Best Friend Melodramatic Short Stories & Novels

For the 13th time, an AI-generated photo pops up on my feed, showing my best friend, Gwen Spalding, and my boyfriend, Andrew Gunnell, wrapped in each other's arms. Gwen's still a mess after getting dumped so suddenly, so I assume she's mixed Andrew up with someone else again. Then a comment stops me cold. "I was there. Joyce tried to brush it off before and claimed the picture was AI-generated, but let's see her deny this! Besides, look at them. A guy as hot as Andrew belongs with a knockout like Gwen. They look way better together." Attached to the comment is a candid photo of Gwen and Andrew wrapped in each other's arms, in the exact same pose as the picture on my feed. I screenshot the comment and send it straight to Andrew. Instead of explaining himself, he turns it around on me. "You know exactly why I didn't tell you. Gwen's in a really bad place right now. What am I supposed to do, stand back and watch her ruin her life? "The second I show her even a little kindness, you get jealous. Joyce, you really haven't changed at all." Before I can answer, he hangs up on me. I pull up Gwen's social media feed again, and this time, I notice what I missed before. Her first post is from the new restaurant I've told Andrew countless times I want to try with him. The second is from the movie we made plans to see a month ago. I keep scrolling. Everything I'd been looking forward to doing with Andrew, every plan he'd backed out of with one excuse after another, is right there in Gwen's photos. My vision blurs with tears. I reach into the trash, pull out the five-year exchange agreement for Caldria I tossed away moments ago, and sign my name. Once I'm gone, they won't have to lie to me anymore.

There were only two seats left at the company dinner. One was in the corner, and the other was beside my secret boyfriend of three years, Julian Locke. I had barely taken a step forward when Julian called out to my best friend, Capri Leigh. "Capri, sit here." My coworkers immediately squealed with excitement. The group chat went wild too. "They look so good together. Just seeing them sitting next to each other is a treat!" "Has Mr. Locke ever asked someone to sit with him before?" "I bet he's got a thing for Capri. I don't care. I'm shipping them anyway!" Throughout the dinner, Julian avoided even looking at me to keep people from getting suspicious. Even when a server burned my hand while bringing out a dish, he was still taking Capri's drinks for her. At that moment, one thought suddenly hit me. I didn't want to stay in this secret relationship anymore.

Before the Christmas holidays, the four of us besties from Kingsley City held a vote. We had one question on the table: should Mia Williams be allowed to join our tight-knit friend group? I thought my friends and my boyfriend would vote no, just like me. After all, Mia had ulterior motives. She had repeatedly mocked and provoked me, all while shamelessly flirting with my boyfriend. However, I could not have been more wrong. My childhood friend, Jason Miller, remained calm as he said, “I vote yes. Mia is great in every way. Jenna, your jealousy is getting out of hand.” My best friend, Lily Wilson, immediately backed him up. “Exactly! Jenna, you can’t be so selfish. You don’t get to decide who we’re allowed to be friends with.” I clenched my fists and turned to my boyfriend, Evan Taylor. He had already sent Mia an invitation to join our group chat. “Jenna, what’s one more person? Her joining isn't going to hurt you. Don’t be so difficult, okay?” That was when it hit me. The love and friendship I had always been so proud of had both betrayed me when it mattered most.

During my wedding, someone suggests that we play the game "one dollar and 50 cents". The host will call out an amount that the players will have to match by forming groups. I draw the 50-cent straw, and so does my best friend, Rebecca Cross, who is also the group favorite. My fiance, Ian Chilton, his childhood friend, Richard Price, his older sister, Anne Chilton, and my stepsister, Chelsea Whitmore, all draw one-dollar straws. For the first round, we need to make up a total of 1.50 dollars. I make a beeline toward Ian, but he gazes distractedly at Rebecca. It isn't until he is assured that she won't be eliminated that he finally loosens his painfully tight grip on my hand. Before I can truly feel my disappointment, the second round begins. This time, we need to make up a total of five dollars. Everyone instinctively surges toward Rebecca. I don't pester Ian this time, and he naturally fails to notice that I've been left out. It isn't until the host reminds them that they're 50 cents short that they reluctantly let me into their group. For the third round, we need to make up 2.50 dollars. It's clear that the six of us can conveniently form two groups of said amount, yet they debate heatedly over who gets to be in the group with Rebecca. As time is running out, Richard and Chelsea finally walk reluctantly toward me, having lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors. In the final round, we need to make up 4.50 dollars. As soon as the whistle is blown, they crowd together merrily. Ian even considerately wraps his arm around Rebecca's shoulders out of fear that she'll be jostled. Meanwhile, I'm knocked to the floor by the crowd, my palms digging deeply into splinters sticking out of the wooden floor paneling. From start to finish, nobody spares me a glance. In that instant, everything feels pointless to me. When we played hide-and-seek as children, they only realized I hadn't been "found" after nightfall. When we visited the amusement park as adults, they would always forget to buy my ticket. All things considered, it simply isn't polite to keep trying to fit into a small group that doesn't have room for me.

