Chapter Text
Relationships suck.
At least, that was what you believed. All of the arguing, the jealousy, the commitment and attachment issues that doomed a couple from the moment they started texting—it fucking sucked.
Sure, love was fun. It was warm and fuzzy and happy and it filled that emptiness inside of you that you had once grown numb to because it was just always there. That void of loneliness that you pushed to the side with the powerful, manifesting chants that you were a strong woman. You don’t need a partner. You don’t need anybody.
But goddamn, does that want overpower over your need.
Relationships were messy and difficult. Love sucked you dry. Partners turn you into someone you no longer used to be. When you’re in love, you look in the mirror, unrecognizable to yourself because your partner just ruined every single thing you loved about yourself.
Standing on your balcony, your elbows resting on the iron railing, you rubbed the palms of your hands into your eyes. God. You were a miserable fucking bitch.
You let out a slow exhale through your nose to try and stamp down the tightness in your chest. The sickness in your stomach. It barely worked.
You fumbled for the pockets of your sweats, pulling out that god damn Juul you told yourself you would stop smoking from because you read online that a girl had a seizure and died from going through five pods a day. But as you took a puff from the e-cigarette, feeling the nicotine uncloud your mind, you sagged your shoulders, dipping your forehead until it almost touched the railing.
Tomorrow. You’ll stop smoking tomorrow.
With the Juul hanging from your lips, you took another puff as your fingers scraped through your hair, pulling the roots from your scalp. You rivaled in the slight pain it caused. Shivered, almost.
A snort followed the exhale of smoke through your nose.
God. That was some depressing ass shit.
Behind you, the sliding door was open just an inch, having popped open from the force of you slamming it closed. You could hear the sound of the video games your boyfriend was currently playing drifting from between the crack. The brutal grunts of his violent combat game, where your boyfriend cursed and shouted at the screen because he sucked so bad. He continuously lost, and it took all of your energy to not laugh at his shitty abilities.
Because if you laughed, his anger would turn towards you.
Your stomach twisted at the thought. At the image of your boyfriend hovering over you, his cheeks a blistering red, spit edging from his lips as he screamed down at you for accidentally letting a snicker slip.
You barely had time to snatch the Juul from your mouth as you hunched over to your left and vomited into the closest thing to you.
Tears burned the brim of your lashes as you threw up your dinner into the snake plant you barely had for a month.
Gripping the flower pot, you heaved into the dirt and leaves of your plant—the poor victim. You coughed and hacked, your throat burning and your head pounding.
For a second, you wondered if your boyfriend heard you.
As if he would actually care.
Things between you and your boyfriend hadn't been this… this bad . The first three months of your relationship had been wonderful. Kisses by the fire, hand holding in the grocery store, soft caresses at a group outing when you guys thought nobody was looking. Sharing deep secrets. Having the same interests and passions. Confessing your love after two weeks.
And then you got a new job.
You were a full time student when you met him. In your third year of college, you lived with your best friend, barely making enough money from your part time job to pay for your rent. You were thousands of dollars in debt because you didn't make the grades for scholarships. Financial aid could only pay for so much. You were living off spaghetti and air fried chicken nuggets. And then you found a wonderful boy who made you feel like a princess and a queen, who made you feel like a loved woman. You were happy.
But then you lost your job. Time and attendance, for the reason. Because sometimes, it was too hard to leave your boyfriend and your bed, his begs for you not to go to work along with his puppy dog eyes.
You had to find a new job. You had to pay rent. You were lucky that a friend of yours worked at a local grocery store who paid their workers above the minimum wage. It paid more than your last job, to be exact. So you took the opportunity in a heartbeat.
At first, your boyfriend was supportive. He even drove to the store to bring you lunch on your first day. He walked straight to the aisle you were stocking green beans in, a bag of tacos in his hands, and then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you laughing at a joke one of your coworkers said at the other end of the aisle.
A male coworker.
It’s been seven months since then. You moved out of your apartment with your best friend because your boyfriend didn't trust them anymore. You hadn't spoken to any of your friends in two months. You haven't visited your parents in half of that time. You switched departments to avoid working with that male coworker.
You were a depressed, anxious, stressed shell of what you used to be.
Tonight had been a particularly bad night. Your boyfriend picked you up from work—again—and saw your male manager hand you an envelope at the door.
A screaming match happened because of it. Because your manager, who happened to be male, handed you an envelope with the hundred dollars the company decided to give to each of their employees as some sort of way to celebrate capitalism.
