Chapter 1: Dylan Is Dying – Dating Julie Series

Readers: 18+ 

Now available for 99p on Kindle

Dylan is Dying

Chapter 1

Dylan is dying, because by the time I ring his neck, for giving me a first-class ticket to Hurt City, he shall be maggot food for the little fishes. I swam in an emotional pool of hope and promise for a confusing six months, before becoming derailed. Stopped in my tracks for loving too much, caring way too much and preparing some damn good home cooked meals. I plead ‘not guilty’ to any offense that may occur from this point on.

D broke my brittle heart, compressed it and split it into a billion pieces. It was so fragmented that I had to take it back to Ikea to get it repaired. DIY love is the glue super that is currently holding me together and keeping me standing. Ladies some of these dog men do not know half the time what they bloody desire and our feelings get mangled in between their immature knockouts and deceitful lies.

After Dylan, I was battered to the core, spat out and washed away into an ocean of isolation. Drowning in a depression which haunted me for months. I stayed a recluse within the confinements of my mind because I was a broken, reject raggy doll. How can a love so true turn into to a sour, mouldy, putrid mess?

I contemplated suicide a million and one times, I would rather be out of my pain and distress instead of feeling my spirit and personality fade away into the oblivion. Call me a fool, in fact call me loves fool because that is who I became. Silly girl that is me, stupid girl that is me too. How could l let myself fall so deep into this bollocks infatuation that I just melt into nothingness. Surly death is better than being single? As I watched Dylan walk out of my life, I simply crumbled into blubbering heap.

The only thing left to do, is to kill him! Oh, wait a minute did I say that out loud? Oh, yes I must be losing my mental ability to rationalise. Note to self ‘be prim and proper,’ I do not care now. I have come too far, I am at the edge of reason and if D plays with me one more time, I will twist the jiggered knife slow, in order for him to feel a fraction of the anguish he put me through.

“Julie, Julie, Julie grab a hold of yourself, your hearing voices again, shake yourself out of this,” I muttered.

I continued saying this mantra, ‘peace be still,’ to stop myself acting on the massacre of Dylan. It is like feeling a dull ache of emptiness. As the tears flood my pillow, I remember I am alone and desperately secluded. No one can console me, every night I must black out in order to get my four hours’ rapid eye movement sleep. I often ponder how did I get to this? My name is Julie; this is my story….

Chocolate Deluxe

Meet Dylan, he is 5 foot 4 inches (the same height as me) with skin that glistens like Caribbean midnight skies. Come on you know the type, dark chocolate deluxe, makes a lady just want to cream her panties. His lips were thick like a small mango and when he spoke my whole body just quivered. My heart forever flutters when he walks by. Dylan was reminiscent of ancient Egyptian royalty, regal and robust. He was the best communicator I had ever met, sometimes he talked a bit too much especially in the quiet moments inside my head but I did not mind that. He was my wonder boy, my forever King and I treasured him just the way he was. You see the thing about unconditional love is that it can fuck you the hell up. Let’s face it, if you love someone despite their flaws and all the shit they put you through, it is harder to close the doors to your heart. I began visualising our future together. He had eyelashes for days, so thick and bushy, my coco brown eyed boo. I am forever blowing bubbles of Dylan, thoughts of Dylan, simply put he was my world and I was his Queen Julie in my bespoke fantasy land.

My name Julie Michelle. I am somewhat successful, I wear fine clothes, drive fast cars, I have a great paying job, blah blah, blah. My complexion is peaches and cream with a hint of butterscotch tones, you can call me the English rose because of my juicy luscious pink lips. I have been told that I have a delicate look about me like an English rose and that has not worked in my favour. All I seem to do is attract losers, lairs and cheats. I have a secret that I am ashamed of, in fact I have lots of dirty dark sinful secrets that I cannot tell you or anyone. My life looks fantastic on the outside,

That’s a lie.

People think I got it all together.

That’s another lie.

On social media, I appear happy and carefree.

But it is all a big fat lie. Lier, lier my pants are on fire. It is all an illusion. On the inside I am torn.

I live a life females are jealous of, however try and find me a man and we have got a problem here. You could hire a search party to hunt these men out and still I am single, not ready to mingle, just want to settle down. My mother says my eggs are turning crusty like yesterday bread rolls. Thanks, mum, ‘love you too.’ At times, she is a dragon, who constantly traumatises me about being single at every opportunity and she goes on about in her day this and her day that. Yet her persistent makes me feel so uncomfortable and unworthy. So when I’m pissed, I call her dragon lady, now I would never call her that to her face because I would have no teeth left in my mouth. I am always obliged to go on her blind dates, but Dragon Lady does not realise that every failed relationship or date I go on, another part of me dies.

I am adopted, the woman that gave birth to me was a crackhead. All I know is her name was Sarah Michelle. The only thing I have of hers is my surname and her addictive personality. If I walked past her in the street, I would not have a clue what she looked like. Apparently, I am the product of a rape and by the time Sarah realised she was pregnant, it was too late to get me aborted. My real mum’s name is Marlene Thompson; she is Caribbean Jamaican. We don’t look alike but she is the only mum I have known. She is my mum, aka Dragon Lady, I don’t care what anyone says, Jah Rastafari, she raised me. Till the day that the good Lord comes for me, I will love my family.

One truism about life is we are all going back into the ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We are either getting crammed into a coffin, burnt to cinders or confronted with a natural disaster never to be seen again. I have heard of planes dropping out of the sky without a trace or bodies sinking to the bottom of the ocean in preparation to become maggots. While we are here on earth, our role is to procreate, to keep humanity going, however that is a challenge when you’re single. Especially when you start talking with a prospect who wanted to take you back to his seedy place to have sex with condoms and offers no form of commitment.

To be honest I am scared to die without giving birth to my lineage, I worry about this all the time. Yet all I seem to meet are jokers in the pack and sometimes clowns who are not serious and do not see my inner. Aged 35, you could say I am damaged goods now, lines are now appearing on my face and my feet are a little bit ashy, these are all signs of aging. As my mum, would say, ‘you cannot jump on top of yourself and get pregnant.’ This is the current state of my world right now, this second.

Okay, hands up, I’ll admit it; I am a serial dater heading for a nervous breakdown, as I move from one minefield into another. This is my story, click your seatbelts and come along for the ride.

Peaches Publications is home of the self-published author. Contact us today to see your work in print: Peaches Publications

Now available for 99p on Kindle