He must have fallen asleep on the couch after the party last night, I thought to myself.
As I made my way down the hallway to the kitchen to make some coffee, I dragged my feet in true zombie style. My eyes didn’t seem to want to stay open as I passed through the living room; I may have even traversed through the kitchen with my eyes closed.
Pushing a few half-empty liquor bottles aside, I pulled the glass carafe from the old-school coffee maker and filled it with water. Oliver would definitely want a cup or two of coffee, so I made sure to fill it all the way before adding the coffee grounds and punching the button. The clock on the coffee maker said it was only seven in the morning.
From there, I shuffled into the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a shower. I finally felt at least half alive while walking out of the bathroom in my robe and drying my long brown hair with the towel.
“Morning,” I said to Oliver, who was sipping a cup of coffee as he leaned against the counter in just his boxers.
He nodded at me, and although he hadn’t fully woken up, there was something amiss about his demeanor. His gaze seemed shifty, but I chalked it up to him being hung over. As I poured the coffee into my favorite Betty Boop mug, I looked up at him.
“I can’t even remember past like ten o’clock. Can you?” I asked, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen, facing Oliver.
He cleared his throat before saying, “Can we wait until I finish my coffee?”
“Sure,” I said, laughing before taking a sip of my black coffee.
I savored the quiet of the morning and glanced up at him a few times. His turquoise eyes looked more open, but they still darted behind me a few times. It was enough so, that I became curious.
“What do you keep looking at?” I asked as I began to turn around.
He grabbed my arm, turning me back to him and kissed me. He was a good kisser, it’s what sealed the deal for me to make our relationship official six months ago. As he pulled away, he set his mug down.
“I’m about to get in the shower, can you go for another?” he said with a smirk.
He wasn’t usually this rambunctious so early in the morning. It was a slightly titillating change of pace. I smiled as I bit my lip and looked back up at him.
“I guess I am a dirty girl.”
I leaned back up to kiss him and began to untie the belt of my robe when a sound caught my attention. It was the jangle of keys. Curious, and a bit frightened, I whipped my head around to see who was in my house.
On the other side of the kitchen, trying to quietly take her keys off the counter, was Jenny Clark. The same girl that stole two of my boyfriends over the four years we spent together in high school.
“Why is she here?” I asked, turning back to Oliver and narrowing my eyes as I squeezed the handle of my empty coffee mug.
“It’s not what you think, Anabelle,” Oliver said, tightening his grip on my arm as I glared at her.
“No, it’s exactly what you think,” Jenny said, looking me in the eye.
I felt my blood boil as I looked back at Jenny and imagined myself throwing my coffee mug at her face. I knew I had to control my anger, though. Otherwise, I would break my eighty-four day crazy-free streak. Luckily, Oliver hadn’t been around for that slip and I didn’t want him to meet Crazy Anabelle just yet.
“You can leave, now,” I said through gritted teeth.
Instead of turning and walking toward the door, Jenny stood there and looked at me with fiery eyes before focusing her attention back to him.
“Oliver, I’ll wait for you in the car, just like we already planned. Hurry up and get dressed, though, I don’t want to wait too long.”
I slapped Oliver in the face with my free hand before he could explain.
“I was going to tell you—“ Oliver began, rubbing his cheek.
“How long?” I asked, resisting the urge to strangle him with every fiber of my being.
“Let’s just sit down and talk rationally,” he said, taking my arm and trying to pull me toward a seat.
“How long?” I asked again, ripping my arm out of his grasp.
Oliver reached up, ruffling his black hair, and rubbed the back of his head as he exhaled loudly.
“Two months,” Jenny said triumphantly, walking over and taking Oliver’s hand.
“Two months!?” I shouted, slapping Oliver again.
“Okay, I deserved that—“ Oliver started, but was cut off by Jenny.
“It’s not his fault, I’m just really good at stealing your boyfriends.”
I looked at her face, her smug face. Her smile was getting wider by the second. She was so proud of herself.
I tried to take deep breaths. I tried to count backwards from ten. I tried to resist. My hand was out of my control as I swung the coffee mug up and hit her across the face with it, Officer.
And that is how the fight started.