IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER OF HANA PT 1:
Justin's life fell apart.
He was a Project Manager who handled big contracts for building developments. He and his team didn't just build buildings, they built communities.
He'd been married to his wife, Rochelle, for three years, though he knew her for five.
Hana was his most promising mentee. She was the smartest person he'd ever met. The two of them shared a bond that many people don't find in the workplace.
Rochelle felt intimidated by that bond. It was one she couldn't compete with. In his life, she felt like her place was third. First was his job, and second was Hana.
Justin's biggest Achille's Heel was complacency. Like a champion who is used to winning, he stopped fearing loss. He didn't pay attention to the little things. He lost focus, in both his marriage and his career.
Hana started dating a coworker, Chris. Justin warned her about Chris, but she was naïve. Chris was a privileged guy who enjoyed women. Hana wanted a serious relationship, Chris wanted another woman to sleep with.
When they broke up, it was massive. Like an explosion, it caused a ripple in the chemistry of his team. Hana was heartbroken, Chris just wanted to move on.
Hana became erratic, trying to get him fired. Nothing worked. Finally, she came to Justin with a plea: fire Chris and take her side. She was his mentee. She was his favorite.
But Justin knew that was the wrong move. Chris had done nothing wrong to be fired. He was just a playboy. Justin understood her heart was broken, but he couldn't violate ethics to appease her.
What he failed to do was address her feelings and help her through it like a leader would do. He instead just dismissed her, feeling like she should get over it.
So, Hana quit. He lost his superstar. And since they were in the middle of a multi-million dollar project, he was up the creek without a paddle. But that wasn't all she did.
Hana wanted Justin to feel what she felt. She wanted him to understand her. So, she sent him pictures of his wife with another man on a cruise. Rochelle was cheating on him.
This was news to Justin because she was supposed to be on a two-week conference in Memphis. At least, that's what she told him.
But Hana had pictures. Pictures of Rochelle dancing with this man, kissing him, lounging by a pool in a bikini, but worst of all, walking on a beach holding hands.
In his anger, Justin lashed out at Hana. He was hurt by his wife's infidelity, but also by her using it as a means of revenge.
He screamed and hung up on her. Now, he had to figure out what to do about his life, both professionally and personally.
_____________________________________
It'd been two days since Justin and Hana's big blowout, and he was still reeling from it. He was suffering from a double dose of betrayal. Not only was he dealing with his wife's infidelity, he was also dealing with one of his closest confidants celebrating in his misery.
Immediately after he hung up on Hana that first day, Justin started calling Rochelle's cell repeatedly. She didn't answer. The more he failed to reach her, the more frenzied he became. He only got 2 hours of sleep that night because he kept snapping awake, fearful that he was going to miss her call.
That continued the next couple days. He tried everything. He left voicemails. He sent texts. He even called her job to get info on the conference she was supposedly attending. Nothing worked. The receptionist who answered his call confirmed that there wasn't any conference in Memphis. More on that, they hadn't sent Rochelle to any conference in the last year, let alone a two-week one.
As you can guess, this only added to his anxiety.
All he needed was to hear something from Rochelle. Anything. At this low point, he'd have been willing to accept even the slimmest explanation. The conversation he fantasized happening had her chastising him for even thinking she would ever cheat, all the while telling him how much she loved him.
Of course, she had a logical explanation of why she was MIA. Of course, she would explain why she'd been lying about going to these conferences. Of course, she'd have a good reason why she was dancing with a man that she never told him about in her sexiest dress.
And kissing him.
And lounging by the pool in a bikini, laying back into him.
And walking with him on a fucking beach, beneath a beautiful sunset, with her head on his shoulder.
Delusional? Maybe. But delusion is often the mind's way of shielding itself from unbearable reality. Right now, Justin's entire life was ripped out from him. His wife, as well as his closest confidant, had both abandoned him. His work/life balance was a joke, and the work half of that imbalance was teetering to the point of falling off a cliff.
And he had no one to share his misery with. No one to comfort him. No one to empathize with his pain. He was completely and utterly alone.
The delusion didn't last long. It couldn't; not with those pictures. Once it faded, Justin was left with anger. He was angry at Rochelle for cheating, angry at himself for not noticing sooner, even angrier with himself for all the times he neglected her, angry at his job for being so demanding, but most of all, enraged at Hana for how she dropped this nuke in his lap.
Just pissed off at the world.
But with the anger came a strange, masochistic curiosity. Questions arose.
Who was this guy? Was he someone she worked with? An old boyfriend? Just a man she met on the street? Was she in love with him? Did she plan on running away with this guy?
Then, his thoughts took him to an even darker place.
Was this guy better in bed than him? Was his cock bigger? Did he fuck roughly? Did she suck him off and swallow his cum? Did she make him use condoms? Was she picturing this guy in her head when she was making love to Justin?
Each of these questions made him grow more insane. It's the not knowing that's painful. Answered questions at least have a sense of finality to them. Without answers, all you have is the worst of your imagination to fill in the blanks.
And his imagination was immense. The problem was, he knew what Rochelle was like in bed, so he could visualize how things went.
Was this guy hearing the same moans he heard? Smelling the same scents? Tasting the same sweetness? Watching the same ass jiggle when he slammed into her from doggy position? Feeling the same tight, velvety wet walls open up and try to adjust to his cock for that first delicious thrust? Did she breathe his name when it was feeling good to her, or whimper "fuck me" when she was right at the precipice of orgasm?
God, no. Please, no.
Over the next couple days, these scenes haunted Justin's mind. They snuck up on him at unexpected times. Work couldn't even keep him busy enough to stop them, which was saying something considering all the fires he was fighting.
It was almost 10 o'clock on that third night when his phone rang. Justin was sitting upright in bed with his laptop on his thighs. He wasn't exactly working, but for some reason, he couldn't put that damn thing away. Even a moment away made him feel like he was wasting time. It wasn't like he was getting much sleep these days, anyway.