I've been married to Joel Hoover for three years. But whenever we go out with my best friend, Cynthia Marsh, people assume they're the couple. At the mall, sales associates hand them the gifts meant for couples. At restaurants, servers ask if they want to take part in the couples' promotion. When we travel, strangers compliment them on what a great couple they make, then hand me a phone to take their picture. At first, it makes me uncomfortable, but Joel never corrects anyone. Cynthia always laughs it off. "Maybe we just happen to look like a couple. Don't read into it." She says it so casually that every time, I tell myself not to make a big deal out of it. Then Joel tells me he's finally taking me to meet his family at a holiday dinner. I spend three whole months getting ready. But the moment we walk in, his mother grabs Cynthia's hand, beaming. "Just look at these two. Don't they make a perfect couple?" The relatives immediately start teasing them too. "You two must kiss a lot. You're even starting to look alike!" The whole room erupts in laughter. I stand there, watching Joel. He doesn't correct anyone. He just reaches over and tucks a loose strand of Cynthia's hair behind her ear. That's when it finally hits me. Joel isn't staying quiet because he can't be bothered to explain. He just doesn't want me to be his wife.

After we got married, my husband gave every piece of jewelry he bought me its own name. "This watch is Renee. This four-leaf clover bracelet is Phoebe. This diamond ring is Shannon..." My best friend looked puzzled. "Why do those all sound like women's names?" I smiled. "Because they are. "They're all named after women Derek Shaw cheated on me with. Every time I caught him, he would give me another piece." There were ninety-nine pieces in all. The first time I discovered his infidelity was the day after our wedding. I'd trashed our new home then. Derek simply wrapped his arms around me from behind, took my hand, and asked if it hurt. That night, he slipped a bracelet I had had my eye on onto my wrist. "I was just having a little fun. If you don't like her, I'll get rid of her." Over the three years we were married, some version of that scene played out almost every day. My heart went from twisting in agony to slowly being worn numb. I opened the box in my hands. Inside was a pearl necklace named Jenny. I used to tell myself that he was only fooling around and that, deep down, he still loved me. But this time was different. Derek had truly fallen for her. He took her to Tayhollow to see the ocean and laid the groundwork for her future after graduation... I ran my fingers over the pearls without the slightest flicker of emotion. "This is the hundredth, and I just don't have it in me to keep doing this anymore…"

When my best friend was being beaten by her ex, I was the one who paid off her treatment, bought her an apartment, and put up the money for her to open a clothing boutique. Six months later, she was pregnant with my fated mate's child. She knelt in front of me and cried. "You've had him for ten years. Just let me have him this once." My mate told me she would be the pack's new Luna. As for me, I could stay on at the company, making money for them and cleaning up their messes. He said it like it was obvious, because for five years I had been the one closing the clients and holding the team together, the one who turned a nearly bankrupt Blackpine Group into the leader of its industry. But a woman like me never allows a single crack in her own relationship, and as for those two, I was going to show them exactly what regret feels like!

A month before our wedding, I couldn't sleep. I picked up my fiancé's phone and found a password-protected album. I hesitated for a moment, then opened it. The album was packed with hundreds of photos, all of the same person. There were shots of her posing at Yosemite, drinking coffee outside the office, even one of her... asleep. My heart went cold. I didn't just know this woman. I knew her well. She was my best friend, Mia Porter. Tears were already streaming down my face. Eight years together. I'd been by Julian Hale's side from when he was a photography assistant all the way to becoming an established photojournalist. He never once took a photo of me, and even when I asked, he always refused. I thought he was sticking to some kind of professional principle. Turns out, the person he wanted to photograph just wasn't me. Just then, my phone buzzed. An account I'd turned on post notifications for had updated. Mia had updated her Instagram: "My favorite photographer finally agreed to take me to France! Can't wait for all the gorgeous shots. Any ideas for cute matching outfits with a European vibe?" I sat there in a daze for a long time before I quietly got up, slipped off my engagement ring, and booked a flight home. Eight years. I was finally free from walking on eggshells, terrified of crossing his so-called principles. Finally free from waiting at home, ready to cook him a hot meal the moment he walked through the door. If there was no room for me behind his lens, then I would step into a world without him and live a life that was truly my own.

