Novel & Cerita Becoming Unbecoming Book

“I’m not playing. I’m not playing any game with you. What on earth is wrong with you?” “I’ll burn your shop… This little set up… I will burn it to a crisp…” Callie felt her body turn into ice. He meant it. He looked like a thug suddenly. It didn’t matter how expensive his clothes were or his watch was… He looked every bit of the thug he was known to be. “Get out.” She knew that all this bullshit act of being all accepting and shit was nothing but that… An act.

I'll handle everything. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She didn't fully understand it. But she felt it. That shift. That intensity. The assurance. The safety. The protectiveness. That claim- Unspoken. But clear. Outside the haveli resumed preparing for a wedding. Inside, something far more dangerous had begun. Not just protection anymore. Not just care. But possession. ____________

she questioned, waving the book like it was some kind of trophy. My hand twitched, itching to snatch that book away from her. It contained my life, my secrets, my embarrassing thoughts, my fears, everything. But I couldn't snatch it. I couldn’t move. I was just too numb, too frozen, too broken to do that. Instead, my gaze wandered across the crowd, searching for help, for anything… but all I saw were their eyes, wide open, waiting for her to spill the beans, waiting to feast on my shame. My heart burned, my chest tightened so hard I almost forgot how to breathe. How the hell did I even get myself into this situation? How could I be so stupid?

It wasn’t until lunch that I found out what. --- 2 We were sitting at our usual corner table when Blue slid a folded sheet of paper across to me. “Read it.” I hesitated, glancing at Claire. She shrugged. “Just read it.” I unfolded the paper. It wasn’t a note. It was… an essay. One page, typed, bold title at the top: BECAUSE WE’RE HERE --- 3 It wasn’t poetry. It wasn’t flowery. It was raw. Blue wrote about the first time he realized he was different — how it felt like a secret tattoo no one else could see but somehow everyone sensed. How middle school had taught him that silence was a kind of survival. How he’d gotten tired of surviving and wanted to live.

Before being sent to prison, he committed suicide by taking poison in public. Until his final second, as he foamed at the mouth and was about to die, he was still mumbling, "Nanette, I'm... coming... to... join you..." I was lying in my new boyfriend's arms when I watched the news of their tragic end. Actually, when I first moved to this new city, I never expected to run into Christopher Calcraft here. He had been my childhood friend, someone I had grown up with. Everyone thought we would end up together, but after my sophomore year of college, he quietly disappeared without a trace. Friends and family said he had gone abroad to develop his career.

I thought of reading one of the books that Lena had gotten me. While on it, I became slightly distracted and that was when I saw it. The package is peeking from a corner. Curious, I dropped the book and went to get it. I opened the package to find a customized journal with my name beautifully inscribed on it. And the box of chocolate was the tastiest I have ever had. I am almost forced to think it was handmade rather than factory-produced because of the way it melted in my mouth and lingered on my tongue. I had a good night, but I woke up bloated and nauseous again.

I replied, not looking at him. “I already told you; you remind me of someone.” “And now that you know I’m not her, you can leave me alone.” He chuckled softly. “Could, but I’m not really the type to walk away from… interesting encounters.” There was something in his voice; cool, self-assured. It wasn’t cocky. It was practiced. Polished. Like charm was part of his DNA. I didn’t respond. Didn’t trust myself to. “Vegas isn’t really where people go to disappear,” he said after a beat. “It’s where they go to become someone else.”

As I left the mansion later that night, legs shaky and Damien’s warm cum still leaking from me with every step, the memory of being fucked against the railing while a party happened below burned hot in my mind. I had come here to become a better writer. Instead, Damien Cross was turning every chapter of his book into my real-life corruption. And I was becoming addicted to living dangerously on the page… and on his cock.

No more college and no degree, I would be stuck with dead-end jobs and wondering what the hell my future even looked like. I couldn’t let that happen. Professor Richard was the biggest distraction on campus. Young for a professor,around early thirties or so,broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline, dark neatly styled hair, and those wire-rimmed glasses that gave him this hot,nerdy and geeky vibe. His fitted button-down shirts always hinted at the muscular body underneath. I’d spent way too many lectures staring at him instead of taking notes. Get your shit together, Jackson. This is about survival, not your stupid crush.

Inside the Archive, the shelves moved with my breath. I passed by a book bound in velvet dusk. Its title: The First Time You Chose Softness Over Safety. Another: How You Loved When No One Was Looking. I reached for a third. It burned with light before revealing its name: What You Became When You Stopped Trying to Be Understood. I wept then—not from pain, but from reunion. The guide touched my shoulder. “There’s one more,” they said. They led me to a door I hadn’t noticed.