Page 1 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

Hazel

E verything hurts. Everything aches. My whole body and soul scream at me, wrong, wrong, wrong! It takes a moment before I realize how loudly I’m sobbing, that I’m lying on the floor. I raise my hand to my face, only to find it soaked. How long have I been like this?

I don’t move. I lay there on the floor, leaking pain. Maybe once I’m all wrung dry, it will hurt less.

Probably not.

Walking in on Justin with that… woman. I really don’t want to call her names or be mad at her. She looked as blindsided as I was. It’s a memory that will haunt my ass for a long time.

I trudge into my apartment, escaping a particularly shitty Thursday at work.

My boss, Mr. Weiss, apparently thinks that despite having spent weeks researching and preparing, he has to turn down my perfectly good pitch.

My male coworker’s pitch, however, he’s happy to accept.

Our pitches are nearly identical, which is suspicious on its own.

For some unknown reason, Weiss is still choosing his.

Along with it go my chances at getting any kind of promotion this year. Again.

The lack of respect shouldn’t shock me anymore, yet it still does.

I’ve nearly doubled my workload these last few months after they got rid of the only other woman in our department for some kind of breach of contract and I took on her projects.

Despite handling it all, they still treat me like I’m some green, junior rep.

I mean, it’s a security company; it’s not like we’re trying to solve world hunger.

Still, they act like there are so many hoops I should jump through to prove myself.

Ever since we resigned new contracts late last year, the noose of pressure around here has been slowly tightening.

After that disaster of a meeting, which my idiot colleague had the audacity to say went well, I got a condescending ‘pep-talk’ from no one’s favourite asshat.

I shudder at the memory of him leering down my purposefully modest top while going on about how ‘one day, you’ll be on the same level as the rest of us.

For now, don’t worry your pretty head about it, but thank you for getting those spreadsheets together for us, darling.

Do you mind cleaning up the coffee cart? Thanks.’

Fucking jerk. I’ve spent two years proving myself at this company, and they still treat me like an airhead.

Apparently, I’m too much of a pushover to say no, so after I clean up the meeting room, I take the rest of the day off, feigning a migraine.

It’s really for Weiss’s health more than mine because I’m contemplating seeing how hard I could throw one of those cups at his head.

Unfortunately, beating your boss with office supplies is frowned upon, so leaving is the better option.

So, I’m already in a mood as I barrel into my one-bedroom apartment that I share with my boyfriend of three years, deep enough in my own thoughts that I’m not listening for any noises in our quaint home.

Justin rarely cleans up after himself, so it takes me a second to notice the two half-full wine glasses on the kitchen counter.

Mostly because we don’t drink red wine. Or at least I don’t.

Especially not midafternoon. On a workday.

Then, there’s the shirt over the back of the couch that is much too small to be mine, and my ‘shitty boyfriend’ senses start tingling.

Justin’s never been a particularly terrible boyfriend, but over the last few months, I’ve grown steadily more fed up with his quick temper, his indifference towards me, and his apathy towards our relationship.

It’s beginning to seem like he’d rather play Grand Theft Auto with the volume on blast than work on our relationship, which is admittedly starting to fall apart.

We’ve been together for years, though, and we were so in love at one point.

Aren’t we worth fixing? Does he care at all?

The painful ache in my chest builds into a deep dread while I tiptoe to the bedroom, faint music wafting from the cracked door into the hallway. My heart is already starting to shred itself as I creep up.

When I open the door, I’m faced with a pretty, petite redhead tied to my cheap, second-hand bed frame who was not there when I left for work this morning.

I had to convince that man that we needed an actual bed frame. He said he had no need for one, it was a waste of money.

Looks like he finally found a use for it.

I could throw up. Instead, I feel my entire face heat as I stare open-mouthed as it registers to them that they are not alone in the room, which just so happens to be mid-thrust. Justin makes a choking noise before going perfectly still, his special friend’s eyes ping-ponging between us.

Normally, my reaction would be sadness, awkwardness, maybe self-deprecation.

Now, all I feel is pure, frenzied violence.

Justin almost sprains his ankle climbing off her and grabbing his boxers while she looks entirely panicked, wriggling against her restraints. I can barely hear Justin’s excuses—that it’s not what it looks like, he made a mistake—past the whooshing sound reverberating in my skull.

I wordlessly walk to the closet to grab a duffel bag, throwing it on the bed, barely containing the rage seeping out of me, all while he unsuccessfully unties his panicking partner.

“Hazel, babe, where are you going? We can work through this! You don’t have to leave!” He storms up to me, grabbing my arm, which I promptly jerk out of his grasp.

Ow, that’s going to bruise later. I hadn’t realized how tightly he had been holding me.

“I’m not leaving,” I bite back, “You are.” I proceed to stuff every nearby article of clothing of his into it haphazardly. I had folded all his laundry, too, despite his promise to get it done this time. Ironic that now he won’t get that option anymore.

“What the hell, babe? You can’t kick me out!

I live here!” I hear him talking, but none of it is registering in my brain.

“Come on, babe, we both know you’re going to get over this.

