Scumbag Melodramatic Short Stories & Novels

Luna Smith was a famous tarot reader. When Dean Stark and I were going to register our marriage, she flashed three cards, saying that marrying this day would ruin his destiny and fortunes. Dean promptly called it off, and told me to wait a couple of days… which ended up being five years. When I got pregnant, she said that the child would be a jinx to its father, and I was hence forced to get an abortion… on four different occasions. When my mother was diagnosed with liver cancer, I begged Dean for $200,000 on my knees. Even before Dean said a word, Luna frowned and said, "Your mother and her family are jinxed. If the money changes hands, Dean's career will be over." Dean sighed as he pushed me away. "Death is inevitable. Just accept it." I finally went hysterical, but Luna slapped me across the face. "You're being hounded by jinxes. That's why things aren't going well for Dean lately!" Then, blushing as she turned to Dean, she said, "Just sleep with me once, and let your male vigor erupt to blow away the jinxes. That's the only way." Everyone else promptly told me to be understanding and think of the big picture, while Dean himself said, "I swear—this will happen only once, and I will close my eyes the whole time. "We will marry once it's over. You've waited a long time for this, right?" Hence, he scooped Luna up in his arms and strode into our bedroom. As everyone else laughed and cheered, I quietly left and took out my phone, texting the famous demon king ruling the city, "We should register our marriage today, as it says in the cards. Are you coming?"

At my bachelor party the night before my wedding, my wedding ring starts talking to me. "In a few minutes, your childhood friend Christopher will hand you a hangover pill. Once you take it, you'll fall into a deep sleep and be taken into a private lounge. "He'll unlock your phone, take out a multi-million-dollar loan in your name, then hire escorts to stage a scandal that ruins your reputation." It goes on, "On your wedding day, your alleged sex scandal and crushing debt will be exposed. Your fiancee, Annabelle, will call off the wedding. "Your father, who rushes in from out of town, will die of a heart attack. Unable to bear the shock, your mother will jump to her death. "Debt collectors will hunt you down, and you'll contract a sexually transmitted disease. In the end, you'll die alone in a dumpster." That night's party was Christopher Larson's idea, and everyone here is a close friend or family member. I figure I'm just drunk and hearing things. But a second later, Christopher hands me a pink pill. "Take this hangover pill, Marvin. Big day tomorrow. You can't afford to mess it up," he says. He looks genuinely concerned, but my wedding ring suddenly heats up. "Don't trust him! Leave now, or you'll be completely ruined!" I sober up almost instantly and reach out to Christopher. "My phone's dead. May I borrow yours to make a call?" If he had already set a trap for me, there was no way he'd let me walk away. Then, I call my fiancee, Annabelle Sterling. She answers immediately, and her voice is tight with worry. "Chris?" Hearing her say his name like that makes my heart sink. "The wedding's tomorrow. Make sure you take good care of Marvin," says Annabelle. I let out a breath of relief, guilt creeping in. But my ring keeps getting hotter. A beat later, it says, "Annabelle is more than a month pregnant." I freeze in place as a chill runs down my spine.

Shawn Bryant had touch starvation, yet he never let me touch him so much as accidentally. We'd lived together for four years, and every night he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around a goose plush toy. "Holding it simulates an embrace," he told me once. "It gives me a sense of security. It calms my nerves." I curled into his arms and pouted. "Isn't holding me the same thing?" He gently pushed me away and rolled over to hug the goose instead. "Don't start. Bebe's soft. It's comfortable to hold." One time I threw the goose in the washing machine, and Shawn lost his temper completely. "What if it's ruined now?" I didn't think much of it. "So we'll buy another one." "You don't understand anything!" He didn't speak to me for days after that. While he was in the shower, I snuck a look at his phone, hoping to find where he'd bought Bebe so I could replace it and make peace. His screen was still open to a chat thread. Every message in it had an exclamation point beside it, marking it as unsent. Shawn: [Holding Bebe is like holding you.] Shawn: [I can't sleep at all without you.] Shawn: [Cynthia, when are you finally coming back?] The last message had been sent the day before. The exclamation point beside it was gone, and a reply sat underneath it, glaring up at me. Cynthia: [This time it was a hug. What about next time?] My mind went blank. I looked at the goose lying on the bed and suddenly found the whole thing pointless. Shawn, if you were never going to let anyone actually touch you, then I'm done trying to be the one.

