Love Rents A Room -
Chapter 131: She Was Scared
Chapter 131: She Was Scared
"Jo!"
Jeffrey’s voice cracked as he screamed into the phone. His pulse thundered in his ears, his grip tightening on the device as if he could reach through it and pull her to safety.
She had called him. But she wasn’t speaking to him.
Instead, he heard a man’s voice.
His entire body tensed, every muscle coiling with dread.
Had she called him by accident? Or—God forbid—was she trying to reach him, a desperate plea without words?
The conversation was muffled, the stadium’s noise drowning out the details. But Jeffrey’s gut twisted with unease. He strained to hear.
Then—a sickening thud.
His breath hitched. His heart stopped for a beat.
Was that sound from his phone? Or from the game?
It didn’t matter.
Because in his bones, in the marrow of his very being—he knew.
She might be in danger.
His blood turned ice-cold.
Without a second thought, he bolted. His legs burned as he raced toward the stadium, his only focus her. Joanne. His Joanne.
The stadium roared around him, an overwhelming sea of cheers and chants. But Jeffrey heard none of it. It was all white noise against the deafening panic in his head.
He stormed into the announcer’s booth, shoving past people without care.
"Where is Jo?" he demanded, his voice sharp, urgent.
Liam barely had time to react before Fiona stood up, alarm flickering in her eyes.
"She went to call you..." Fiona’s brows furrowed. Then, after a pause, concern darkened her expression. "It’s been almost half an hour..."
Fiona didn’t think anything wrong with that. Joanne always found one thing or another to do. And they were in a crowded place. This was their hometown, the safest place on earth for them. Her mind didn’t even contemplate if Joanne might be in danger. Liam too.
But Jeffrey couldn’t keep calm.
Half an hour.
Jeffrey’s stomach plummeted. "I need to find her!"
Liam didn’t hesitate. Jeffrey’s pale face made him anxious. He knew Joanne would be safe, but still...
He grabbed the microphone, his voice booming over the stadium. "Joanne, report to the announcer’s booth immediately. I repeat, Joanne Smith of McDonalds Farm, report to the announcer’s booth immediately."
But before the announcement even settled, Jeffrey heard it.
"Jeffrey... where are you?"
It was her.
He looked at his phone. His entire world tilted at the sound of her voice—so soft, so frail.
Everything else ceased to exist.
"Jo!" he shouted, already running. "Jo, where are you?"
She sounded wrong.
Joanne heard him—him... Jeffrey...
Was this a dream? A hallucination born of desperation?
Her vision blurred, blood slipping into her eyes. She tried to blink, to clear it, but it only made things worse. The cold floor beneath her, the distant hum of voices beyond the bathroom walls—it all felt so far away, like she was drifting out of her own body.
"Ladies’ room..." she whispered. She wasn’t even sure if she spoke it aloud or if her lips only shaped the words. But she tried.
She had to.
Her fingers clenched around the gun in her hand. She still had that. If Tom came back—if anyone else came in—she would use it.
But what if she hurt someone innocent?
What if she wasn’t fast enough next time?
What if...?
Fear gripped her chest, squeezing until she could barely breathe. Her entire body burned where Tom had touched her. Filthy. That’s how she felt. She wanted to scrub her skin raw, to rid herself of his hands, his leering eyes, his presence.
She had never felt this vulnerable. This weak.
Then, her voice broke.
"Jeffrey... I’m—I’m scared."
It was the truth. Stripped bare.
And in that moment, Jeffrey shattered.
"I’ll be there. I’m coming. Just stay where you are, Jo. Please." His voice was frantic, a desperate promise.
Joanne’s hand on her phone loosened, but she still clutched the gun for dear life.
Was it her fault?
Was it what she wore? Or what she said?
Should she have seen this coming?
Her chest ached with exhaustion, pain threading through every inch of her.
And then, her vision darkened.
Her last thought was of Jeffrey—his voice, his warmth, his unwavering presence.
Then... nothing.
Silence swallowed her whole.
And the last thing she heard was Jeffrey screaming her name.
Jeffrey sprinted toward the ladies’ room, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Just as he reached the door, a woman stepped out, her face pale with shock. She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
That was all it took.
Before the door could swing shut, Jeffrey—the man who had been raised with unwavering respect for boundaries, who had never so much as stepped foot inside a women’s restroom in his entire life—barreled inside without a second thought.
He didn’t care about propriety.
He didn’t care about the consequences.
His Joanne was inside.
And she might be hurt.
The sight that greeted him shattered him.
There she was, slumped against the cold, filthy tile wall like a rose trampled under the boots of an unforgiving beast. Blood—so much blood—streaked her beautiful face, trickled down her temple, staining the fabric of her dress in deep, unforgiving red.
His breath hitched.
The world around him tilted.
"No... No, no, no."
"JO!"
His voice was raw, desperate, echoing off the tiled walls. His knees nearly buckled as he rushed to her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to fix this—to fix her.
He fell to his knees beside her, his trembling hands reaching for her.
She was still bleeding. Still bleeding.
"Who did this to you?"
"Why?"
"Why wasn’t I here?"
His heart twisted with suffocating guilt.
She had fought—he could tell.
Her fingers were still curled tightly around something—her gun. A lifeline. She had held onto it, even in unconsciousness.
Gently, carefully, Jeffrey pried it from her grasp, his touch reverent, as if he could ease away her pain with the tenderness of his hands alone. He set it aside.
"Joanne..." His voice cracked.
No response.
Her body was too still, too cold.
Panic clawed at his chest. He grabbed his handkerchief and pressed it firmly against her head wound, but it wasn’t enough. He had to get her help. Now.
Footsteps echoed outside. The woman who had first seen Joanne was speaking to someone—calling for help. Calling the cops.
"They’re sending an ambulance!" she called.
But Jeffrey didn’t wait.
He couldn’t.
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