The Infamous Ellen James (Infamous Series)

by Alcorn, N. A.

  A god damn Hallmark moment right there.

  And again, just thinking about that night is making me feel extremely stabby.

  Dr. John Ryan. ER Physician. The man I found to be sexy, charming, and utterly irresistible. He was once the most important man in my life. I'd started dating him when I was twenty-two years old, and things just escalated from there. We fell in love, moved in together, got engaged, and planned to live happily ever after in a beautiful home with a white picket fence.

  Fortunately, our relationship ended before purchasing our dream home, because three months ago I probably would have lit that motherfucker on fire.

  Chapter Two

  “Sometimes surprises surprise the fuck out of you, and sometimes those surprises come in the form of a big red flag—a two-timing cocksucker with a hard-on, thrusting into a dirty pirate hooker.”

  Three months ago…

  I decided to surprise him. I knew he would be home in bed by the time my flight got in. As I got out of the cab, the cool night air caused shivers up my spine. Charlotte was uncharacteristically cold for April that night, and I noticed our bedroom light was on in the apartment. I remember thinking it was odd that John was still awake.

  It's 2 a.m. Maybe he's on call tonight?

  I paid the driver and dragged my suitcase through the front door.

  I could hear faint moaning.

  What? Is John watching porn?

  I actually giggled at the thought of this. I had no idea what or who was coming—pun intended. I walked down the hall and opened our bedroom door to find my fiancé balls-deep in Veronica.

  I wanted to vomit.

  I could feel the bile rising in my throat, and honestly, it was a shame that I couldn't attempt an exorcist-style projectile puking session all over those two. I just stood there in shock while I watched

  John roughly thrust into another woman over and over and over again. My John. The man I thought was my best friend. The man I was planning to spend the rest of my life with.

  I remember loudly dropping my bag to the hardwood floor, causing John to still, and Veronica looked up. "Oh my god, Ellen!" Veronica said with an expression of horror on her sweaty sex face. I found her expression ironic, because she was still spread-eagle on my bed, with her hairy muff lips flapping in the wind. Okay, maybe she wasn't that hairy, but she still had more pubes than any woman should sport unless she's planning on re-enacting a '70s style porno.

  John quickly stood up and turned to look at me. "Ellie... Baby... Ellie... Oh shit! Oh fuck! Let me explain..." He was standing there, dripping in sweat, with a god damned hard-on, telling me to let him explain.

  I looked John in the eyes with a cold, hard stare, took a deep breath, and then slowly picked up my bag and turned for the door. John grabbed my arm while looking at me with absolute terror etched on his face. "Ellie... Babe... Wait... Please don't leave me! Oh my god, sweetie, I'm so sorry!"

  I roughly pulled my arm from his grasp. "Don't fucking call me Ellie. You lost those fucking rights when you fucked this bitch in our bed!"

  I could feel the tears starting to fill my eyes and slowly drip down my cheeks.

  I was devastated.

  I felt like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest and left me open to bleed out every last ounce of dignity I had left. I can vaguely remember John attempting to talk to me, but it was too late. My mind had already gone into shock. The last thing I remember about that night is taking off my engagement ring, placing it on the dresser, and walking out of our apartment for the very last time.

  That was three months ago.

  Three long months since John Ryan broke my heart into a million tiny pieces.

  It was a night that completely turned my world upside down. A night that took a little part of my happiness and flushed it down a diarrhea-filled toilet. A night that, when I look back, the only words that come to my mind are fucking dickheads.

  John and Veronica are the biggest dickheads I have ever laid eyes on. Those two selfishly put their horny needs first and didn't worry about the consequences. They gave in to their slutty, cock-sucking, whore-filled desires and ruined a long-term relationship that was soon to turn into a marriage.