For seven years, my girlfriend, Sienna Jacoby, struggled with emotional avoidance. She never initiated a conversation with me. Whether I discussed major or minor matters with her, she only replied with either [1: Yes] or [2: No]. Even when I showed her the medical record that confirmed my uremia diagnosis, she gave a curt response and turned to go to work. My best friend, Ethan Quinn, once advised me, "A woman like her is worse than an air conditioner. At least an air conditioner knows when to cool you down and when to warm you up. What is the point of being with someone like her?" I stroked the ring on my ring finger and smiled. "She is just sick and does not know how to express herself. She loves me." A month later, on my birthday, I arrived at the restaurant late and saw Sienna sitting next to Ethan. They leaned closely together. The woman who always acted cold toward me beamed as she carefully wiped the rain from my friend's forehead. Ethan wore Sienna's coat. I looked away and fixed my gaze on the text message I sent to her a few minutes earlier. Clint Button: [Sienna, it is raining heavily today. I did not bring an umbrella. Could you come and pick me up?] Sienna: [2: No] I stood still and realized that I was the sick one. I had been blind as a bat.

Everyone knew that the crown prince, Mathias Cavendish, was a handsome man with a calm and composed demeanor. He was a dream suitor for every woman of marriageable age in the city. However, no one knew how wild he was with Seraphina Montclair when his body pressed against hers every night and he thrust hard into her in all sorts of positions in bed. On the 1,001st night he met her through the secret passage, Seraphina lay weakly in the messy sheets, feeling sore all over. Mathias looked down at her after being fully satisfied, and she finally worked up the courage to say, "Your Highness will be marrying my older sister at the end of the month…" Her fingers clenched the corner of the covers as she said almost inaudibly, "Would you be willing to give me a place by your side on the same day?" Mathias was wearing his clothes when he suddenly paused. "No." He turned to look at her, his cold yet handsome face lit up under the flickering candlelight. "I promised Cordelia that she would be the only woman by my side. Your presence shall never be known to her." Seraphina turned pale instantly. "What would that make me?"

Back in my hometown, the women would brew wine at a young age for their future husbands. Since college, Jake Sanders and I had left our hometown for a brighter future in a city far away, and we finally returned in glory. I was finally able to open my vat of wine, which had been kept for 28 years. I knew that Jake was quite particular about hygiene, so I changed my wine to store-bought wine during the town celebration, even though I knew it was taboo. When I was about to share this secret with him, I heard his conversation with his buddies. "Are you sure you're going to drink Erica's wine? You'll have to marry her according to tradition if you do that. Won't Cassie be mad?" "Yeah. Cassie has already opened her vat of wine. If no one drinks from it, she can't marry." Jake laughed with indifference. "She won't be able to leave me. She's even willing to change that vat of wine for me. Besides, her wine has been left for 28 years. Who would want to drink that? Erica's wine is only 20-years-old, and I heard wine is sweetest at this stage. "Even though I've chosen Erica, I'll still make sure to treat Cassie well. I'll marry her if no one will." It felt like my heart had been cored out and a cold wind was gusting through it, but I decided to let this go because I was not an unwanted woman, and Jake was not the only man in this world. I replied to the text that was sent to me every year: [Will you marry me?] He replied right away: [Wait for me.]

A top-rated comment caught my eye while I was browsing an online confession thread. [I have a confession. My best friend and his wife tried everything to have a baby. After countless medical visits, they discovered the fertility issue was with him.] [I felt so sorry for him that whenever he was away on business trips or at medical appointments, I secretly helped his wife try to conceive.] [I never wanted to wreck their marriage. I just wanted him to have a child. But somewhere along the way, I started falling for her too.] [A few years ago, she used overseas training as a cover to give birth and bring the child home. He even made me the kid’s godfather.] [The kid’s five now, and his wife has somehow managed to balance the two of us perfectly.] [Honestly, I think things are pretty good the way they are. I get to be with the woman I love, and I don’t have to lose someone important to me.] The comments tore him apart, but he barely seemed to care. Instead, he uploaded a photo of a woman cooking in the kitchen. [If you knew how good I’ve got it, you’d want to be me.] I recognized the woman at a glance. She was my wife. Beside her Jaeger-LeCoultre watch was a black braided men’s bracelet. I had personally slipped it onto her wrist just last week.