When I was ten years old, I suddenly gained the ability to see red threads connecting people’s heads. Only those who had actually slept together would be bound by this unavoidable red line. Over the years, two extra red threads popped up over my father’s head, driving my mother to threaten to file for divorce again and again. Because of this, loyalty became the single most important thing I looked for in a partner. In the end, I chose Jasper—a modest, reserved man whose head was completely clean. On the night before our wedding, my bridesmaids hosted a bachelorette party. We played a game where whoever lost had to hand over their phone for the rest of us to snoop through. When it was my maid of honor Jean’s turn, she clutched her phone tightly, her face flushing red as she bashfully giggled. “Don’t look at mine! He wore me out so late last night. Those photos are definitely not fit for public viewing.” Everyone teased her for keeping her relationship so secretive, since no one had ever met her boyfriend. I was just about to step in and smooth things over when I suddenly saw a bright red thread stretch straight out from the top of her head. It wove right through the crowd and anchored itself directly onto my fiancé, Jasper. Yet, when he dropped me off at home last night, his head had been entirely clean. In fact, just half an hour ago, he had sent me a text. [Aria, I’ve saved myself for you for twenty-five years. On our wedding night tomorrow, I can finally have you. I love you!] I looked over at Jasper standing outside the door, staring at me with deep affection, and then back at Jean, whose face was glowing with passion. I raised my glass and clinked it gently against hers. “Jean, is your boyfriend’s last name Cook?”

On the day my overseas assignment ended, my boyfriend, Victor Walter, posted something on social media and quickly deleted it. The room was filled with familiar friends. The caption read, [Waiting for tonight's guest of honor.] I thought he had found out that I had changed my flight to come back early and wanted to surprise me. When I arrived at the location and entered the room, everyone fell silent. My best friend, Cynthia Haight, was the first to recover from the shock and said, "Welcome home! We've been waiting for you." Everyone ushered me into a seat and took turns toasting to my return. After several rounds, I leaned drowsily into Victor's arms and closed my eyes to fake being drunk. He pinched my cheek the way he always did and tested me, "Clementine?" When I did not respond, he draped his jacket over me. I smiled a little. Just as I was about to tease him, I heard Cynthia's voice, saying, "Victor, what are we going to do about our wedding on Saturday?" Victor let go of me and turned to pull her into his arms. "Don't worry. The wedding's still on." Their friends chimed in and reassured her softly, "Clementine won't find out. We're all covering for you. There's nothing to worry about." My body turned rigid. I only dared to open my eyes a tiny bit. Under the couch, I noticed something that had been shoved out of sight. [Victor Walter & Cynthia Haight—One-Year Anniversary.]

I had been dating my boyfriend, Julian Hayes, for four years, yet my best friend Fiona Blake still looked more like his girlfriend than I did. Whenever the three of us went furniture shopping, the sales associate would hand Julian and Fiona a catalog for couples. Whenever we went out for fondue, the server would ask if Julian and Fiona wanted a photo together. At the beach, a stranger once handed me her phone and asked, "Would you mind taking a picture of your friend and his girlfriend?" I smiled, took her phone, and raised it to take the picture. On the screen, Julian and Fiona looked every bit like a couple. Fiona always brushed it off. "We just have similar face shapes. It's a coincidence." Julian always reassured me. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. You're my only girlfriend." And year after year, I believed him. By our fourth year together, I started pushing him to finally set a wedding date. He said he was too busy and promised we'd set the date the following month. But when the next month came, he had another excuse. Fiona's visa was about to expire. She wanted to stay in the United States, and the easiest way to get a green card was through marriage. I stared at him. "And so?" He was silent for a long moment before finally answering. "I'll marry her first and sponsor her application. It's only a formality. Once she gets her green card, we'll get divorced." For a moment, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "And what about me?" He answered without hesitation. "Just give me a few years. It'll be over before you know it." A week later, Fiona posted a photo on Instagram. She held up their marriage certificate and leaned against Julian's shoulder, smiling so widely that her eyes crinkled. The caption read, "As of today, it isn't a coincidence. It's fate." I went back through years of messages. That was when I finally realized the truth. Julian had never once told anyone I was his girlfriend. Whenever strangers mistook Fiona for his girlfrien

On the first day of our honeymoon, Dante Moretti, the Mafia Don I had just married, and his childhood sweetheart left me at a gas station. They had driven for twenty minutes before realizing I wasn’t in the car. When he called, panic filled his voice. “Ariana, why didn’t you get back in? I thought you were in the back seat.” Bianca’s voice came clearly through the phone. “She isn’t a child, Dante. You don’t have to turn around for her.” I laughed bitterly. I had lost count of how many times he had left me behind for his childhood sweetheart. When I remained silent, irritation crept into his voice. “Don’t start, Ariana. I’ve sent one of the guards to pick you up. Just wait for the guard.” In the past, I would have forgiven him and waited. But this time, I didn’t want to. I canceled the rest of our honeymoon and removed the wedding ring I had worn for less than three days. Then I called my father for the first time in five years. “Father, I want to come home.” His voice trembled. “Ariana, the Bellini family has been waiting for you.”