Help Me Get Rid of My Psycho Girlfriend: A Novel

By John Martin and CECILIA RIBENC

Greg Milow has spent twelve years of his life next to his beautiful girlfriend. Only one detail clouds the blissfulness of his experience: she is a total psychopath.

When he leaves for a company retreat, she mistrusts his intentions and embarks on a road trip to follow him, unleashing a weekend of raving madness.

Help me get rid of my psycho girlfriend is an action-packed comedy filled with eccentric characters, laugh-out-loud situations, and the thrilling menace of romance.

A novel that, once you have started it, you wont be able to put down until the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491861714

John Martin

John Martin is Associate Professor of History at Trinity University.

Book preview

1

G reg Milow stopped his brand new car in front of the Viewpoint Restaurant. He stepped out of it and gazed at the fancy façade with a smile of approval. He had selected that spot after a very thorough internet search; apparently, it was one of the best places to have dinner in San Francisco—delicious food, not too expensive, high-end decoration, and a very impressive view of the city.

He searched for help, but there was no valet in sight; so he had to rush to open the door for his girlfriend before she started complaining, as usual, about the lack of courtesy these days. Debbie was thirty-two, like him, but sometimes she seemed to have the mindset of a much older woman.

She got out of the car with a look of annoyance that suddenly went away when Greg offered her his hand, as he was used to. She gave him a half-smile and straightened her pearl pink dress. She was wearing her long golden brown hair up in a ponytail and a pair of tiny earrings.

Is that a new dress? he asked.

She stared at him. Yes.

Oh, okay. He lowered his head slightly and tried not to guess the price of it, at least not in front of her.

You look nice, he said.

I know.

A very young valet appeared then, running from the parking lot. Greg waved at him, but the guy didn’t seem to notice it. Instead, he stepped in front of a Rolls Royce.

I guess one has to be a millionaire to stop being invisible around here, muttered Greg.

Debbie rolled her eyes. The simplest job in the world, and these people don’t know how to do it.

Greg didn’t mention the fact that she had never worked in her life, except for the lemonade stand she always bragged about—"I already had two employees by the age of ten, and it was the classiest and most profitable lemonade stand in the area," she used to say. No, he was too busy trying to call the valet’s attention.

I’m going in, she said impassively and started walking toward the restaurant.

When Greg managed to get inside, Debbie was already arguing with the receptionist.

"This place is called The View Point, not The Shitty View Point, she was grumbling. We didn’t come here to smell the toilets while we’re eating."

Ma’am, as I’ve already explained to you, the tables next to the windows must be booked at least one week in advance. I can assure you that every spot inside this restaurant is equally enjoyable.

Greg leaned to his girlfriend’s ear. Please, let’s just go inside. I’m tired of waiting, he begged.

The receptionist took it as a sign of acceptance and guided them to a small table, which was located on a busy spot, away from the wide windows and very close to the bathrooms.

Good evening, my name is Carl, said the waiter, handing them the menu. I’ll be at your service. Anything you need, just let me know.

Finally, uttered Debbie, jumping slightly on her chair. She opened the menu and only read the first page. I want the house specialty, she said with determination, and a bottle of your finest wine.

Very well… Carl wrote it down. And you, sir?

And please, a bottle of Fiji water, she interrupted. Is it really from Fiji or that´s just another stupid thing they want idiots to believe?

I… guess it is. I mean, from Fiji… Well, the bottle says so…

The bottle says so, insisted Greg. He just wanted to finish ordering. I want a mushroom soup. And water. Plain water, please.

Very well, sir. I’ll be back in a minute.

She leaned on the table right after the waiter left. Why do you have to be so cheap? she complained. We never come to a place like this, and when we do it you just order the soup? You might as well write ´world’s greatest cheapskate’ on your forehead.

I’m not hungry, okay? That’s all. Greg unfolded the napkin on his lap.

Oh, really? Well, you don’t have such a full stomach when you can eat a burger, or French fries, or onions rings, or any of that crap… You have to eat healthier food, Greg. If you continue this way you’ll end up having a serious heart problem. Not to mention you’ll get fat, really fat.

I’m not fat. I can still eat whatever I want, he replied.

"Seriously? Did you see a picture of your father when he was your age? He was half his current size. Now, his wife has to use a lever to get him of his couch."

Greg got indignant. That doesn’t count. He’s had a bad knee since the accident. That’s why he can’t get up so easily.

That doesn’t explain the size of his stomach.

It does. He took a deep breath. Why are we even talking about this? I’m not going to get fat. I’m too skinny for my age. Actually, I should eat more.

Don’t be so confident about this, she sentenced. Your jaw is getting bigger, and you’re growing a belly.

No, I’m not.

Yes, you don’t know it yet, but I can feel the protuberance when you hug me. Every day it’s getting less and less bearable to see you naked.

Is that so? he asked offended. How would you feel if I told you the same thing?

You can’t do that.

Why not?

I’m a woman, it’s different.

It’s not.