You know how much you love me!” I’m offended by how much he thinks I’ll roll over and take it.

How often have I let him get away with unacceptable behaviour?

Often enough to think he would get away with this?

“Justin, please don’t try to convince me to stay with you while I can literally see the vagina of the woman you’ve been fucking behind my back. For god’s sake, do you need scissors?”

Justin goes back to trying and failing to undo those knots, which I can see are leaving red rub marks all around her wrists. This is why I never let him try this with me; he never takes his fucking time with safety measures.

“You would think three years together would be enough to earn some goddamn loyalty, but hey, what do I know, right? I guess some idiots are born to be assholes and do whatever they want!”

“Hazel, be reasonable! You know they never meant anything to me; it’s always been you I come back to!”

“They?” My eyes narrow as I fully take him in.

The dark, soft curls I used to twist between my fingers, the washboard abs I thought were so hot.

I used to think the soft green colour of his eyes was beautiful, that it made him almost exotic.

Now it looks like the vomit trying to claw its way up my throat.

He pales, realizing what he just said.

“How many?” I ask him, deadly calm. I don’t think he’s ever seen me so angry. His indignation swirls with a little terror, giving me some level of satisfaction.

“Umm… I mean… like… what… counts?”

“What counts?!”

“Yeah! Like, is oral really-” A guttural scream rips its way out of me, and I start throwing clothes from his duffel at him.

He manages to free the woman by then and she has the self-respect to look disgusted.

Without saying a word—and maybe trying to keep herself out of the crosshairs—she grabs her things and slips out, and I couldn’t have cared less at that point.

As I run out of clothes to pelt him with, I move on to his books.

His stupid self-help books that couldn’t turn him from a piece of shit into a decent human being.

“What the fuck, babe? Get a hold of yourself! You’re being such a bitch!” Justin screams as he dodges his literary collection. He starts towards me, reaching out to physically stop me, but my arms swing out in retaliation of their own accord, forcing him to take a step back again.

“NO! I am not talking, we are through! We are DONE! You can’t screw multiple women behind my back and think I’ll have so little respect for myself that I would stay with you!

” I don’t care that I’m screeching at this point, or that the entire building probably knows our business.

The panic on his face is replaced with a rage I’ve rarely seen in him before.

I resort to ripping his books in half now that he’s holding up a pillow shield, still entirely naked, face nearly purple, holding his boxers in his other hand.

“Get out. I hope I never hear from you again! I hope you’re miserable and I fucking hope she gave you crabs!” I scoop as many of his belongings as I can manage in my arms and drag them through the apartment, dumping them outside our front door.

By this point, a few neighbours have poked their heads out, averting their eyes when they see the pure murder in mine.

With everything dumped on the hallway floor, I look behind me and see Justin slinking through the apartment in a pair of sweatpants, a ratty t-shirt, and his sandals.

He doesn’t even look all that ashamed, only that anger, which I can see pulsing under his skin, which doesn’t make sense.

He cheated on me! His anger only fuels the lava bubbling through me.

I move aside to let him pass, grabbing his arm before he can get too far. He looks at me with hope for a second as I hold out my hand until he catches my glare.

“Your keys. I’ll mail everything else to your mother. ”

“God, you don’t need to be such a bitch about it,” he grumbles, wearing a pout that would put a toddler to shame.

“You know you’re going to take me back anyway, once you get over your fucking period or whatever.

Maybe if you weren’t so frigid, you wouldn’t have made me do this.

” I want to lash out, to scream bloody murder, but I hold my ground.

If I can stick it out, he’ll leave. I just need to keep it together as I stare him down, unwavering.

The reality finally sinks in for him then as he pulls out his lanyard, removing the keys to our home, and shoving them into my hand. The cold metal cuts into my palm harshly. I bite back a shout, needing to stay strong for one more minute.

Then, without a word, he leaves. He just walks out.

Usually, when he’s in one of these moods, it takes a long time for him to come back down, but he’s eerily calm, his muscles tense as he walks to the elevator.

It’s unnerving. I catch one last glimpse of him as the elevator doors close and see the dark expression on his face.

Well, if he wants to be mad, that’s on him and his blood pressure.

He can be mad all he wants to about him and his stupid dick getting into all kinds of stupid pussy behind my stupid back.

I lock myself in the apartment, trying to catch my breath. Glancing at the keys in my hand, I only see the one for our unit. He must have forgotten the front door key in his urgency to escape my wrath.

At least he can’t get in here ever again. Or bring women here. Or cheat on me.

I shudder in some deep breaths, trying to slow my heart rate as I stalk to the cupboards for a glass, the emotional rollercoaster leaving me parched.

Inside are the dishes we picked out together, plain blah beige.

I had wanted the cute yellow ones, but he said he didn’t want something ‘so girly’ in his apartment, so we settled for neutral.

My anger becomes a living beast, writhing and scraping under my skin.

Possessed, I start pulling out anything I can grab and hurling it at the floor.

And that’s how I ended up on the floor, surrounded by shattered dishes, dreams, and my heart.