  A soon-to-be marriage that had all of the wedding details planned to a T. Dress was bought, venues were booked, flowers were ordered, and invitations were ready to be sent in the mail. What a complete and total shit-storm those two put me through. The headache of explanations to friends and family, the endless phone calls, the attempts to cancel everything that had been put into motion for the wedding…

  I would have been better off getting ass fucked with a twelve incher, minus the lube. There would have been a heck of a lot more enjoyment, that's for sure.

  Chapter Three

  “Breakups are hard. They can turn your life upside down and send you on endless journey to pick up the pieces and find yourself again.”

  After John trampled my heart, my best friend Amy was my rock. Our relationship is different than most. I know a lot of people don't really understand our sarcastic, raunchy sense of humor, but Amy has been nothing but a true friend to me. She is my best friend and has been a huge support system since day one. She's my shoulder to cry on, my drinking partner to let loose with, and everything else in between. Despite all of our witty banter and constant pranks on each other, I love her dearly. Amy has seen me through one of the lowest points in my life and managed to help me come out of that situation with my head still held high. Walking in on John having sex with another woman quite literally destroyed me. He betrayed me in the worst possible way, and for that, I will never forgive him.

  John spent the first month after our breakup vying for my forgiveness. There were endless phone calls, text messages, unwelcome visits to my apartment, emails, and daily flower arrangements.

  You name it and John attempted it.

  The man was a force to be reckoned with, and somehow, I think he really believed we would get back together. In his warped, screwed-up head, I think John thought that I would eventually just forgive and forget his ultimate betrayal to our relationship.

  At first, he even refused to cancel the wedding we had planned together. Eventually, after several weeks of no breakthrough, I think it finally sunk in that I was never going to get back together with him. The wedding plans were officially canceled, and I can only imagine the exorbitant amount of money John lost on deposits.

  I hope it was an unbelievably, ridiculous amount.

  The first thirty days were the absolute worst. I moved in with Amy. Well actually I was forced to move in with Amy. She refused to take no for an answer. Amy is nothing if not persistent and extremely stubborn. She does not understand when someone is trying to tell her no. Her stubbornness was a life-saver; moving in with her was one of the best decisions that had ever been made for me.

  Our conversation regarding me becoming Amy's new roommate consisted of the following:

  "You're fucking moving in with me."

  "No I'm not. I'm not letting you do that."

  "Stop being such a dumbass. You're moving in with me or else I will tell Dr. Simon you want to bang his brains out."

  "You're playing dirty. God! Why are you so damn bossy?”

  "I'm going to your old apartment tomorrow and packing your shit. I'll probably tell that dick-munch ex of yours to go fuck himself while I'm there. I love you, roomie."

  "Ugh. I love you too."

  Amy moved my stuff from John's apartment the very next day. I can only imagine the nasty things she'd managed to spew at him when she was packing up my stuff. I spent countless hours watching mind-numbing reality shows while stuffing my face with Rocky Road ice cream. I refused to leave the apartment, and if it weren't for Amy being such a prying, nosy bitch, I would have shut everyone out of my life. I am fortunate that she stood by my side and helped me pick up the pieces of my battered, pathetic heart.

  During the first week, I went into a severe depression.

  I couldn't eat,
sleep, or even find the motivation to shower. After five days of lying around in my own filth, Amy shoved my stinky ass into a bath and even took the time to wash my hair. Let's face it. If it weren't for her, I'd probably still be lying around in my panties and an old Patriots t-shirt, shoving ice cream down my throat.

  As time passed, I began to have moments where I felt like myself again. Although these moments were few and far between, I was happy to know the old Ellen was still in there somewhere.

  The second two months were the most interesting to date. I attempted to drown my sorrows in alcohol and find drunken solace in a string of one-night stands.

  Nothing says "I'm trying to get over my ex" like going on a tequila bender and waking up with some random, faceless guy passed out in your bed. When guys talk about "beer goggles," I always kind of thought they were full of shit, but now I can say I understand this term one hundred and ten percent. I have had my share of leaving with a hot fucking ten and waking up next to a sweaty, smelly, and far-too-hairy five.