And god dammit, fuck the vomit film that rested over your tongue. You stood back on wobbling knees, shoved the Juul back in your mouth, and inhaled the largest puff of smoke you could.
“That was… pretty gnarly.”
You choke on the smoke swirling down your throat. It burned as you heave out the nicotine, and you pound your hand against your chest as you coughed and sputtered. This time, the tears rolled down your cheeks. It felt like a fire had been ignited in your lungs.
“Ah, my bad. I didn’t mean to surprise you. Are you alright?”
Through a blurred vision, you looked to the left of you. On the balcony beside yours, a man stood between folded up lawn chairs, scratching his bare chest.
You waved the hand that clutched your Juul, blinking back the tears. “I’m fine,” you croaked.
He tilted his head, the three golden earrings on his left ear swinging from the movement. “You don’t look fine.”
As your eyes cleared, you made sense of the man. He was tall and lean, clearly unashamed of showing off his muscles as he stood in front of you without a shirt, not a blush in sight as you scanned his chest. His skin was golden and tan, as if he spent plenty of days outside unclothed, and his hair was—odd. Unnaturally green, cut close to his scalp in small little spikes.
The short strands looked soft, though.
Your ears burned at the good looking, half naked man. Your cheeks heated in embarrassment as well as you remembered he just saw you vomit all over your precious plant.
“Um.” You cleared your throat, your hand rubbing your neck. “How long have you been there?”
He raised a thin eyebrow. “Long enough to see you vomit into that flower pot. Again, are you alright?”
“Are you saying it’s not normal to puke into flower pots?”
His nose scrunched in confusion. “What?”
You turned from him, your stomach churning once again. “I’m fine. Leave me alone, please.”
And then you scrambled back inside, slamming the sliding door shut behind your back.
Oh god. Your neighbor just saw you vomit. Your attractive neighbor just saw you fucking puke your spaghetti into a flower pot.
Sulking in your racing, humiliating thoughts, you hadn't even noticed your boyfriend sat at the dinner table just beside you, a fork twirled with spaghetti topped halfway to his mouth.
He narrowed his eyes at you, specifically the pink tinge across your cheeks. “Why is your face red?”
You slapped your hands to your face. The insane heat felt scorching to your palms. “N-nothing.”
You wouldn't dare tell him what had just happened. There would be two reactions from your boyfriend—either a screaming match because a guy had talked to you and you talked back to him, or your boyfriend would march up to your neighbors door and try to fight him for flirting with you.
And your neighbor was twice his size. In height and in strength, if the size of his muscles indicated anything.
Your boyfriend scoffed and dropped the fork back into his spaghetti. The tomato sauce bounced out of the sides of the porcelain bowl, dripping onto your dining table. You knew he wouldn't even bother to clean it up himself.
“Now I’ve lost my appetite,” he said. You had the uncontainable urge to roll your eyes at his dramatics. You walked past him instead and into the kitchen, scrunching your nose and mimicking his words as you reached for the paper towels. “What, were you texting your coworker or something? Your manager?”
And at that, you froze. With your hand still wrapped around the paper towels, you turned your chin over your shoulder, your eyes narrowing at him. “Excuse me?”
He took a large gulp of his beer and slammed it onto the table. The cracking sound of glass hitting solid wood made you flinch, ice cold dread settling in your stomach. You face him, your hands gripping the counter you pushed your back up against, and watch as his jaw locked, a vein strengthening in his neck.
“You’re so goddamn annoying,” he grinded out between his teeth, his fingers tightening around the beer bottle. His eyes rolled over to you, so dark and so furious, a new sort of fear settled over you, knocking the breath from your chest.
He could hurt you. He looked as if he was any second from doing so. This feeling made you fear him. And you never feared him before.
You could barely find your voice, and when you did, it was small and brittle, cracking against your dry throat. “Y-you need to leave.”
Your boyfriend had gone to take another drink of his beer, and at your words, his elbow paused halfway in the air. He tilted his head, his shoulders tightening. “What did you just say?”
You didn't want to say it again. You wanted to shake your head, apologize for your behavior, and spend the rest of the night in your bedroom crying yourself to sleep to the sounds of his video game blasting from behind your locked door. But you couldn't continue this. No matter how much you loved him, no matter how much you wanted to beg for his forgiveness and spend a night in peace, you were just so tired. Of everything. Of him.