The night the hurricane made landfall, the emergency alert had barely stopped sounding when my sister-in-law, Brielle Rourke, called again. I listened to her helpless sobbing, then calmly handed the phone to my husband, Caleb Rourke, who was busy boarding up the balcony doors. Whatever she said, he kept agreeing to it. He pulled on a rain jacket and gave me that practiced, guilty look. "Her window's broken, Lena. She's all alone over there. I'll patch it up and I'll be back before the worst of it hits, I promise." Once again, it wasn't a discussion. It was an announcement. Five years of marriage, and every storm had gone exactly the same way. The moment the thunder started, her call came right on schedule. I used to fight about it, but he always said, "My brother died young. Brielle's raising his son by herself. We help when we can." "You're a grown woman, and a strong one. You can look after yourself and our son, right?" The wind split the glass, and the shards opened my calf to the bone. I reached for the baby sweater I'd never finished knitting. Tonight, Caleb, I don't think your son or I need you anymore.

The day I go wedding dress shopping with my best friend, Alice Wilson, I catch her fiance and his female friend getting intimate inside the fitting room. I rush over to tell Alice, only to get a hard slap across the face. "I know you're jealous I'm marrying into wealth, but I never thought you'd make up such vile lies about my boyfriend! He and Fiona are just best friends. How could he ever do something like that?" Despite my desperate warnings and pleas, she marries Matthew Price anyway. She even posts about me online. "My best friend of over a decade turned out to be the one who couldn't stand seeing me happy." The post goes viral, exposing me to a barrage of relentless hate. Everyone brands me a toxic friend. Matthew holds a grudge against me for exposing his affair with Fiona and hires someone to ruin me. As I try to escape in a panic, I get hit by a car and die on the spot. When I open my eyes again, I am right back to the day I was helping Alice try on wedding dresses. From inside the fitting room, those same scandalous sounds ring out once more.

Neil Waller had a strange way of handling every fight between us. He called it a reconciliation mystery box. Whenever we argued, he would block me for three days. Then, as if nothing had happened, a link would suddenly appear on my phone. His message usually went something like this: "Open it. If you get 'Better Luck Next Time,' leave me alone. If you get a reconciliation coupon, maybe I'll forgive you." For years, I played along. The punishments changed every time. Sometimes, I had to put up with another week of being ignored. Sometimes, Neil made me apologize in front of other people. Once, I opened the mystery box while he was having dinner with another woman, only for him to casually tell me we could talk after he was finished. The sixth time I finally drew a reconciliation coupon, Neil wrapped his arms around me and gave me that relaxed, self-assured smile I knew so well. "See, Gabriella? No matter how unlucky you are, you still come back to me in the end." At the time, I told myself his indifference was only an act. I believed that somewhere beneath his arrogance and careless attitude, Neil still loved me. Then I discovered the mystery box he had made for the new intern, Shelley Vaughn. Hers had only one outcome: Neil's unconditional favor, and her chance of getting it was one hundred percent. One day, Shelley accidentally knocked over my coffee. Before I could even react, Neil immediately went to comfort her. The coffee had spilled across the back of my hand, leaving my skin red and stinging, yet Neil frowned. "You're not a little girl anymore. Do you really need someone to comfort you over every small thing?" That night, another mystery box appeared on my phone. It was the seventh one. Neil had left a message underneath it. 'Open it. If you get the Reconciliation Coupon, come back.' I stared at those words for a long time. This time, I did something different. I never opened the box. I blocked Neil instead. On the seventh round, I finally stopped waiting for him to choose me. For once, I chose myself.

The night before my wedding, as I was trying on my bridal gown, a line of floating text suddenly drifted across my vision. [Stop smiling. Tomorrow, right in the middle of your vows, the groom is going to bolt for the airport to pick up his first love.] I figured I was just hallucinating from sheer exhaustion until a second text flashed before my eyes. [She spent nine months planning this entire wedding, but he swapped out the ring for his first love's finger size ages ago.] I flipped open the ring box, and sure enough, the diamond band inside was a size too small. The next afternoon, the cathedral was packed with guests. Right as the officiant asked if Victor Bates took me to be his lawfully wedded wife, his phone chimed. The second he saw the caller ID, he turned on his heel and headed straight for the exit without even removing his lapel mic. "Hold on a second. Something came up with Sallie. I can't just ignore it," he said frantically. I tried to chase after him, but his mother grabbed my arm. "A man showing loyalty and compassion is a good thing! Don't throw a scene on your big day." My best friend chimed in, "Look, he's going to come back and marry you eventually anyway. Isn't securing the official title enough?" The entire room waited for me to swallow my pride and endure it. Meanwhile, the floating texts flashed across my field of vision in a frantic frenzy. [Here it comes! She's finally waking up!] I lifted the heavy train of my gown, stepped up to the altar, and took the microphone right out of the officiant's hand. I announced, "The wedding goes on. We're replacing the groom." [Holy shit! Total queen moves! She is killing it!] Sitting in the front row, a man slowly raised his head and buttoned his tailored suit jacket.