  Don't get me wrong. There were a few really attractive men, but there were also some disturbingly pathetic drunken hookups. I guess I just thought that by refusing to date and taking any man I wanted to bed I was somehow getting back at John for what he did.

  Deep down I know that most of these random one-night stands were motivated by my newfound trust issues and never-ending yet nonconventional quest to move on. There is one hookup that Amy loves to remind me of, because frankly, it's pretty ridiculous. Not many girls can say she took a deaf guy home, had sloppy sex with him, passed out, and then forgot the next day that said guy is actually hearing impaired.

  Yes, you heard me correctly.

  I drunkenly screwed a deaf guy, and the next morning, I forgot the guy was in my bed and, more importantly, that he was hearing impaired.

  Chapter Four

  “Sign language is useful. You never know when you'll find yourself being thrusted by a guy with a hearing impairment and you want to tell him to plunge that dick harder.”

  I felt the sunlight filter through my bedroom window and winced from the already prominent hangover headache that was pounding inside of my brain. My head felt as if someone was banging my skull into cement, and the unfortunate tequila aftertaste was making bile rise slowly up my throat. My mouth tasted like someone had shit inside of it, and I could only imagine the breath I was sporting. I jumped out of bed and raced to the bathroom, knowing full well that I was going to be praying to the porcelain gods for a while. Tequila and I had a serious love-hate relationship. I loved to drink her all night long, and then the next day, I hated that bitch something fierce. With my head in the toilet, I proceeded to heave everything out of my stomach until I was sweaty, shivering, and had tears streaming down my cheeks. Worst feeling ever.

  "Elle, you okay in there?" I heard Amy say outside the bathroom door.

  I groaned out a pathetic yes and continued to go for round two with the toilet bowl. I was having one of those awful hangovers where you truly believed you were going to vomit your entire stomach up and still have no relief in sight.

  Dry heave… Vomit… Dry heave… Vomit.

  I might have unintentionally cracked three ribs and given myself an appendectomy.

  This was the moment where I'd promise myself I would never drink again, despite the fact that I'd be ready to hit the bottle once I was fully healed.

  Yes, I was having one of those hangovers.

  "I feel so bad for you right now. I'm just thankful that I don't feel as shitty as you. Holler if you need anything." I heard Amy step away from the bathroom door and head down the hallway.

  After I'd proceeded to vomit like a bulimic girl who'd just binged herself through a pack of Oreos and several McDonald's Quarter Pounders, I hopped into the shower to wash off last night's alcohol and remnants of today's puking marathon.

  The warm water felt soothing on my now achy muscles, and I took my time washing my hair. I could only imagine the shenanigans I'd gotten myself into last night. If I was this hung over and couldn't recall how I'd gotten home, things probably had been out of control. I jumped out of the shower, brushed my teeth, dried my hair a little, and put on my favorite comfy robe before heading back into my bedroom.

  "Ahhhhhh! What the fuck!" I screamed as I realized there was a sleeping man in my bed.

  I was shocked my shrill yell hadn't startled him awake. I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd woken up the entire apartment complex. Amy came running in with a look of terror on her face and then abruptly stopped when she realized what my dramatics were about. We were both standing at the foot of my bed, staring at the still sleeping guy, with puzzled looks on our faces.

  Amy looked over at me with a goofy grin before putting her hand over her mouth in attempt to hide her laughter. I elbowed her in the stomach in hopes that I could shut her up and then proceeded to grab her by the wrist and quickly drag her out of my bedroom. We headed into the kitchen and did what any girl would do in this situation—tried to recount last night's events.

  "How in the hell did you not see this guy when you woke up?" Amy was grinning, her perfectly white teeth practically shining back at me.

  "Well, let's see. I woke up with a pounding fucking headache and then had to make a mad dash to the bathroom, where I proceeded to vomit for like an hour. I'm pretty sure you should have called a priest. I could have used an exorcism in there!"

