Melodramatic Short Stories & Poor Student Regret Novels

My sister, Delilah Sorrell, and I are now in our third year of captivity after being trafficked into Northern Marovia. Her whereabouts are unknown—whether she is dead or alive, no one knows—while I am tortured until I am nothing but a living corpse. The rotting flesh on my body constantly gives off a stench, the old iron chains on my feet cut deep into my skin, and I even compete with pigs for food just to fill my stomach. I finally quit resisting after countless cries for help went unanswered. I become completely consumed by despair, with only one thought left in my mind—to die. Suddenly, I hear a fierce argument happening nearby, just as I swallow a handful of pills and wait for my life to fade away. "Bennett is your younger brother! You already ruined his bright future after the SAT just for the sake of an underprivileged student! Why are you still putting him through this torture?" Delilah, my missing sister, suddenly shows up, speaking in a rushed, irritated tone. "He knows perfectly well that I am always here to back him up and that his grades don't matter. He still deliberately went out of his way to beat Nathan's scores, triggering a relapse of Nathan's depression! "I'm merely punishing him to teach him some humility. I'll be bringing him home once Nathan graduates in a month, so this minor hardship means nothing." I finally realize the truth now. I have risked my life searching every inch of the compound and still can't find her. It turns out that from the very beginning, all of this is just her punishing me for the sake of Nathan Baker, that underprivileged student. I cough up a mouthful of blood as I laugh through my tears. "Your punishment for me is finally coming to an absolute end, Delilah. I won't be returning home with you ever again."

Jethro Miles was an orphan sponsored by my dad. The moment I laid eyes on him, I flipped. Despite my family's objections, we dated for seven years, even as my dad threatened to disown me. Eventually, my dad relented and consented to our marriage. But as we exchanged rings, a young woman in a white dress burst into the venue, staring at Jethro with tears in her eyes. He chased after her, abandoning our wedding. Later, I learned that the woman was his childhood friend from the orphanage. Jethro desperately tried to explain, "Nancy grew up with me. She is like a sister to me. She's been through abuse and divorce. Please, give me time to help her, okay?" Tears blurred my vision as I watched him plead so fervently, my heart plummeting into despair. I managed, "Okay." Jethro took care of Nancy and her son as if they were his real family. What he didn't know were the two secrets I'd kept from him when my dad finally agreed to our marriage: I was pregnant, and I was dying.

My fiancé of eight years moved in with the junior he was mentoring. She was young, pretty, knew how to play helpless, and knew exactly what she was doing. He'd down every toast meant for her—the same nights he let me get talked into drinking until I nearly died. He sat with her through her depression, fetched her water, fed her by hand. And me? I was alone in a hospital bed, burning with a 104-degree fever. He set her up on a pedestal and never noticed I'd been ground into the dirt. The day they discharged me, I didn't scream. I didn't fall apart. I went home, quietly packed a suitcase, and burned every memory that had his name on it. Later I heard the famous CEO of Washington Group showed up at his fiancée's door with millions of dollars in gifts. He found an empty apartment. And he lost his mind.

Seven years into my relationship with Isla Farrow, she legally marries Damien Calder, a student she sponsors who is also ten years younger than her. When I see the marriage certificate, I think it must be a joke. Then Isla rushes to explain, and I realize it is real. "Damien's school is really strict. He has run out of every excuse in the book to get time off for his volunteer trip to an underserved community. Wedding leave is the only one he hasn't tried. "I'm just helping him out with a cover story. He's doing a good thing. When he gets back, I'll file for divorce. "It's not that big a deal. Why are you so mad? Once I'm divorced from him, we'll get married. Isn't that enough?" I put the marriage certificate back in the drawer. "There's no need. I wish you two a lifetime of happiness."

I was a sucker for pretty faces. The only reason I agreed to date Isabelle was because she was passable-looking as partner material. It had only been a few days since junior year started when my roommate came over to me and awkwardly said, "Damian, I just spotted your girlfriend getting pretty close to that well-known broke pretty boy by the campus lake." I immediately rolled up my sleeves and rushed toward the lake. From a distance, I saw Isabelle standing very close to a slim young man. But the moment I got a good look at his face, I froze. "Damn! This guy was insanely handsome!" He was so good-looking that even I, as another guy, was jealous. Isabelle frowned and stepped in front of me. She said impatiently, "His grandma was rushed to the hospital after a heart attack. I was only trying to comfort him. Don't give him a hard time for no reason, okay?" I pulled her aside, then walked over and gave the handsome guy a firm pat on the shoulder. "Bro, if you're in trouble, you can come to me!"