I spent seven years drafting divorce papers for other people. I never expected that the ninety-ninth agreement would be my own. That night, my husband, Carter, lost a tabletop game during a live stream with his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. The penalty was to give up the thing he treasured most. Chloe smiled at the camera, tapping his wedding ring. "Lend me your marriage for a day." The comment section blew up. Carter looked at me like he was giving orders to an assistant. "Evelyn, you know the drill. "Sign a temporary divorce agreement. I’ll cancel it with you tomorrow morning." Chloe lowered her eyes, her voice trembling. "Forget it. She won't let you. You always choose her over me anyway." I reached into my bag and touched the positive IVF result. Seven years of hormone shots. Four miscarriages. I didn't even have the energy to tell him anymore. As the camera zoomed in on my face, I pushed the papers back across the table. "Carter, this time, I’m putting down a bet, too. “I bet the thing you lose tonight isn't just me.”

Seven days before my wedding, I discover that my stepsister Harper Brooks' wedding invitation lists the same groom as mine—Jeffrey Sullivan. At first, I assume the printing company has made a mistake. So, I take the invitations to my mom to ask what's going on. Before I can knock, I overhear her talking to Harper through the door. "Marry Jeffrey first. Once the baby's born and everything's settled, he'll go back to Barbara. She owes you her life. Letting you marry him first is the least she can do." Tears stream down Harper's cheeks. "But what about Barbara?" Mom sighs, then says matter-of-factly, "They've been together for 12 years. One piece of paper isn't going to change much. But your situation is different. Your baby needs a father." Outside the door, I grip the invitations so tightly they crumple in my hands. Only then do I realize why Jeffrey skipped my wedding dress fitting three months earlier. He claims he's busy with work, but in reality, he's taking Harper to a prenatal appointment. At the time, I just laugh and tease him. "Stand me up on our wedding day too, and I'll find another groom." Jeffrey smiles as he settles my veil over my hair, then leans down and kisses me. "Don't be silly. I'm the only man you'll ever marry." Now, that promise seems every bit as ridiculous as these two wedding invitations. When Jeffrey finds me, he doesn't deny any of it. Instead, he pulls me into his arms, his eyes red-rimmed. "I've always loved you. But I have to take responsibility for the baby she's carrying," he says. "I'll marry her, but my heart will always belong to you." I know exactly what he means. He wants Harper to be his wife while turning me, the fiancee who's loved him for 12 years, into his mistress. I look at Jeffrey and smile. "Okay." He thinks I've agreed. But he doesn't know that on our wedding day, he'll marry Harper, and I'll marry someone else.

After the college entrance exam, Zac and I went on a graduation trip together. I never expected to run into my best friend, Keira, on the airport shuttle. Before I could even process the surprise, Zac started explaining next to me. "Keira's never been on a plane before. I happened to have some points, so I used them to get her a half-price ticket." Keira smiled and took my hand. "You don't mind having one more person with you, do you? I promise I'll try not to get in your way." I forced a smile. Once we arrived at our destination, the three of us went sightseeing together. They always seemed to gradually drift closer to each other while leaving me behind. Only after walking for a while would they suddenly remember I was there. They would then turn around and complain that I was walking too slowly. When I suffered from heatstroke and was taken to the hospital by a kind stranger, neither of them even noticed. "Where did you go? Did you get registered? Keira's starving." Zac called to question me. That was when I saw the message he had sent. He instructed me to go line up at a popular restaurant. I also saw the hundreds of photos of Keira he had sent in our three-person group chat. It was obvious who he paid more attention to. Since I was already out of the picture, I decided to just give up on him.

After six years of maintaining a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend, I finally saved enough money to buy a house. Without telling him, I travelled to his city. I had only wanted to surprise him and get our marriage officially registered. When the people at the front desk learned that I was there to see Andy, they smiled and handed me a wedding favor. “Are you here to give us the wedding gift? Our CEO, Mr. Ferrell, is getting married today. Here’s a wedding favor for you.” I was about to explain to them that the Andy I was looking for was merely a low-level employee at the company, when I saw a familiar figure step out of the elevator. It was Andy’s ex-roommate. When I saw him dressed as a groomsman, I earnestly asked, “Is someone getting married today? Why hasn’t anyone informed me?” Just then, his phone rang. My best friend’s voice came through the speaker. “Why aren’t you here yet? Andy and Sophia’s wedding is about to start. “How can the best man not show up? We’re going to give you the noogie when you get here!”

