Calling My 18-Year-Old Self to Dump Him
Juniper Marlow · Completed · 4.7k Words
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Introduction
I'm sixty years old. My husband Marcus just whipped me with his belt — for burning an egg. My face is bruised, my hair is gray, and I gave up a full ride to Stanford for this man over forty years ago.
Then the phone rings.
The voice on the other end is mine — my eighteen-year-old self, calling on her birthday, gushing about how Marcus is out buying her a cake, how they're running away to Nashville together tomorrow.
She asks if I'm happy.
I tell her the truth: her boyfriend is in a cheap motel right now, in bed with her best friend. And those pretty promises about Nashville? He's planning to use her up and throw her away.
She doesn't believe me. Of course she doesn't.
But I know the motel. I know the room number. And I know what's behind that door.
If she walks away from him tonight, everything changes — for both of us.
Then the phone rings.
The voice on the other end is mine — my eighteen-year-old self, calling on her birthday, gushing about how Marcus is out buying her a cake, how they're running away to Nashville together tomorrow.
She asks if I'm happy.
I tell her the truth: her boyfriend is in a cheap motel right now, in bed with her best friend. And those pretty promises about Nashville? He's planning to use her up and throw her away.
She doesn't believe me. Of course she doesn't.
But I know the motel. I know the room number. And I know what's behind that door.
If she walks away from him tonight, everything changes — for both of us.
Chapter 1
The day I turned sixty, I got a phone call. The person on the other end was me — the eighteen-year-old me.
If not for that call, I would have died at my husband's hands without ever knowing my life could have been anything else.
Brooklyn, New York. 2024.
I was curled up on the cold concrete floor. Blood was still trickling from the corner of my mouth, where my husband, Marcus Doyle, had just whipped me with his belt.
"Useless old hag. Can't even fry an egg right. What's the point of keeping you around?" Marcus's voice bounced off the walls of our cramped apartment.
He kicked me hard one more time, then slammed the door on his way out.
I was sixty years old. My face was lined with wrinkles, my hair gone gray, my hands rough with calluses from years of cleaning other people's houses.
This was my life. Over forty years ago, I'd given up my acceptance letter to Stanford for what I thought was love, and run off with Marcus. All I got in return was decades of abuse, betrayal, and poverty.
I dragged myself up and made my way to the old landline in the corner. Marcus had picked it up secondhand years back. No one ever called it.
Then it rang. The sound cut through the silence like a blade.
I hesitated, then picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" My voice came out rough, like sandpaper.
"Hi! Is this Nora Hale?" The voice on the other end belonged to a young girl, bright and buzzing with energy.
I froze. That voice. I knew it too well.
"This is Nora. Who's this?"
"Oh, good, it's really you!" the girl said, practically bouncing with excitement. "I'm Nora too — the eighteen-year-old one! It's my birthday today. Marcus gave me this magic phone and said I could call my future self with it. So tell me, sixty-year-old Nora — are you happy? Like, so happy you could just die?"
My hand jerked.
Eighteen. Marcus. A birthday.
In an instant, I was back in 1982. That day, Marcus really had given me a phone.
"You... you're really me, at eighteen?" I couldn't believe it.
"Of course I am! I'm in the basement Marcus is renting right now. He went out to get me a cake. We're leaving New York tomorrow — I'm giving up Stanford to go chase his dream with him in Nashville!"
Something inside me caught fire.
His dream?
Bullshit.
"Sixty-year-old me is dying, all right." My voice came out ice-cold. "Just not from happiness. From despair."
There was a pause on the line.
"You're joking, right?" A hint of irritation crept into her voice. "Marcus loves me. He promised he'd take care of me for the rest of my life."
"Love?" I let out a cold laugh, and the movement pulled at the cut on my lip. Pain shot through me, and I sucked in a breath.
"Did he tell you he went to that old bakery in Brooklyn to get you a Black Forest cake?"
"How do you know that?" Eighteen-year-old Nora sounded stunned.
"Because I lived it." I gritted my teeth and spelled it out. "He never went for any cake. Right now, he's in a cheap motel in Queens, with your best friend, Paige Sutton."
"You're lying!" the girl screamed. "Marcus would never betray me. Paige is my best friend!"
"Go see for yourself, then you'll know if I'm lying." I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm.
"Queens. Seventh Avenue. The Rose Motel, room 204."
I'd never forget that address. The day after my eighteenth birthday, I'd stumbled on a matchbook from that motel in Paige's bag. But I'd been too foolish back then, and Marcus had talked his way right out of it.
"I don't believe you! You're some kind of scam artist!"
