Tangled In Real Life Novels & Stories

After hearing her complaint, he subconsciously retorted, “How do you know that these things won’t happen in real life? It’s not entirely impossible.” The two people bickered and argued endlessly. Life itself was a movie. One would not expect it, but oftentimes, the reality could be even more dramatic than in the movies.

There was a giant ball of knot that gathered the strands to one side. I tried running my fingers through my hair but immediately regretted it when my fingers ended up getting trapped within. I tried to carefully pull the strands free, but it was no use. I managed to untangle some of it until my fingers cramped and my shoulders ached. I grabbed the sink and leaned on it, closing my eyes to breathe through the frustration. The hair alone didn't frustrate me. My entire life did. The current situation I was being forced to live in felt much like the tangled hair on my head, all knotted up and painfully impossible to unsnarl from the web that has it tied around.

I couldn't. We turned back to the movie, but the architect and the billionaire no longer held any interest for me. The rom-com felt shallow and fake compared to the heavy, dark reality of the man sitting downstairs in my living room. I could still see the image Maya had described—Silas, shirtless, his broad shoulders and dark tattoos visible in the dim light of the parlor. The movie played on, the sounds of the rainstorm and the orchestral music filling the room. Maya eventually stopped talking, her head leaning back against the headboard as her chip-fueled energy started to fade.

“It’s never clean, is it? The money, the motives. It’s always tangled.” I thought of the cupcake, the petition, the handwritten note, the virtual worlds. “No,” I agreed. “It’s not clean. But the herring run is real. The eelgrass is real. The trail we want to build is real.” I looked around at them—my fellow tanglers, my partners in the forever, messy fight. “That’s what we’re for. The real things. However we have to get them.”

His hesitantly brings his fingers to my tattoo, his touch ghosting over my skin. I scrutinize the tattooed letters on his fingers. A, M, L, R, O. They don't spell anything but here I am, telling myself that they probably stand for something. He's barely touching me but my entire body is on fire, I want his touch so bad it hurts my chest. I feel like I'm trapped in a small box and I can't breathe or move or think. Our eyes lock and I realize that we're both panting, chests heaving, fucking electrifying.

Caleb Kensington was in turmoil. His usually suave look was distorted, his curly, black hair ruffled by his long, strong fingers, and his shirt was untucked and half-unbuttoned. “If my wife could see me now, she would surely faint from shock,” he mused. “If only I knew where she was,” he muttered, dragging his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that night.

I feel like my real life is a dream sometimes. “This reality is not my reality. It’s a dream and I don’t know how to get out of it. It’s not real. Lizette, Delia and Winholt all died in the attacks. I’m married to Conor and have a baby with him. You’re the Head Mage of the Resistance. This isn’t real.” I said seriously.

“No, we didn’t ditch. It’s not like that.” “Then explain,” she said, folding her arms even tighter. “Right now.” The walls felt like they were closing in. My heart raced. “We—” I faltered, struggling for something, anything that would make sense. “We just... ran into each other. Between classes.” It was a pathetic excuse. We all knew it. Her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. Her eyes bored into me, seeing too much. “So you just happened to ‘run into each other’,” she repeated slowly, skeptically, “and ended up covered in blood?”

Chapter 9 Most times, the most difficult moments in one's life are when you are in a dilemma to make such risky decisions. As I lay restlessly in bed all night, lost in the depths of my thoughts, I weighed the precarious odds and potential benefits of my situation. The tangled web of relationships had captured me completely. Mr. Blackwood's relentless pursuit continued incessantly, despite our familial ties. His persistence both intrigued and unsettled me, casting shadows of doubt on the affinal bond we shared.

Already, I had marked her and that itself and it had been a long time… The ring, though fake, was a token of my love as well. What else do women need? "You can't judge this from our point of view." Alexis had said to me. We were both speaking through our wolf— link as we didn't want them to bump into us having this conversation. I didn’t know how I was going to get through all of this without her knowing anyways, it had been two days of planning and in a way one of the women had almost bumped into us having everything planned. She walked back and sat close to me this time, with the way she looked I could tell she could sense a bit of tension in the air.