After our engagement, my fiance, Justin Ford, has someone bring a child back from Verdanne and hand him over to me. An email arrives along with the boy. "Nora, I got bored out of my mind in Verdanne and accidentally knocked Cindy up. Since you've always been sweet and obedient, I'm leaving my son with you. Consider it practice. When we come home, you'll be all set to work as our nanny." Without a word, I hand the child over to the butler. Seven years later, all the CEOs stationed overseas return to headquarters to report in. Justin pulls up in a Maybach with a whole entourage, blocking the entrance to the Ford estate where I live. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he tilts his head and takes off his sunglasses. "Did you miss me that badly? Is that why you're waiting out here?" He takes a drag from his cigarette before continuing, "By the way, Cindy and I got married in Verdanne so we could get our son registered. From now on, you two can treat each other like sisters. Whatever she gets, you'll get too. "The Shaws and the Fords are practically family anyway. You don't care about a piece of paper, do you?" With that, he blows smoke ring after smoke ring into my face, leaving me choking with tears streaming from my eyes. I quickly step back and wipe away the tears. My son's dad is an extremely jealous man who warned me long ago to keep my distance from the younger men in the Ford family. If my husband catches his nephew harassing his wife, all hell will break loose in the Ford family.

When Jase Conley's rivals came after him, I took the blow meant for him and lost a leg. Kneeling before me with bloodshot eyes, he swore, "Francesca, one day I'll rise to the top. I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again." Seven years later, he shoved me out of my wheelchair over a single glass of wine I'd thrown in another woman's face. "Francesca, I warned you. Don't touch her. If you're tired of being Mrs. Conley, then get out of that seat and let her have it." He threw a divorce agreement at me. "A billion dollars. That's what your leg cost me. From this day on, no one gets to lay a finger on her." I tore the agreement in half and flung it back in his face. "You owe me far more than a leg, Jase. You want to wipe the slate clean between us? Then you and your little girlfriend can pay with your lives."

Natalie Shaw, the dance company's new understudy, slipped razor blades into my practice outfit and left my back slashed and bloody. My boyfriend, Derek Mercer, the theater's associate director, sent her makeup case skidding across the room with one furious kick. "Touch her again, and I'll end you!" Natalie was thrown out of the rehearsal room, her eyes rimmed red. After that, she didn't just refuse to back down. She hired a few thugs to corner me in the alley behind the theater. Derek threw himself in front of me to block a steel pipe, fracturing his arm. Everyone said Derek would die for me. Then, at a sponsors' dinner the night before the tour, I drank a glass of wine Natalie handed me. Within minutes, my limbs went slack and my skin began to burn. I dragged myself into a storage closet at the end of the hall, only to hear Natalie's syrupy voice just outside the door. "The way you took that beating for her two days ago almost broke my heart. But..." Fabric rustled, and Natalie giggled. "Back in the private dining room, you watched me slip something into her drink. You knew those sponsors had cameras ready and were waiting for her. And you just stepped out for a smoke." "You let me destroy her reputation, so the principal role is mine now. Right?" Derek said nothing. He only pinned her against the door. The door vibrated slightly, striking a heavy blow against my heart. He had already given his heart to someone else.

For the national championship final, I took time off work and flew halfway across the country to surprise my boyfriend. I'd barely settled into my seat when the girl beside me started gushing to her friend. "See his tie? I picked it out for him last night. Good taste, right? He even said I was the inspiration behind his entire Human Emotion Thesis for this tournament." Her friend gave her a knowing smile. "You actually landed Lucien Grant, the debate star. You should be thrilled." I froze. My boyfriend's name was Lucien Grant too. And the Human Emotion Thesis she claimed to have inspired? It had been born from seven years of pillow talk between Lucien and me.

Seven years with Luke Bates, and he still can't remember that I have a seafood allergy. Yet he treats that faded lucky charm locket in his car like a sacred treasure. Inside lies a note that says, "May God bless that specific someone with top marks. If it works, I'll go vegan for three months." Luke calls it a prank by his high school buddy and tells me not to get jealous over nothing right before we register our marriage. I believe him, happily pouring my heart into planning our wedding. Then comes today. I accompany him back to his hometown for a banquet, only for a woman in a floral dress to burst through the door with tears pooling in her eyes. The elders pulled her over, their faces full of concern. "Phoebe, you must be exhausted from that pilgrimage. Come, sit next to Luke." A few drinks in, someone speaks, slurring their words. "Remember when Phoebe casually mentioned praying for a favor? Luke went vegan with her and ended up with a stomach ulcer." I take a quiet sip of juice, listening in silence. It turns out the charm locket that has hung in his car for seven years wasn't for a buddy at all. It's for his first love.