  Amy started to laugh a little and shook her head at the nonsensicality of this scenario.

  "Okay. Let me get this straight. You didn't happen to notice that a man, who looks to be about six foot and a muscular two hundred pounds, was lying in your bed? Seriously, Ellen? Are you that clueless?"

  "First of all, who the hell are you? Do you secretly write height and weight statistics for the NFL? Secondly, I was too focused on how god damn awful I felt! My head was pounding and I could barely open my eyes! I was probably still kind of drunk when I woke up!" I said a little too loudly.

  Amy motioned for me to quiet down, and we both glanced down the hall in hopes that Mystery Guy hadn't woken up and overheard our conversation. The entire apartment was uncannily quiet, and we assumed that my unexpected guest was still sound asleep in my bed.

  I abruptly sat down at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands, huffing out a deep breath of frustration. My mortification was at record-breaking levels.

  How in the hell do I find myself in these situations?

  "I've got to get my act together. This one-night stand shit is starting to get out of control," I said in the whiniest voice possible with my head still buried in my hands.

  "Elle, it's fine. We've all been there before. Okay, let's look on the positive side. At least he's attractive and not covered in back hair like that one guy from—"

  I quickly interrupted Amy and gave her a serious look. "Enough! Now is not the time for a rehashing of my past hookups. I just need you to help me get this guy out of here so I can still maintain a tiny bit of my already scant amount of dignity."

  She glanced at the clock and sat down next to me at the kitchen table. "All right, well in my opinion this guy has already overstayed his welcome. It's almost ten, and in proper one-night stand etiquette, his ass should have been out the door over an hour ago."

  "Proper one-night stand etiquette? Do you realize how absurd you sound right now?"

  "Ellen, there are some unwritten but very well-known one-night stand rules, and having your ass out the door before ten in the morning is definitely one of them!" Amy threw her arms in the air, indicating she was irritated with Mystery Guy for not following the so-called one-night stand book of etiquette.

  I rolled my eyes skyward. "Whatever. I'm not discussing this with you right now. Let's just get this idiot out of here. We need to be really loud so we wake him up."

  Amy stood up from the kitchen table and loudly grabbed a frying pan from the cabinet. "Good idea. I'll make us something to eat and make sure I'm extra noisy so we interrupt ass-clown's beau
ty rest. Go turn on some music."

  I plugged my iPod into the stereo and blasted Incubus while Amy proceeded to bang shit around in the kitchen.

  Forty-five minutes later...

  Amy and I had now successfully cooked breakfast, eaten said breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, and listened to the entire Morning View album by Incubus on surround sound. Yet, there was still no sign from Mr. Sleeping Beauty. I decided to take matters into my own hands and leave my dignity in the kitchen. I headed into my bedroom and forcefully shut my door, the slamming vibration nearly sending shockwaves throughout the entire apartment. I looked towards my bed, hopeful that Mystery Guy would start to stir.

  No flinch.

  No startle.

  Not a single budge.

  What the hell?

  If I couldn't have visibly seen this guy breathing, I'd have been worried that he was dead. I cleared my throat loudly. "Excuse me... Uhhh...are you awake?"

  Still no response.

  Now I was starting to get a little pissed at Mr. Sleeping Dead. Again, I cleared my throat as loudly as humanly possible. "Hey. You. Guy. Could you wake the fuck up?"

  And still, no response. This guy might as well have been in a coma.

  Who sleeps this deeply and doesn't hear a single thing all morning?

  I looked towards the night stand to make sure there wasn't a small hearing aid missing its owner. . And just thinking that thought brought up drunken flashbacks from the previous night into my head...

  I'm looking down at this incredibly attractive man as I continue to ride his cock. He's looking up at me in a seductive, euphoric way. Who cares that he's deaf right? I mean, this guy is unbelievable sexy. Blond hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a set of washboard abs that would make any girl's panties wet.