Yes, it is.

The waiter came with the most expensive wine of the house.

I’ll taste it, she said offering Carl her glass, my boyfriend couldn’t distinguish it from a box wine.

Greg glared furiously at her, something that Debbie only noticed after the waiter left.

Oh, honey… She stroked his leg. I’m so sorry, I’m being awful. It won’t happen again, I promise. You brought me here, you never do it, and I’m ruining the moment.

You’re not, it’s just that… Greg sighed. It was difficult to say what he wanted when she kept rubbing her hand against his thigh.

Carl came with the dishes and left with his usual courtesy smile.

Debbie glanced at her meal and shouted, Waiter! forcing him to go back.

Yes, ma’am?

Would you call this food?

Carl looked at her with hesitation. Excuse me?

I said, ‘Would you call this food?’ Food is supposed to feed people.

"This is the critically acclaimed Filet Mignon Point, as you ordered it. It is the house specialty."

Debbie picked up her plate from one side, with two fingers, as if it were infected.

I ordered a meal, she said.

Carl stood there in silence, not knowing what to answer.

Would you think this could feed a child? she insisted. It surely can’t feed me.

In spite of himself, Greg felt compelled to intervene.

Honey, you can order another meal, he said softly.

No. Debbie started to hit the table with the same two fingers. A restaurant must fulfill its obligations. I must have what I ordered. You must bring me a decent meal.

The waiter looked at Greg with pity and then turned to her. As you wish, he told her, taking the plate away.

Greg tasted his soup. It’s delicious, he said, trying to calm her down. Do you want some?

She shook her head with disdain. You always settle for less.

She’s right, he thought. I always do.

Debbie took out a package of wet napkins from her purse and started to clean her hands. Greg contemplated her in silence while he slowly drank his soup.

When should I raise the subject? he said to himself. Hmm… I’d better wait until she calms down. Timing is everything.

But she was still refreshing her hands hysterically. When she found no more space to rub, she started to arrange the cutlery.

Greg’s spoon stopped in the air. No, that’s enough, he thought. I have to take courage. C’mon, Greg, you can do it. Who’s the boss in this relationship? Who’s the man? C’mon.

He left the spoon on the table, straightened up in his chair, and cleared his throat. He wanted to start talking, but the words barely seemed to come out of his mouth.

Honey, I’ve invited you here for a reason, he finally managed to say. Debbie raised her head to look at him, which made him even more nervous. Hmm… there’s something I need to tell you, well, I could’ve said it at home, but, well, you deserve better.

She stared at him in silence, with a mixture of intrigue and anxiety. That didn’t help him to continue.

Well, he babbled, I’ve been thinking… We’ve been together for twelve years, right?

She nodded.

I was thinking that, maybe, it is time, well…

Go on.

I mean, considering how we live, and how we want to go on living… maybe… it would be best if… hmm…

She leaned forward with excitement and rushed to grab his hand. Go on, honey, say it. Don’t be afraid.

Well, I believe, I mean, I think, that the best will be, that, maybe, we… should… take a break? Both of us?

He felt a violent pressure on his fingers. Debbie’s hand had suddenly contorted, as if she were squeezing a lemon. She wasn’t looking at him anymore; instead, she was gazing at some far-off place behind him.

"Here’s your Filet Mignon Point, ma’am, as you ordered it."

They were both startled. Carl left the plate on the table—which had a slightly bigger piece of stake and a few more vegetables than the first one.

She looked down. This is a butter knife, she said. I need a steak knife.

Carl nodded and rushed to escape.

Debbie looked at him in anger and then turned to Greg.

Can you believe this? What kind of restaurant did you bring me to? They don’t even know how to prepare a decent meal.

Greg gaped at her. Did you listen to what I just said?

She opened another package of wet napkins. This place is covered with dust.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Did you listen to any word I said? he insisted.

But Debbie didn’t answer, she seemed very busy removing a stain from her little finger.

Greg began to lose his patience. I told you that I would like to take a break.

She smelled the napkin. This is a shit hole.

LISTEN TO ME!

Debbie jumped, startled; she had never heard him scream like that. The restaurant resounded. People turned around to look at them with curiosity. Greg leaned backwards, with certain regret, while Debbie burst into tears.

Why do you have to yell at me like that? she cried. You want to humiliate me in front of all these people. That’s why you didn’t want to talk to me at home. You wanted to say it in a crowded place, so that I couldn’t make a scene.

No, honey, he said tenderly, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. All I wanted to say is that it could be better for us, for both of us, to be alone for a while.

Alone? She stopped crying and looked at him straight in the eyes. That’s right, she nodded. I should’ve notice it. You’re cheating on me! That’s why we haven’t had sex for months!

People turned around again, this time amused.

Please, he begged, don’t say it so loud.

Debbie didn’t listen.

Is it that girl from the office? she insisted. What’s her name? Ella… Elsie… The one you always talk about. That whore.

No. What are you saying? Greg was outraged. "Emma has nothing to do with this.