A security guard stood before the table, a concerned look on his wrinkled and mustached face. "There was a report of an incident nearby between a man and a woman matching your description. I was called in to check things out."
Leslie brushed a bang out of her face and wiped off her tear stained cheeks with the paper in her hand. "N-no problem officer," she managed. "Just a bad breakup in a bad place."
"I understand miss. Do you my colleagues need to have a word with your ex?"
"No!" Leslie exclaimed. "No, it was my fault. I was the one who broke up with him. And he didn't mean what he said, he just was hurt and angry."
The security guard gave a hesitant nod. "Very well. If you need anything, let us know." Leslie said she would and the security guard departed, talking into the wallow talkie on the shoulder of his uniform.
Leslie let out a sigh. She still felt like crap, but the distraction helped her feel a little better. Better from what? she thought a moment later. Wait, why am I sad at all? I didn't just break up at anyone? And why did that officer call me Miss? I mean sure My hairs long and I'm wearing makeup and have boobs- Holy shit I have boobs! Oh my god, I am a girl! I'm Leslie! But that's impossible, Leslie is just some character on a page I found. Right?
Leslie looked down at the page in her hands. The top half had been eared by her mascara laced tears, but the other half was still legible. Leslie read this half, and was shocked to find the story was different this time.
