Diary of a Dieter
Authors: Marie Coulson
Diary Of A Dieter
By
Marie Coulson
Diary Of A Dieter
Copyright © 2013 by Marie Coulson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
The use of artist and song titles throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way been seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
Cover Design
P. Coulson – Digital Designer & Artist
Editing
Madison Seidler
Formatting
Amanda Heath
at
For all of my girls. The curvy girls, cake-aholics, and the men who let us slip through their fingers. This kitten got her cream.
Table Of Contents
“I’m sorry. I think this line is bad. I must have misheard you because it sounded like you just said …”
He exhaled loudly.
“I did. Look, Charlene, it’s not you. It’s me. I just don’t know what I want from my life anymore, and to marry you while I figure it out, just isn’t fair to either of us. I know this must be hard to accept, but I just can’t go through with it.”
I sat completely frozen on my slightly worn out rug. The phone was gripped so tightly in my palm that I could have snapped it. Brad and I had been together for four wonderful years and engaged for two. The church was booked, the reception was planned, and every last detail had been meticulously designed. January twelfth was meant to be my dream day—my happily ever after—and now Brad Mahoney was jilting me just three weeks before the big day! Most girls get
jewellery or a nice sweater for Christmas. I got dumped!
“You’re seriously calling off our wedding three weeks before the big day
and
doing it over the phone! Are you freaking kidding me?”
I got to my feet and began pacing around my small, but cosy, London apartment. This was a bad dream. It had to be.
“But you only left here two days ago! I don’t understand. We ate, we kissed goodbye, and you headed to Ireland to see your family. What the hell changed in forty-eight hours?”
He groaned and almost growled at me.
“This is what I’m talking about, Charlene. You always think everything is about you. Well, maybe this time it’s not. Maybe I’m just not ready to settle down. And let’s face it, we’ve been headed for the rocks for months now.”
I was stunned. Months? Months! We were on smooth ground as far as I was concerned. Steady, firm, and straight like my beautiful wedding gown, which was hanging in my closet, blissfully unaware of the horror unfolding in the living room.
“Not ready to settle down? You proposed, for crying out loud! You don’t
accidentally
ask someone to marry you. And what do you mean months? Was I in a coma that you neglected to tell me about? Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Months
. Christ, Brad. You couldn’t have picked a better time to have a midlife crisis than three weeks before our
wedding
?”
I was becoming hysterical, and for me, this involved screeching at a frequency only dogs could hear. This was evidenced by the Afghan hound next door who had now begun a chorus of ‘woe is me,’ or at least that’s what it sounded like every time the poor, pitiful animal howled across the street at my window. The tears were now streaming down my face, and the sobs coming from my mouth meant that the two of us, the hound and me, were now a duet!
“Charlene. Charlene, you’re getting all worked up again. Calm down.”
Calm down! Was he fucking serious? You know they say you go through stages of grief?
Well, in the past ten minutes I’d gone from broken to completely pissed!
“Calm down?
Calm down! You
call me up, on Christmas day no less, and tell me you don’t want to get married anymore! Calm down? I’m about to ram my heel through the phone and choke you, you arrogant son of a …”
Buzz.
I stormed over to the intercom and picked up the receiver with my free hand.
“What?”
“Oh, erm … Charlie?”
I rolled my eyes and exhaled loudly. “Yeah, Adam. Come on up. Join the party.” I pressed the entry button and hung up before resuming my break up.
Awful, isn’t it? I actually resumed the conversation where I was being verbally stomped on, and my whole life was tipped on its head. I was a glutton for punishment.
“Charlene, I should go. You have company.”
“Don’t you dare! You at least owe me an actual, feasible reason, Brad!”
He groaned again, and now I was really getting mad. He had no right to be fed up or irritated.
I
was the jilted bride around here. I deserved my diva moment!
“Come on Charlene, do you really wanna hear this? I mean, really?”
“Yes!”