"Nora, listen to me." My voice hardened. "If you don't want to end up like me — sixty years old, ribs broken, crawling on the floor like a dog because of this man — then get up and go, right now."
"Go to the Rose Motel. See for yourself what your precious 'love' really looks like."
I hung up before she could say another word.
I leaned against the wall, chest heaving.
If any of this was real, if I really could change the past, I would not let myself make the same mistake twice.
Just then, I heard the lock turn.
Marcus walked in, his face dark with anger, gripping a baseball bat.
"Who were you talking to?" His eyes bored into me.
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1.4k Views · Ongoing · Blessing Agbede
Adaline Voss has never questioned her luck. When a full scholarship arrives from a university she has never heard of, she takes it. She needs the door. She walks through it.
Ashveil University is not what it looks like in the photographs. The students here carry something that shifts their eyes at the edges of anger. The northwest trees hold an attention that trees should not be able to hold. And the empty chair at the council table, the one nobody sits in, the one nobody explains, has been waiting three hundred years for one specific person to arrive.
Nobody told Adaline she was that person. They classified her as Dormant. A blank space in a file. Nothing.
She is the opposite of nothing.
Beneath the campus, three ancient entities are waking up. Every house in the pack world wants to control what runs in her blood. The boy sent to assess her has stopped being able to do his job. And the woman who has been three steps ahead of everyone since before Adaline was born is not a villain. She is a warning. She is what Adaline would have become if nobody had found her.
The suppression field holding everything together is failing. The clock is running. And the only way to stop what is coming requires Adaline to give up the thing she can least afford to lose.
She already knows her answer. She decided before anyone told her the full price.
Ashveil University is not what it looks like in the photographs. The students here carry something that shifts their eyes at the edges of anger. The northwest trees hold an attention that trees should not be able to hold. And the empty chair at the council table, the one nobody sits in, the one nobody explains, has been waiting three hundred years for one specific person to arrive.
Nobody told Adaline she was that person. They classified her as Dormant. A blank space in a file. Nothing.
She is the opposite of nothing.
Beneath the campus, three ancient entities are waking up. Every house in the pack world wants to control what runs in her blood. The boy sent to assess her has stopped being able to do his job. And the woman who has been three steps ahead of everyone since before Adaline was born is not a villain. She is a warning. She is what Adaline would have become if nobody had found her.
The suppression field holding everything together is failing. The clock is running. And the only way to stop what is coming requires Adaline to give up the thing she can least afford to lose.
She already knows her answer. She decided before anyone told her the full price.
The Family Books 1-3 (A Mafia romance)
3.1k Views · Completed · Emma Mountford
Saints and Sinners- She was the light to my dark.
The saint to my sinner. with her innocent eyes and devilish curves.
A Madonna that was meant to be admired but never touched.
Until someone took that innocence from her.
She left.
The darkness in my heart was finally complete.
I avenged her, I killed for her, but she never came back.
Until I saw her again. An angel dancing around a pole for money.
She didn’t know I owned that club. She didn’t know I was watching.
This time I won’t let her escape.
I will make her back into the girl I knew.
Whether she likes it or not.
2/ Judge and Jury- I can’t stop watching her.
I’m not even sure I want to.
Taylor Lawson, blonde, beautiful, and totally oblivious to how much dangers she’s in.
She’s also the one juror in my upcoming murder trial that hasn’t been bought.
The one who can put me behind bars for a very long time.
I know I should execute her.
After all that’s what I do.
I am the Judge.
I eliminate threats to The Family.
And Taylor is a threat.
But I don’t want to kill her.
Possessing her, making her love me seems like a much better plan for this particular Juror.
3/ Rags and Ritches-
The saint to my sinner. with her innocent eyes and devilish curves.
A Madonna that was meant to be admired but never touched.
Until someone took that innocence from her.
She left.
The darkness in my heart was finally complete.
I avenged her, I killed for her, but she never came back.
Until I saw her again. An angel dancing around a pole for money.
She didn’t know I owned that club. She didn’t know I was watching.
This time I won’t let her escape.
I will make her back into the girl I knew.
Whether she likes it or not.
2/ Judge and Jury- I can’t stop watching her.
I’m not even sure I want to.
Taylor Lawson, blonde, beautiful, and totally oblivious to how much dangers she’s in.
She’s also the one juror in my upcoming murder trial that hasn’t been bought.
The one who can put me behind bars for a very long time.
I know I should execute her.
After all that’s what I do.
I am the Judge.
I eliminate threats to The Family.
And Taylor is a threat.
But I don’t want to kill her.
Possessing her, making her love me seems like a much better plan for this particular Juror.
3/ Rags and Ritches-
