Actually I Was The Real One Novels & Stories

False. “No…” I whispered. “They were real.” Roi didn’t move. He didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either. Instead, he simply sat down beside me and said softly: “I know it’s hard to believe. But try. Try to remember—when was the last time you were really you? Not a role. Not a mission. You.” I shook my head. Not because I didn’t know—but because I didn’t want to know. Because deep down, I already suspected the answer.

"And I came back." "Why specifically." She looked at me. "You've said it in different ways. Say it the way you'd say it to me." I thought about it. "Because leaving felt like letting someone else decide," I said. "What was true and what wasn't." I paused. "She manufactured things. I almost let her manufactured version replace the real one." "But you didn't." "I went back to the real one." I looked at the water. "He was still there." "Still showing up."

I knew this girl had secrets. Because this— This was the moment. The real one. “Why?” I asked. Her voice shook slightly. “Because that’s who I was before I met you.” A pause. “An informant.” There it was. Out in the open. No more masks. No more hiding behind fake walls . No more pretending to be something she wasn’t No more half-truths. Just reality. I nodded slowly. “Were,” I repeated. She swallowed. “…I don’t know what I am anymore.”

No one else. No house. No crowd. Just them. Alone. But still… strong. When I finished, my hands felt cold. I looked at it. That was my truth. Not perfect. But real. --- “Naomi.” I didn’t look up this time. “I’m fine,” I said. Professor Adrian stood beside me. “I didn’t say you’re not,” he replied calmly. I sighed and looked at him. “This is my family,” I said. He nodded. “It’s honest.”

he asks out of breath. "What? Isn't this what you wanted? The fake breakup? Tell me, was anything real? Was everything fake this whole time?" I ramble, my voice shaking with emotion. I feel so stupid, so broken and pissed off. I swore I would never act like someone I wasn't and here I am dressing up like a damn Barbie acting like I have my shit together when I don't. I'm a cussing, wild, mess and I love it. I love who I am. "You know it wasn't." He narrows his brows. I stop, looking at him. He sounds serious, and looks it but how do I know for sure? What parts of him and I are real and fake?

I said quietly. That stopped her. She blinked once, like she hadn’t expected me to say that out loud. “What did you just say?” I took a breath. “It started as a PR stunt, yes. But it’s real now. He’s real. He’s the one who stayed. He’s the one who almost—” I stopped myself, feeling the sting of tears. “He’s not using me.” Clara stared at me, and then she huffed. “That’s cute.”

He said before tugging my hand to walk with him. I walked just behind him with my arm on his, so Hailee had been lying about telling him about my filthy background. Ugh common tactic used by jealous girls, but I could have sworn she was telling the truth, because I can swear that between me and her, she is way better. “Seat down, I will go get a first aid kit for your cheek,” Clayton says arriving at a small room “No need, I... I am okay really; we should go and take Melisa home.” I protest embarrassed.

I pointed at his face and said, “Um… your face? I mean it’s easy to recognize you under this disguise.” “It’s not a disguise. This is the real me. And one recognizes me in my real appearance. You’re the first.” “Oh,” my face flushed at what he said. “It’s true. I’m surprised that you of all people were able to tell the differences from a handsome black hair hunk to a white hair prince charming,” he said, drawing closer to me, sending shivers around my body. Is he being serious? Am I the only one that…Hey, wait a minute!

I looked around for good measure before taking it out anew, frustrated with it already. “Leave me alone,” I whined to myself. I turned it on and automatically straightened up at what I saw. You don’t have to pretend anymore. I know the whole truth. Call me asap. My stomach lurched.

"Like I'm real." The words hit Marcus like a fist to the sternum. He should have let go. Should have pulled away, put distance between himself and this impossible man with his ice-cold skin, his silver eyes and his complete absence in mirrors. Instead, his thumb moved in a slow circle against Silas's wrist, feeling the texture of skin that shouldn't exist. "Are you?" Marcus whispered. "Real?" Silas's eyes darkened. "What do you think?" "I think you don't have a pulse. I think you don't breathe right. I think you cast no reflection and staff members look through you like you're not there." Marcus's hand trembled against Silas's wrist. "I think you're dead."