“Urgh. Fine. It’s not been right between us for a long time. We just don’t connect the way we used to. We haven’t even had sex in over a month. I have needs, you know. And let’s be honest for a moment, you haven’t exactly been … taking
care
of yourself lately.”
Taking care of myself? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I showered more than that hound got bones. But it was true that was the only bone that had been seen around here in a long time. But it wasn’t for my lack of trying!
“What do you mean I don’t take care of myself? I walk around once a month like I have a porcupine between my legs just because you like me to be waxed. I shower every damn day because you hate that just-got-out-of-bed smell. And after sex, I always make sure to change the sheets because you don’t like them all sweaty and covered in, what was it you called it? Oh yeah, people juice!”
The door creaked open, and I could see Adam’s thick, black-rimmed glasses before I saw the rest of him. I waved him in and held my finger to my lips to indicate he should keep quiet.
“What do you want me to say here, Charlene? You wanted the truth, and you got it. Besides, it has nothing to do with any of that. I meant … I meant you’ve, you know, put on a few pounds. Maybe twenty-eight or so. It’s a turn off. I can’t get all sexed up while your handles are wobbling everywhere. It’s … not my thing.”
My jaw hit the floor, and I snarled back at him.
“Wobbly handles! You complete and total …”
And then it dawned on me. If Brad wasn’t getting off on my jelly parts, then whose jelly
mould was he filling instead?
“Oh. My. God. Who is she?”
Adam had taken a seat on my pastel pink couch, and his eyes were burning into me as I held my breath, waiting for the reply.
“What? What do you mean
who is she
?”
I grunted.
“Now who needs to be honest? I’m not an idiot, Brad. You’re not fucking me, and I know you aren’t self-pleasuring. We both know how you hate the mess and all. So don’t bother pretending like you’re not screwing some skank. I should probably get fucking tested. Do you keep your clothes on with her to avoid all the
icky
sex sweat, too?”
That seemed to just make him angry.
“She is not a skank!”
I knew it!
I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Oh, the arseholism knew no bounds! Not only was I jilted, dumped and fat, but I was also cheated! Merry Christmas, Charlene!
“You dick! You complete and total dick! How long? Who is she? I have a right to know!”
He breathed deeply, in a self-pitying way, as though it were hard for him to speak. Pfft. He’d get no sympathy from me. He’d given me a ring, and now I would give him the finger. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
“Uh, Charlie?”
I turned around and held my hand over the receiver as I snapped at Adam.
“Shhh. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of being crushed? Can’t a girl get dumped in peace anymore?”
He made a gesture as though he were zipping his mouth shut and leaned back in his seat.
“She’s a woman from work. We went out for drinks one evening after work. We were celebrating a huge win on a case. One thing led to another and …”
“And … you had a minor memory lapse in which you forgot you were engaged? You are such an asshole!”
“I never meant for it to happen, Charlene. It just did. I’m sorry, and I would have preferred you to have never found out, but I couldn’t marry you when I’m in love with Aneska.”
The skank had a name.
Aneska
. Sounded like some sort of medicinal cream you rubbed on a bad nappy rash or irritation. Right now, that’s exactly what she was. A pain in my arse!
“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”
“Please try to understand, Charlene. I’m doing this for both of us.”
I laughed.
“Oh, how silly of me. I should have
thanked
you for shagging your colleague for me. It was such a wonderful and sweet gesture for you to make. It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever have asked for.
Truly
. But next year, I’d love for you to stick your dick in a live plug socket! It’ll leave you just as shocked and burning as I am right now! It would be the best gift ever.”
I cast my eyes at Adam who had crossed his legs and cleared his throat a little. He was clearly imaging how that sort of connection might feel. Shame Brad couldn’t have done the same. If he had kept his fucking legs crossed, I wouldn’t currently want to hack his dick off with a rusty kitchen knife. Meat and two veg, coming right up!