“I think you should leave,” you said, standing your ground. You felt like you were going to throw up any second, again, but you held your chin high and straightened your spine, faking the expression of confidence. You were still gripping the counter. “We’re done for the night. I think we should take some time right now to cool off and tomorrow we can—”
Your voice died in your throat as your boyfriend grabbed one of the empty beer bottles scattered along the table and hurled it in your direction. You stand frozen, the bottle shattering as it collided with the kitchen cabinet two doors down from you.
The silence afterwards was more terrifying than the glass that could have hit you.
You couldn't breathe. You couldn't do anything. You stood there, you—you fucking stood there, staring at your boyfriend who had raised from his chair at the dining table, his chest heaving with raging breaths, his eyes almost black and his face a sweltering red.
He almost harmed you. He threw glass at you. With the intention to harm. Never, ever, had he done that. He had never raised a hand against you. He had never thrown anything at you.
There were screaming matches. There had been times when words were said with the intention to hurt. But never… never…had he ever tried to injure you.
“Leave.”
Your boyfriend only bared his teeth, taking your command as a challenge. “Excuse me—”
“LEAVE!” Your screamed, shoving yourself off the comfort of the kitchen counter. You pointed towards the door. “LEAVE! GET OUT!” Never had you raised your voice at him, nor had ever screamed so loud before. Your throat burned as you roared at him. “GET OUT! GET OUT!”
With wide eyes and a gaped mouth, your boyfriend stumbled back as you walked towards him, your arm still raised towards the front door, strong and posed.
He held up the palm of his hands, cowering away towards the couch. “Listen, babe, calm down. We can talk this out. We can—”
You grabbed the bowl of spaghetti from the table and chunked it at his head. He barely ducked in time, the bowl flying over his shoulder and landing on the soft cushions of the couch. You had no care over the tomato sauce you knew was going to stain the gray cushions. “SHUT THE FUCK UP! LEAVE!”
Popping back up to his feet, your boyfriend stared at you, dumbfounded. As if he didn't believe you would throw something at him after he threw something at you first. “Reader, what has gotten into you?”
And hearing him say your name—you seethed. “We’re done. Over. Broken up. Get the fuck out of my apartment and stay the fuck away from me.”
He inched along the couch, backing away from you as you continued to walk towards him. “Babe, please—”
You reached over the couch cushion, gripped the PlayStation controller, and hurled it with the aim at his head.
It hit his chest instead, knocking the wind from him.
“I never want to see you again.” You watched as he hunched over, clutching his chest. You pointed towards the door again. “Get out. Get out now, before I call the cops.”
He straightened, eyeing at you with disbelief. “You’re crazy,” he breathed.
You spat at his feet.
He staggered to the door, disgust and anger curling his lip. You stomped after him, grabbing the door as he yanked it open, your foot catching the back of his thigh as you kicked at him. He nearly toppled over from your attack, but rights himself at the last second and sprinted down the hall towards the staircase.
“And I’m keeping the PlayStation 5 I got you for your birthday!” you yelled as you step out into the corridor, watching his back disappear down the stairs. “Bitch!”
And then he was gone. Your abusive boyfriend—ex boyfriend, now gone from your apartment. From your life. For good.
It had felt like hours as you stood there in that hallway, staring at the staircase, daring your ex boyfriend to climb back up and come after you. But it was only for a few seconds, and your attention had been caught by something else.
The door beside yours creaked open. Standing in the frame, the green haired man from the balcony rested a baseball bat against his bare shoulder, his eyes darting around the hallway, widened and frenzied.
When his gaze landed on you, you could have sworn they softened, his posture relaxing. “You good? I heard you shouting.”
You knew he was just being the kind, next door neighbor that looked out for his other neighbors. But you were still riding on the high of your anger and standing up for yourself against your ex boyfriend, and just that one sliver of kindness from the very hot man who you were sure just heard the whole screaming match, word for word, between you and your ex boyfriend, you grew very, very embarrassed.
“Mind your business.”
The man blanched back at your hiss, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “Huh?”
“Mind. Your. Business.”
He gave you the most disgruntled expression you had ever seen. “Listen dude, I just wanted to help—”
“I just dumped my boyfriend!” You yelled at him, your voice echoing off the walls of the hallway. “There, you happy now?! Me and my boyfriend just got into a huge fight and we broke up! How can you help that?!”
He took a step back, looking so confused. “Um—”
“That’s right! You can’t!” You marched back into your apartment and stuck your head outside of the frame, catching your eyes with your neighbors bewildered black ones. “Fuck you!”
And then you slammed the door behind you.