Someone Stop Her Novels & Stories

she said. "Why." "Because stopping is what they want," she said. "Because Jess Hartley stopped and she disappeared. Because six students stopped and none of them chose to." She held his gaze. "And because the person who sent the note was right I know exactly what I'm protecting now and stopping is the one thing I'm not willing to do."

“You have been running at full capacity for three weeks. You are allowed to stop.” He looked at her for a moment. “And if I do not know how to stop?” he said. It was said lightly, almost lightly, but she heard what was underneath it. The real question. The one that was not about the evening at all. “Then I will help you,” she said simply. He held her gaze for a long moment. Something moved in his face that was real and deep and not managed at all. “All right,” he said quietly. “After today.”

"What if stopping it does not mean protecting her." I do not answer, because I already know where the thought ends, and I do not want to be the one who says it out loud in front of her. What if stopping it means making sure she never grows into what Sorel was at all?

“Look at me.” For a moment, she didn’t respond. Then slowly, she did. Her gaze met his, and there she was—not gone, not erased, but distant, like she stood behind a wall he could no longer cross. “I told you,” she said quietly. “I can stop it.”

The question slipped out before I could stop it. She didn’t answer immediately. Just looked at me. Really looked. “Because you’re still measuring it like something you can win,” she said. That again. “I’m not,” I said. “Not consciously,” she replied. A pause. “But it’s still there.” I ran a hand through my hair. Frustration creeping in. “Then how do I stop?” She didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead— She reached into her bag. Pulled something out. And placed it in my hand.

“I don't want to spend the rest of my life watching every word I say and every place I stand because someone might misunderstand us.” “Neither do I.” “Then we need to stop giving people reasons to look closer.” I stepped toward her, lowering my voice. “And what happens when stopping isn't what either of us wants?” Her breath caught. For a moment, I thought she would answer honestly. Instead, she lifted her chin. “Then we'll have to learn to want something else.” She walked away. I let her go, even though every instinct told me to catch her hand and demand that she stop pretending this was simple.

And it certainly didn’t make her vulnerability mine. So I stepped back. Slowly. Giving her the choice to decide whether the distance remained. She noticed. I knew she did. “You could have…” She stopped. “What?” Her gaze dropped to my hands. “You could have done more.” I said nothing. She looked back at me. “You knew I wouldn’t have stopped you.” My jaw tightened. “That’s exactly why I wouldn’t.” Her expression changed. I continued before she could misunderstand. “Being unable to stop someone isn’t the same as wanting them to continue.”

I took a step forward to speak, to tell her how wrong she was, but she raised a hand to stop me. “I want you to stop,” she said coldly. I froze in place, the warmth draining from my chest as her words hung in the air. “Stop what?” I asked, my own emotions beginning to bleed through my voice. “Stop trying to be nice to me. Stop showing up for me. Stop helping me... just stop,” she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Stay away from me, Aiden. It’s better for both of us.” She turned her back and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the hallway. I watched her until her figure disappeared around the corner, unable to call her back.

Samson called, “I think you have to stop now. If you don’t you are going to kill her” He got no response, and he knew that he had to stop her. If she killed someone he wasn’t sure she would be able to forgive herself. It would Hurt her real bad, and it would suck if he stood right there and watch her make the worse decision of her life. He went forward to stop her, but as soon as he reached out to touch her, she withdrew. “I did it” she said, wiping the blood from the corner of her lips with her palm. I did it. And I stopped. I stopped”

Then why didn't he knock on the door? She raised her hand and almost stopped him, but in the end, she still hesitantly withdraw her hand. What should I do after I stopped him? Why did she call him when she didn't even know what she wanted to do? Forget it, forget it...