My Stand In Novel Novels & Stories

She said with a sad smile and I sighed, "Alright, the thing is..." "Aliyah!" A deep angry masculine voice boomed, interrupting me, Me and Aliyah immediately stood up and watched the direction the voice came from, The place we're in is slightly covered by big trees and it's hard to see someone coming directly, "Where's that bitch?!" The voice huffed and I heard Aliyah mumbled, "Stan." Like seriously? Is that Stan's voice? His voice sounds so different. I was about to open my mouth when Stan came into view, he was looking really angry, so furious that he was giving killer looks to the woman standing in front of me,

Instead, he leaned back against a mahogany shelf, his casual sweater bunching at his shoulders. He looked at the stack of books on my desk, his eyes lingering on a tattered spine I had tucked at the bottom. "Wait, is that THE STAND?" he asked, pointing to the thick paperback. I looked down, my eyes landing on the book he was referring to. It was a survival horror story. Something about an alien invasion and humans getting wiped out one by one. "Oh. Yes. I’ve read it three times, but I find comfort in the end of the world sometimes. It makes my own feel... manageable."

“And you’ll just have to get used to it.” Turning back to the counter, I pick up a knife and begin chopping vegetables as if their presence no longer matters. “I’m here to stay, and nothing absolutely nothing is going to change that.” I hear a frustrated exhale behind me, followed by retreating footsteps. Good. They’ll learn soon enough that I always get what I want. ___ Stanley's POV I pull into the driveway but make no move to get out. My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I stare ahead, lost in thought.

Noah's Pov Donovan was the first to stand up, and slowly. As Danny was still reeling from the weight of his brother's body slamming down on him; and David was still trying to get his own head out of the broken cupboard. He turned, groaning, with his hands still on his head as he faced us, growing a frown as an extra feature. He stood breathing heavily as he held the look of defeat on his face; with the glint of embarrassment from a shameful one. As Colin had just taken all of them down without effort; and I felt embarrassed myself. Because I had been shaking afraid, while he stood valiantly when two arrows had been aimed almost point-blank at his head.

Stan is standing in front of me. “How did you get in here?” I ask quickly looking to the door. It was not smashed in, but it was closed locking everyone out of the room. “Does it matter?” Stan asks angrily. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Packing a bag. I need some space,” I say as I try to move around him. “No,” he replies.

Just that steady way he moves when he’s certain of himself. I remained where I stood. Exactly where I had been when he said it. Standing. Next to you. Not for you. Not over you. Not instead of you. Next to you. My chest tightened. Why did that feel heavier than if he had said he’d burn the world down for me? I sank slowly onto the edge of my bed. Because burning the world down is fantasy. Standing is consequence. Standing means no escape route. Standing means if I jump, he jumps too.

"Daniel." He looked at her for a moment. Something shifted in his careful expression. Not much. Enough. "The kind," he said, "that was always going to arrive. Just sooner than expected." He left. She stood in her doorway holding the envelope. Different from Isla's. Heavier. Properly sealed. She looked at the Mount Sinai envelope on her nightstand. The contract beside it. The small warm apartment she'd built piece by piece into the one place in the world that asked nothing of her.

Now, it all made sense. No wonder he always said ponytails looked best on me—Victoria’s signature hairstyle. No wonder he bought me jasmine perfume—Victoria’s favorite. No wonder he stared at me so intensely the first time we met, like he’d seen a ghost. I was a replacement. A stand-in from the very beginning. I put down my glass and started packing. The apartment was Marcus’s, but over six years, my things had seeped into every corner. From the skincare in the bathroom to the clothes in the closet, the art books on the shelves, and our photos on the fridge.