time difference doing nothing for my circadian rhythm, I pick up because his sleepy voice and a second laugh in the background, feels familiar and sounds like home.

I'm so sorry. I don't mean to influence your story or tell you what to do with it, I'm just.
Thank you so much.
You are my favorite fictionpress author, and I'm glad you're back.

S

PS: Have you ever read Luanne Rice? I have a feeling you'd like her work.

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