This Is Ridiculous Novels & Stories

WRONG NUMBER “Shit!” Arielle Lawson cursed under her breath as her bag slipped off the bar counter, spilling its entire contents across the floor for the uninterested crowd of Midnight Halo Lounge, Manhattan to see. She stared at the mess absentmindedly through her increasingly blurry vision, wondering how she was supposed to gather whatever remained of her dignity. A part of her knew that if she stood up too quickly, she’d land face-first on the cold, filthy tiled floor. Her legs were already betraying her, softened by whisky and regret.

"Have you given up on that ridiculous idea of changing that asshole?" "Almost," I replied, barely recognizing myself in that moment. "Almost."

Another added. "Who knows what all ridiculous things she has done?" Everyone started talking about the pictures. Arien stood up with her back straight and her signature smile in her face. "How can you judge me just by looking at some edited pictures?" She spoke looking confidently at them. Madonna, who acted to be to innocent just now, spoke up. "Miss Jenner, I hope you feel a bit shame saying these pictures edited after you are exposed." She looked at her with ridicule. "You should know well who needs to be ashamed, isn't it, Miss Madonna?" Arien was still calm.

Utterly speechless, the last ridiculous shred of hope inside me died quietly. … Meanwhile, at the headquarters of Silvercrest pack, Ethan glared at his phone with a frosty expression. The dark circles beneath his eyes were daunting. He was like a trapped beast, pacing the office back and forth, exuding a cold yet dangerous air. His phone was placed face down on the table. He almost flung it out of the window twice. When he saw the state his usually level-headed best friend was in, Cameron Duffal—Ethan's Beta—could no longer hold in his laughter.

"Ah! Stupid me. I thought I was different, I thought I was special, so it was all a facade. You couldn't even stand up for me. You were there the whole time Alex! You heard what your mom said, and what did you do? Nothing, absolutely nothing. You stood there saying mom stop, she is my girlfriend. You could not even support me or stop your mom from her bullshit so what were you expecting? For me to stand and watch as your mother treat me with scorn in a public place? Ah! Bite me."

Inside was a dream; tall walls, open space, windows so big you could see everything yet nothing at all. The isolation of the property both excited and scared me, and the longer I walked around holding Armani’s hand, the more I began to feel a little hopeful again. My concerns over the last day felt silly — presumptuous. Though a part of my brain was still very aware that this could turn sour very quickly, I allowed myself to enjoy this simple few minutes with my fake husband and even smile, just a little bit.

This was getting absolutely ridiculous “You’ve got to be kidding me. My current roommates are barely ever there. I can handle their crap because they’re gone most of the time. You’re really going to stick me with someone new? That’s—” I broke off and shook my head. “This is ridiculous.” She sighed quietly, folding her hands. She didn't seem as though she was going to change her mind, but it didn't stop me from feeling embarrassed, pissed as fuck.

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Something was also messing with my signal, making me squint painfully. "Miss Mackenzie, Linking is not allowed in public. There are signal jammers here. We believe in transparency, So expect everyone to speak out." Greg said, and I was stunned. It did not feel right at all. Why were we not allowed to link each other in public? Gardenia might not be the utopia we thought it was. Only humans would want that as a law because it is an ability they do not possess. "You sill have pure humans in your midst, right?" I said with a broad smile as if I was a huge fan of humans and wanted to meet them. Greg nodded.

“The universe sent me wisdom. And comedy.” “You—!” she stomped her foot. “That was private parent conversation! You’re not allowed to store embarrassing data on your tenants!” “I’m not storing anything,” he replied calmly. “Just wondering if the earrings on the stick figure helped the examiner remember the answer.” She turned a shade of red no artist could paint. And in her flustered fury, as she stomped again — one of her delicate silver anklets snapped off and fell onto the stairs with a soft metallic ting.