In a seaside town, a story unfolds about a woman named Jezabelle. Her journey takes her through darkness and tests her limits of redemption. She is consumed by addiction, haunted by betrayal, and torn by her forbidden love for a priest. Her struggles play out on the streets of Blackpool, and her tale is so shocking that it defies belief.

"LUCIFER"

My twins have finally left home, leaving me to rot in this massive house, bored out of my skull. Here I am, a widowed woman who lost the love of my life, had never been with another man in my fifties, and didn't want to live the life of a nun anymore. For god's sake, I'm a modern 21st-century woman. Why not? I'm single, and a woman's got her needs, hasn't she? I've always been reserved and read my bible; now is the time to sample the other side of life. I've spent the last five years mourning my husband, and now I've come back to life.

People have the front to say I'm attractive, even though I'm a bit on the heavy side; my new so-called friends, a bunch of divorced and single women, suggest I start popping pills to shed some of my curves. And so, it begins with a chance encounter, fate twisting its ugly head. I was introduced to drugs by the local dealer, a guy straight out of a gangster film; a thick head of hair, an unsmiling face, and eyes that pierce my soul hung like a bleeding horse. He starts whispering in my ear like Lucifer. I like it, and I like it a lot; it's deep and rough and gets me going all tingly insides. I couldn't get enough of his chat-up lines. Before I knew it, we were doing it left, right, and centre, snorting at every opportunity. I thought what the hell I'll sniff the curves of. Lost in the madness, all thoughts of God pushed out of my mind. Late-night parties have become our thing. You wouldn't believe the stuff we discussed; I tell you, it was a right laugh.

The Spiral

But with every clink of the glass and every line snorted, my grip on reality starts slipping away, becoming more paranoid by the day. My house stinks of cat piss, dirty dishes everywhere; I can't be bothered anymore cleaning up. I turned into a deceitful cow, lying through my teeth to everyone, including my kids, but I couldn't stop; I was having the time of my life, or so I thought.

I end up with my best new mate's husband, who's just as hooked as I am. She finds out and goes off her nut. I deny it and leave them screaming at each other in the street. I couldn't help but tell more lies; I had my stress. I start drinking like a woman with only a few days left to live: bottles of cheap plonk litter the house like empty shell cases on a battlefield. I need to quench my thirst as soon as I open my eyes in the morning. I become a proper wreck over time; my mental health starts to suffer, but I drown it out with more alcohol and more drugs. I can't control my impulses. I'm walking around the house naked, speaking in tongues, I'm on edge, I can't work out who's my friend, who's using me, I'm out of control, I feel like people are laughing at me.

Reality Hits

Reality hits me like a ton of shit. I'm always drunk or snorting away, the dealers bleeding me dry, and soon enough, I must face the grim truth: the house on Blackpool's seafront, my sanctuary, must be sold to fund my pathetic lifestyle. But even as the walls close in, I become more desperate by the day.

"Looks like you're right in the shit now, you daft cow," the dealer snarls, his voice gravelly, eyes full of stone-cold rage as he takes a drag on his spliff laced with gear. The stench of burnt chop hits me like a kick in the arse. His mask of friendship dropped like a burst condom. "But what's life without a bit of madness, eh?" He leans in closer, kissing my throat, blowing smoke as I struggle to breathe, terrified. He laughs and offers me a drag, the bastard. He couldn't give a toss.

I've sniffed away a fortune. It gets so bad I start charging blokes for my services. I become a bloody whore who needs to score.

Breakdown and Hope

In the end, I have a freaking breakdown. My kids have me carted off to the loony bin. I shake and tremble for weeks, craving drugs and booze, my mind slipping away bit by bit. But even as the darkness threatens to gobble me up, a glimmer of hope emerges. In the asylum's bleak walls amongst the madness of lost souls, a priest appears like a freaking miracle. He's so fit he looks like a young Springsteen, saying, "There's still time to find redemption," his words are a lifeline in the sea of madness I'm swimming in.

In the silence, he lays his hand on my closely cropped curls and tells me to let Jesus back into my life and banish the devil. I break down in tears, my breasts wobbling in time with my shoulders, hoping he is what I've been lacking in my life—a real man who I can love till the end of my days.

Redemption Road

A few days later, the priest got me a job volunteering at a local Salvation Army hostel. I slog away at the Salvation Army, cleaning filthy floors and battling my inner demons. And though the road to redemption is hard, my mind is consumed with thoughts of the priest and how we could get together.

As days turn into weeks and weeks into months, the priest says, "You've come a long way, love," his voice filled with concern as we share our evening meal. "But remember, the journey's far from over." My dear, it seems you're troubled by matters of the heart."

"Yes, Father. I've been thinking about the nature of love and care lately."

"Love is indeed a profound force in our lives. It should be evident in how we're treated by those who claim to love us."

"Exactly, Father. When someone genuinely cares, they prioritise us, don't they?"

"Precisely. Love isn't just about words; it's about actions demonstrating our value to one another."

"But Father, what if someone doesn't seem to care as much as I do?"

"Sometimes, my child, it's a painful realisation that we may not hold the same significance in someone's life as they do in ours. In those moments, seeking places where our presence is truly cherished is essential."

"That's comforting to hear, Father. It's just hard to let go sometimes."

"I understand, my child. Letting go can be one of the most difficult acts of love. But remember, in seeking where we are celebrated, we find solace and genuine connection."

"Thank you, Father. Your words bring me clarity and peace within the turmoil of my emotions."

"May the love of God guide you, my dear Joy, and may you find comfort in His embrace. Always remember, you are cherished beyond measure."

Betrayal and Back in Blackpool

From then on, I tried everything to get him alone, scampering behind him everywhere he went, wearing short skirts and low-cut tops, fluttering my baby greens at him; he didn't seem to take the hint.

But one day, I followed him into the vestry and caught him with his cassock down, humping like a beast with an altar boy beneath him, reciting passages from the bible, his once handsome face contorted with lust. God was the last thing on his mind: the dirty buggerer, the boy whimpering in pain biting on a bible, the bastard. My heart ripped out of my chest. I backed out of there sobbing, heartbroken and distraught.

And so, I decided to split back in Blackpool, homeless, crashing on a girlfriend's couch; that scene kept haunting me, fueling my anger. I dodged my mates, still trapped in their addictions, but they persisted, coaxing me with, "Just one more line." And shit, before I knew it, I was back in the game. But you know what? I can kick it again if I choose to, or am I kidding myself?

Craving Love

I've never chased riches, but I crave love like the one my ex-husband once poured over me.

I've wised up; those meaningless bunkups with strangers ain't what I want anymore. Maybe I used drugs to fill the void, but I still cling to the hope of finding the one who'll finally fill it. Meanwhile, I stare at my reflection, battling self-hate, the glass coffee table littered with lines. I shrugged and snorted another one, pretending it would be all fine when I met the man my heart yearned for.