Loving You Is A Losing Game ➶ jolex

eleven and goodbye ⤦

PLEASE READ:

Hi everyone, I just want to start off by saying that I have decided to discontinue this story. As you guys can tell, this story hasn't been updated in over a year, and that is due to the fact that I have absolutely zero motivation to continue it. More will be explained below, but I just want to thank you all for everything and for sticking by this story through it all!

I'm honestly just super sad that you guys won't get to experience this story in the new way that I write lol. it's so much better than it was before, but... *sighs*

The end of the chapter portion is separated by a ~*~*~ . Half of this is an incomplete chapter, but the second half is the plot I had planned out for this book, and the lines I had planned to use. Thank you <3

~*~ 

Still, I carried, I carried, I carried on. Oh, oh-oh-oh, oh, oh-ohh-oh

~*~

Sitting on the living room couch, medical textbooks surrounded Jo as she furiously wrote down notes, flipping pages with colorful notes and highlighted words as a pen was pressed between her lips. Summer break had started the week before, and she was using the time to learn as much as she could before the upcoming semester. She would start her third year of med school in the fall, and the graduation clock was ticking closer each day. After graduation, she would start her internship, but the only way to guarantee a spot on Harvard's stage was to be better than everyone else.

And that started with getting ahead of the game.

In the past eight days, she had fallen into a comfortable routine. Wake up at seven, make breakfast for Paul if he was home, start studying once he left for work, order lunch for herself at 12:30 and use the time to have a nice break, study until she needed to make dinner and clean the house, and have everything perfect for her husband when he arrived home around 9:30. Spend some time with him on the couch if he was in a good mood.

Or in the bathroom, pressing ice on her bruises if he wasn't.

She had been up for a few hours now, craning her neck to look at the clock on the wall, reading 12:15. Breaking early seemed okay for the day, so she carefully closes the books that weren't hers, but Paul's; placing them back onto his bookshelf so he wouldn't be able to tell she had touched them. Touching things that were specifically his things wasn't allowed, especially not the medical textbooks that had cost him thousands of dollars.

Ruffling through the kitchen drawers, she pulls out a menu from the Chinese place a few miles away, and orders lunch for herself, settling into the couch and trying to work out the crick in her neck that came from hours hunched over her notes. Turning on the TV, it opens to the news, since Paul had had it on the night before. She's about to turn the channel when she sees the headline flash across the bottom.

Mass Shooter at Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital

Seattle Grace.

Shooter.

Mass shooter at Seattle—

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

She's scrambling. Running around and tearing the coach upside down because dammit! where the hell was her phone?