Chapter 1
Start writing here…"Eight cheating exes. Eight," I repeated, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. "I mean, seriously? I can't even blame it on my nose, though I've considered it. Or my perpetually messy hair, which looks like a bird's nest after five minutes of brushing it, winter, summer, autumn always frizzy hair for me, Spring, though? That's my season, but it leaves me with a runny nose like I'm a kid in kindergarten.
I huffed, giving my reflection a final, critical glance before stepping out. I'd tried everything—dating apps, blind dates, even karaoke nights. Yet somehow, my romantic life resembled a never-ending parade of disastrous relationships. And now,crossing the street to fetch a big cake and flowers, I was hoping against hope that Dickinson, my newest prospect, would be different. Dickinson. He's handsome. He opens car doors. Yes, I said opens car doors for me!
The narrator: sarcastic gasp.
And he didn't even try to hop into bed with me on our first date! I know, I know—the bar is lower than my self-esteem. But hey, reality check—this is a big deal! Sure, there's one tiny detail I haven't mentioned... He's my business partner. I know, I know—don't shit where you eat. But come on, the guy's a catch! How could I not fall head over heels? And don't even try making jokes about his name !
The narrator: I wasn't going to say anything....
"I'll take the chocolate one, please." I tried not to squeak at the bakery shop. He thinks I'm on a business trip, but tonight? Tonight, I'm going to propose! Yes, you heard me right—propose. It's only been three months, but I'm sure he's the one. So, here I was, cake and flowers in hand, striding to Dickinson's apartment like a bride-to-be in a rom-com montage. I'd practiced my proposal speech so many times that I could recite it backward. The roses smelled sweet, and the cake was chocolate—because, obviously, chocolate is the key to any man's heart. Or at least, that's what I was banking on. I sniffed the roses as I walked to his apartment. I've always loved roses they reminded me of my hometown, but oddly enough I've always been the one giving out flowers instead of receiving them
As I neared Dickinson's apartment, I heard screaming. Muted, but definitely there. My heart dropped. Oh my God, please no! The universe must be trying to take him from me, right when I'm about to seal the deal. Wait, was that a woman's scream? No, it must be my paranoia! I clutched my phone, dialing the police with shaking hands.
"The address is 221 Maple Street. Please, hurry!" They promised to be there in five minutes, but I couldn't wait. I fumbled with the key, cursing under my breath as it seemed to take forever to unlock the door. The sound of frantic shouting grew louder, and I braced myself for the worst. Cake and flowers in hand, I crept through the darkened hallway, praying that the screams were just my overactive imagination—or at least a really bad prank. I followed the sounds... all the way to the....bedroom!!!
The door was open a fraction and I peered in just to see..... oh my god !
The narrator:And he told you he liked it vanilla? Liar, liar, pants—well, no pants here.
As I burst into the bedroom, the sight was a visual assault that made my brain check out for a moment. Dickinson was restrained in a way that suggested he'd taken a wrong turn in a very dark alley of personal choices. The woman with him was performing moves that would have made an Olympic gymnast proud. I held the flowers like a sword, ready to duel in this unexpected Shakespearean tragedy of my love life. The scene was absurd, like something straight out of a bad dream—or maybe a very explicit reality show.
The narrator :- not a hundred squats will get me or you this kind of butt
Nine cheating exes. That's one too many, even for me. "YOU BASTARD!" The woman's expression of surprise was the last thing I saw before I dropped the cake and flowers. I stormed into the room, brandishing the bouquet like a sword and pulling her away from Dickinson with a strength I didn't know I had. As she tumbled to the floor, I gave Dickinson a swift kick—right where it would hurt most.
The police officer's gaze was a mix of sympathy and stifled laughter, like he'd just walked in on a particularly awkward family gathering. "So, you thought it was an intruder?" he asked, trying not to grin. "Well, I didn't think it was a circus act," I mumbled, feeling like the world's worst romantic comedy heroine. "I just didn't expect this. I mean, who knew he was into—"
"Yoga," the officer finished, his tone as dry as the desert. As he examined the handcuffs and assorted mess, I found myself wishing for a quick exit from this reality TV nightmare. "she is a crazy bitch" Dickinson was yelling from the hallway. "I'm sorry miss Elle but I have to arrest you for assault, mr.. ah Dickinson is insisting on pressing charges" I sighed not even thinking straight "am I ugly" I found myself saying without really thinking and I began to cry.
The narrator :- no honey you are so pretty the writer is just a psychopathic bitch.
"YOU BITCH, I'LL SUE YOU!" Dickinson was yelling from the hallway.
"I'm sorry, Miss Elle, but I have to arrest you for assault. Mr. Dickinson is pressing charges," the officer sighed, trying to stay professional, though I caught the sympathy in his eyes. Did he like me or what?
The narrator: Delulu is never the solulu.
I patted my hair, trying to regain some composure. "I think I'm going to faint," I said, swaying slightly. The officer caught me, his muscles flexing in all the right places. Damn it, Elle, focus.
"Will you handcuff me?" I asked, a little too girlishly.
"No, ma'am. Can you stand or do you need medical attention?" His tone was all business, but then I noticed the ring on his finger. Married. Just my luck. I've dealt with psychopaths, narcissists, and drug dealers, but married men? That's a line even I won't cross. I have self respect you know !
The narrator:- I'm not really sure that's.....
Dickinson's yelling echoed from the other room, promising to ruin my life and take all the money from our firm. I couldn't help it: "Don't be a bitch. It wasn't of much use anyway—I was faking it every time." And with that, I walked out, head held high... well, as high as it could be with what little dignity I had left.
Walking out of Dickinson's apartment felt like emerging from the set of a disaster movie, only without the dramatic music. The night air was colder, and every step felt like it was echoing my feelings of failure and frustration. The broken bouquet in my hand seemed to reflect the state of my romantic aspirations—crumpled and utterly defeated. I took a deep breath, trying to hold on to some dignity, even if it was as tattered as the cake I'd dropped. At least the street was clear, or so I hoped, considering my life was already a circus without any more uninvited performances.
The narrator:Stay tuned for Elle's next adventure, because you just know she hasn't hit rock bottom yet.
