Number Five Novels & Stories

I said. “Holy shit! You went for an apology and still got fucked!” bella said. “What?” I asked. “I can't still wrap my head around you been with all five of them, it's crazy,” she said again. “Oh, stop speaking like my grandma, let her live her life however she wants” Jan said, doubling over in laughter. “How you seriously judging me?” I asked. “Girl, everyone is taking. I don't want to talk too much but I think five is really a lot,” bella said.

In the five years we were together, we had never gone more than a week without seeing each other. After a few months of no contact, seeing her again made it feel like a lifetime had passed. Only this time, I didn't feel that heart-fluttering warmth. Nothing remained except a sense of calm. It was crazy to think that all the love and time we had spent together during the last five years could simply vanish in a few short months. The group around us, who had just fallen silent because of what I said, immediately began whispering, "Looks like the couple's having a bit of a spat."

—Tracy. Beneath the caption was a video link. His hands trembled as he clicked it open. The screen filled with the image of me, painting. It was a step-by-step chronicle, from the initial pencil sketch to the meticulous finishing touches. Each stroke carried the weight of dedication and love. The version of me in the video smiled softly as I spoke to the camera. "This is my fifth-anniversary gift for my husband. Dennis Malcolm, thank you for staying by my side."

He was experiencing those five miserable years I'd suffered back then. This was the punishment he deserved.

"Are you a sow, Penelope? How in the world are you able to still get pregnant after five miscarriages? I study medicine, so you can't trick me—I know signs of pregnancy when I see them. "I'm going to become Sam's real wife soon, and you're nothing more than just a useless substitute for me. You're the outsider in this relationship, and he's just using you to satisfy his physical needs, got it? That child inside your womb will never be anything more than a bastard. "Right, do you want to know what happened to your past five stillborns?" Then, she took out her phone and shook it in front of my eyes, as if she was showing off, and my entire body shuddered in anguish.

It slows right in front of me, and for a second, I think it’s going to stop. Maybe hitchhiking is a better idea than waiting for a cab. I step toward the street—and then it accelerates. The tire sinks into a puddle, and a mix of water and mud explodes straight at me, ruining my immaculate skirt. “Damn idiot! Are you blind or what?” I shout, furious, trying to see the jerk hiding behind the tinted window. The window rolls down slowly. Shamelessly. A long arm appears first. The sleeve of a black suit fits it perfectly, revealing a small but impossible-to-ignore tattoo on his wrist: a Roman numeral five.

"Region five. . . " Sugarmaui--