“Charlene, you are being unreasonable. I called to be kind, and all you do is get angry. I understand that you hate me, and I get it, I do. But whatever you choose to believe, I never wanted to hurt you. I care about you. I could never hate you enough to marry you for the wrong reasons.”
I threw my head back and laughed hysterically with tears still streaming down my mascara-streaked face. Adam watched me in total disbelief and also, I think, a little shock. I must have seemed like a complete nut job. I was a straitjacket away from looking like a psych patient, who escaped while on a trip on the sunshine bus.
"I believe you, Brad. Hating me would require a certain degree of emotional commitment and evidently, you are lacking in that area. Hell, you’re lacking in most areas! You wanna talk about sexual turn offs? How about the repetitive sound of your socks scrunching against the mattress? Or that God-awful sound you make when you’re about to come. How does it go again? Oh yeah, 'not on the sheets, not on the sheets' Oooh, sexy."
“Now you’re just being childish. I haven’t got time for this, Charlene. It’s Christmas day, and I’m with my family. I think …”
I stopped him immediately. “It’s Christmas day? Oh, I hadn’t noticed. I completely bypassed the tree we decorated together. I totally forgot about the gifts that I wrapped and gave to you just two days ago, and I really should have realized what today was when my phone rang and my fiancé, instead of wishing me a Merry Christmas, decided now was the right moment to tell me he was fucking another woman!”
I sank to my knees in front of the couch, and Adam placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Charlie, come on, hang up. Or else I’m taking that damn phone from you and giving him a piece of my fucking mind.”
I shook my head and swiped at my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Charlene. I really am. I wish there was something I could say or do. I know it’s hurting now, but it will get easier to let this go. I promise.”
I sniffed through my tears and snickered at him.
“Ha! Your promises are like your arse, Brad. Seems nice on the surface, but still full of shit!”
And before he had a chance to fire an insult back at me, Adam had snatched the phone from my hand and hung up. I would have told him off if I hadn’t been a
snivelling mess on the rug. My knees to my chest, I rested my head on them and sobbed. I sobbed shamelessly and completely lost control. My body shook like I had a vibrator shoved up my doodah, and I rocked back and forth like a woman possessed.
Adam slid down to the floor behind me and wrapped his arms around me tightly. His long legs were on either side of me as he pulled me close to his chest. I rested my head on it and let out a staggered and loud cry. The hound across the street joined me in a chorus of ‘woe is me,’ and I couldn’t help but laugh at the whole sorry situation.
Adam gave me a confused look. “What’s so funny?”
I leaned my head back to get a better look at my friend.
“Everything. My life … is a joke!”
Adam gave me a squeeze. “It’s not a joke. There is nothing funny about what that jizz stain just did to you! That arsehole is going to get what’s coming to him, and if I ever see him around here again, I’ll happily wipe his smug little grin off his dick-chin face! No one messes with my girl. Ever.”
Adam and I had been friends since school. He was a chubby kid and found himself the target of a lot of bullies. James Hill was one of them. He was that really horrible kid who every adult loved to hate. He had a face only his mother could love, and somehow, he still managed to end up the most popular kid in school despite his dickery arseholishness. Anyway, one day we were in phys-ed and Adam, bless his heart, forgot his kit. He was forced to wear something from the lost and found, which naturally, was two sizes too small. Being only twelve, he hadn’t really been able to protest to our very overweight teacher who told him to suck it up. And when I say overweight, I mean it. The man was clearly more accustomed to lifting doughnuts rather than barbells.
Our task was simple. Climb the rope. Easy, right? Wrong. For my poor, chubby Adam, it was Everest! He gripped the rope and pulled himself up to about a foot off the ground and just stopped. The teacher, of course, began yelling, screaming, and hurling abuse at him to ‘get his arse up that rope like there was a bag of cupcakes at the top!’ What a douche. And then he left—walked right off to his office, sat at his desk, and got his
Playboy
out!
