Bitter Feelings Novels & Stories

She’s probably never had macaroni and cheese with cut-up hotdogs in them. The sound of Vivian and Bernadette fade away – the door opens and closes, and I’m left in silence. Alone. Finally. But I don’t feel like crying any more. I don’t feel like hiding. Suddenly, I’m bitter. I feel the bitterness and anger eat away at my humiliation, hardening my skin. People like me are just ants for her to squish. For her to hold a magnifying glass and say “oh, how cute” as she burns us to death.

The betrayal felt like a knife twisting in my chest. Tears streamed down my face as my mind struggled to process the reality of the situation. I felt a mix of anger, sadness, and confusion swirling within me. How could he do this to me? Was everything we had shared just a lie? The pain of betrayal washed over me, leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed. I felt a deep sense of disappointment and hurt. It was as if the ground beneath me had crumbled, leaving me standing there, feeling foolish and deceived. The memories of our night together replayed in my mind, each one now tainted with the bitter taste of betrayal.

Oh, she's hot but a psycho So left but she's right though At night she screamin' "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind" Grab a cop gun kinda crazy She's poison but tasty Yeah, people say, "Run, don't walk away" 'Cause she's sweet but a psycho A little bit psycho At night she screamin' "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind" They had a fancy home with a very homey feeling and I loved it whenever I visited. I hear sounds of small feet running in our direction and prepare myself for the impact of the small boy of the two year old against my own.

My thoughts churned like a stormy sea, crashing against the shores of reason, leaving behind a trail of shattered expectations. Each bite felt like a bitter pill, a reminder of the emptiness that loomed within. The flavors melded together in a monotonous symphony, devoid of any joy or satisfaction. It was a reflection of my current state, a tasteless reminder of the bitterness that had seeped into every facet of my existence.

The sun was beginning to set, and John stared at the glass in his hand as if he could find some answer there. The disappointment was bitter. More than that: humiliating. The man who orchestrated multimillion-dollar mergers and led business strategies with cold precision had been naive when it came to feelings. He stood up and walked to the window. He looked out at the vast estate with its gardens and the golf course. In the distance, the city lights began to twinkle. And there he was, alone, drowning in feelings he despised: heartache and disappointment. “Love doesn’t exist. There are only interests,” he thought, taking another sip.

The raw pain in his voice when he spoke of my hatred for him sent a pang through my heart. I was about to call out to him, my voice hanging on the tip of my tongue, but he continued, his voice tinged with bitterness, "Well, I don't blame you. Mostly, everyone hates me. The few ones that show me love end up leaving me or asking for something in return for the love they've shown me." He chuckled, but it was a bitter, humorless sound, a defense mechanism to mask his inner turmoil.

AVA ​I woke up to a morning that felt entirely cold, grey, and wrong, despite the brilliant, blinding gold of the Dubai sun pouring over the marble floors of the penthouse. ​The phantom pain that had ripped through my chest during the dark hours of the night was gone, leaving behind a heavy, toxic layer of pure bitterness in my heart. As I sat at the kitchen island, staring blankly down into a cup of herbal tea I hadn't touched, my chest felt tight with an unexplainable sense of betrayal. It was a sickening, instinctual certainty that something beautiful had been permanently broken across the ocean. I didn't have the details, but my soul felt dirty, heavy, and completely wrapped in mourning.

That I was going to do this and be okay. I lifted the bowl and put it to my lips. Once the first mouthful hit my tongue, my stomach tried to leap out of my throat. It tasted like iron and ash, bitter herbs and old grief: a flavor that felt like digging up every wound I’d ever buried. My mouth burned. The bile rose heavily and insistently, clawing to the surface. I forced it down. Garret did this. Carlin did this. I could do this. I reminded myself that I desired this with the desperate hunger of someone who longed for a life she was kept away from.

Fia held her cup of coffee and blew on it before taking a sip. She smiled at Barbara, who was surprised. “To me, drinking coffee is drinking coffee, not sugar and milk.” “It’s too bitter!” Thinking about the taste was enough to make Barbara frown. “Life is already bitter enough. Why not give yourself a little sweetness?” “I like bitter gourd,” Fia mindlessly replied. “However, it is because bitter gourd is in essence bitter, it is not that I am finding bitterness for myself.”

“It will leave a flame that will be eating you slowly. Sir, you may even resent yourself for being stupid. You will hate yourself and will not forgive yourself so easily. Don’t you know the depth of feeling in one’s heart makes it hard for another one to grow?” “The death of feeling in someone’s heart will blind you that you won’t even be able to return the love for someone else who may deserve it. Death of one’s feeling is painful and more deadly than betrayal from a close one because you betray yourself and will hate yourself and if you hate yourself, you will vent your anger on yourself and nothing will be meaningful to you...”