"B-r-e-n-d-a-n!" I croon, dropping my bag on the sofa.

I grab the carton of orange juice from the fridge and enter the kitchen searching for a glass. The kitchen is a mess as usual with half eaten food dumped in the bin. The dirty dishes are sitting in the sink, stinking badly.

I shrug. Brendan can't do his things himself. Washing and cleaning are akin to fighting demons for him. Ugh!

God knows what he'll do if I don't turn up one night at his place. The answer lies in front of me. The sink is overflowing. Wait a second. He wouldn't need four plates to have his food. Did he bring in guests? Oh shit! He may have expected me. I have to make a quick apology for everything, including the kiss — especially the kiss.

I bite down on my lip, hard. I can't think about that kiss yet. It was perfect, so perfect that I felt myself teetering off the edge. It was as if our lips were molded for each other.

Damn!

Keep a grip, Pat.

That was just a mistake.

But the real question now is where is Brendan?

I try my best to ignore the itching in my hands to put the dirty plates in the washer. For another few minutes I wander around the house, sipping the juice, calling his name but he is nowhere.

At last I found the bedroom door and knock.

No answer.

I give it a push and the sound of flowing water hits my ear. The bathroom lights are on and I can make out his silhouette against the ground glass. My eyes graze his figure, imagining the curves in the right places. I have a mind map of his body and I can't help the lewd thoughts running through my brain.

Why can't I join him in the shower? That would be sexy as hell!

Without thinking twice, I gulp down the remainder of the juice and put the glass on the nightstand. I toss my shirt aside and work on unbuttoning the skirt. It is tough job owing to the extra tight fabric hugging my thighs. Finally I pull free, debating on whether to take off my undies. But nothing is hotter than peeling off wet underwear!

"Baby! See who's here!" I push the frozen glass door wide open so that he gets a full view of the treat he's going to savor.

I hear a female scream which stings my ear like the cry of a banshee. I freeze, trying to take in the reality before my eyes.

Brendan is standing there in the shower, buck naked, with a pair of slender legs encircling his hips. He has his hands underneath her bum, supporting her on the granite counter. Their bodies are pressed tight against each other, skin to skin, frozen in the act. I can feel a low rumbling in my stomach and I clap my hands over my mouth and run to the toilet, locking myself in.

I clutch the toilet bowl and can feel myself retching as a fresh wave of nausea washes over me. My stomach makes painful churns, finally emptying the contents of last night's dinner into the pan. I flush the commode and look at myself in the mirror. Beads of sweat are glistening on my forehead. As soon as the nausea subsides a worse feeling takes over. Anger — hatred as pure as the fury of hell makes my body tremble.

I grab the glass bottle of the room freshener from the wall and throw it against the expensive mirror which shatters instantly at the impact. The glass shards spray onto the basin and the floor, as my broken reflection shatters into a million pieces. Carefully I pick up one large piece, thumbing the edge of it. The sharpness grazing my skin draws blood. Surprisingly the twinge of pain shooting through my hand feels welcome. I grip the glass tighter and bring my other wrist to the level of my face.

"Pat! Open up!" someone is banging on the door. The voice is familiar, yet so distant. It is the voice I love and hate.

"Open the door for heaven's sake or I'll break it down." Brendan screams from the other side. The glass touches my wrist. Just a little bit of pressure and —

"Pat! It was a mistake. I am sorry —"

"A mistake?" I can hear a frantic voice scream from my heart. "You are cheating on me and that's a mistake? I don't come home one night and —" I press the glass hard. The skin on the exposed part of my wrist breaks — so does my trance. I throw down the glass and it falls to the floor cluttering. I look at my shaking bloodied hands.

What was I going to do?

Kill myself for that wretched man who cheated on me?

I scamper away from all the glass and run to the basin to wash off all the blood and check my wrist. Thankfully I didn't do too much damage. Grabbing the towel off the rack, I cover up my body. Brendan has lost access it for once and for all.

The door unlocks with a click and I push past Brendan guarding the doorway.

"Shit! Pat!" he says, probably witnessing the streaks of blood on the floor!

"I wouldn't destroy my life for someone like you!" I throw back my head and march into the room, proud as a peacock.

"She was just a call girl!" he tries to reason, following me.

"That's even worse!" I hiss, quickly putting on my dress.

"Come on. Rich people do it all the time," he sounds so smug that I feel like punching the nose out of his face right there.

Instead I just avoid his eyes as I gather my purse and leave his apartment, slamming the door after me.

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