The call ended, and blood soaked the sheets beneath me, spreading rapidly until half the blanket was stained red.
The crushing pain in my heart from my death in my previous life felt suffocating as I remembered it. Clutching my chest, I let out a bitter smile.
Jason, if you never loved me, then I won’t love you anymore either.
That night, Yves took me home just in time to meet the curfew our father had set.
The next morning, I woke up groggily and reached for my phone to check the time. What greeted me instead was a message from Shairine.
She sent a photo of Jason sleeping at her house, along with the caption. [Jason stayed at my place last night to keep me company.]
Seeing her message, I felt nothing. I replied curtly with an “Oh.”
I ignored her after that, but she wasn’t willing to let it go. Soon, she sent another photo—this time of breakfast.
[This is the breakfast Jason made for me this morning.] She wrote. [He even made me heart-shaped fried eggs, my favorite.]
Jason had never once stepped into the kitchen when he was with me. He always said the kitchen was a woman’s domain, and men shouldn’t enter.