Scumbag Obsessive Short Stories & Novels

My stepsister falsely accuses me of causing her allergies to act up. My three brothers stuff me into the cramped cellar and chain the door shut. I pound on the door and beg them to let me out. My eldest brother, an outstanding businessman, snaps, "It's bad enough that you keep bullying Lori. How could you make her eat seafood when you know she's allergic to it? Isn't that just murder? Stay in there and reflect on your mistakes!" My second brother, an award-winning singer, and my third brother, a genius painter, scoff contemptuously. "It's unbelievable that someone as evil as you is making excuses to garner pity. You can stay in there and repent for your sins!" After that, they take our shuddering stepsister to the hospital. The oxygen in the cellar soon runs out, and it gets difficult to breathe. Ultimately, I die in there. My brothers only remember me three days later when they bring our stepsister back from the hospital. Unbeknownst to them, I've already died of asphyxiation.

My mom had a sudden heart attack, and the medical bills were piling up faster than I could breathe. I was desperate, so I turned to my rich boyfriend, hoping he could help, or at least offer some kind of solution. But instead of the support I expected, he unleashed a tirade that hit harder than anything I'd ever heard. "So this is why you're with me? Just for my money? You're no different from those other women throwing themselves at me. You're all the same—pathetic and shameless!" Before I could even react, he shoved me out the door. Later, when he finally understood the full story, he handed me a bank card, no questions asked. "Candice," he said quietly, his tone almost remorseful. "The password is your birthday." I didn't say a word. I just let the card drop onto the floor and walked away without looking back.

Love is both salvation and torment. If Bella Ramsey were given another chance, she swore—she would never fall in love with Seth Rogan again.

My fiancé dumped me the moment he found out about my rare blood type. "That condition of yours? Yeah, it'd just drain my wallet." I was spiraling when Vincent showed up—like some knight in shining armor, pulling me out of the wreckage. He didn't care about my blood type. We barely dated before he proposed, and for a while, married life felt perfect. Until a year later, when I overheard him talking to a doctor. "Vincent, you already took 400 milliliters of Sophia's blood last month, and now you want another 200? Are you insane? Even if you love Emma, you can't just drain an innocent woman dry for her!" "A little more won't kill her. Stop overreacting." My head spun. My whole body went cold. That's when it hit me—our perfect marriage had been a lie from the start.

My dad was obsessed with getting me into Kingsbridge University or Central University, the two best universities in the country and two of the top universities in the world. He claimed it was for my own good as he made me retake the SAT, time after time. The first time I took the SAT, I scored 1360 points, more than enough to get into a highly ranked college. He tore up my offer letter and made me repeat the SAT. The second time, I scored 1440 points, enough to guarantee a spot at an elite college. He wouldn't even let me apply. I had to repeat the SAT. This time, I had scored over 1520 during all three practice exams. He was certain I would get into Kingsbridge University or Central University. But during the actual exam, my fever had climbed to 105.8 degrees Fahrenheit and my vision blurred. With my eyes red, I told my dad, "I really can't do this anymore..." He looked at me coldly, without a hint of concern. "It's just a fever! Everyone else can push through, why can't you? Stop acting so weak! "Be a man and tough it out! Even if you die, you better die in that exam room!" I gritted my teeth and went inside. After I filled in the last answer, I fainted and never got up again.