Bitter Brew

Content Warning:

This story contains themes of emotional abuse, control, surveillance, and implied domestic coercion. It explores psychological manipulation, power imbalances, and themes of entrapment in a relationship. Readers who may be sensitive to topics involving intimate partner control, gaslighting, and psychological distress should proceed with caution.

The tea had been brewing for a week.

So had her resentment.

~~~~~

Nadine first met Tea—as he introduced himself—at a small tobacco shop in late 2020. The scent of flavored shisha curled around the shelves, mingling with the earthy aroma of loose-leaf teas. He stood behind the counter, dark eyes watching her as she ran her fingers over the glass jars, searching for her favorite—blueberry.

“You always pick this one,” he noted, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

She glanced up, surprised. “It’s my favorite.”

He chuckled. “Then I’ll call you Blueberry.”

A harmless nickname. A small exchange. A routine that quickly became more.

She returned often, watching him between their conversations. He would pause during shifts to roll out a small prayer rug and kneel, whispering sacred verses into the silence of the store. There was devotion in his every movement, a strict rhythm to his life.

Nadine admired that.

One evening, after months of unspoken attraction and small talk, she made her move. A small, folded piece of paper that she slipped across the counter as he rang up her purchase.

"Hey! I just wanted to tell you—you are handsome, sexy, and I wish to know you more (if you are single)! If you are, text or call me at xxx-xxx-xxxx! Thanks! Nadine 10/24/2020."

A month later, they were married in secret, in the Masjid.

It happened fast—too fast.

The moment they were husband and wife, Ydal’s devotion turned to expectation.

He wanted her silent. Invisible. Obedient.

The hijab became a symbol of his control. At first, she welcomed it, seeing it as a sign of respect for his culture. But soon, it wasn’t just about faith. It was about ownership.

He watched everything—where she went, what she spent, who she spoke to.

And now, here they were, only one year later, steeping in something far more bitter than tea.

~~~~~

They had moved to a new city, a fresh start—or so she thought. Nadine had convinced herself that in a new place, away from the judgmental whispers of family, she would feel freedom. Maybe Ydal’s suffocating scrutiny would ease, and she could reclaim parts of herself that had been swallowed whole in their whirlwind marriage.

But hope had been short-lived.

~~~~~

Nadine’s days were dictated by rules.

• Open the blinds only in the morning—never at night.
• Keep the house spotless.
• Prepare his tea before he woke.
• Wear the hijab at all times in public.

But there was one rule that mattered above all—obedience.

Ydal ensured she followed it, as he followed her.

Every phone call, every message, every dollar spent—he monitored it all. His accusations ran in circles:

• Why did you take so long at the store?
• Who were you talking to just now?
• You’re spending too much money—are you hiding something from me?

No matter how much she explained, it was never enough.

Even Yulian, her son, was not free from his scrutiny.

• That boy is loud. He’s too reckless. He needs to be disciplined properly.
• He should not whistle—it is a nuisance. It brings bad spirits.

Ydal’s control stretched into every inch of their home, like the scent of the black tea he insisted on drinking.

~~~~~

Nadine had been preparing the tea differently for the past few days.

She had saved each day’s leftover tea, storing it in a container at the back of the fridge. Day after day, it darkened, the tannins steeping longer than intended.

By the seventh day, the tea was black as ink, thick with bitterness, mirroring the tension in their home.

~~~~~

Each morning, Nadine followed the same routine.

She would wake, shower, dress, and settle into work at her corner living room desk. The soft hum of her laptop was a small comfort, a moment of normalcy in an otherwise rigid world.

Ydal, on the other hand, was predictable in his own way. He rarely stirred before 11 AM, preferring to stay up late, scrolling his phone, muttering about customers, business, and money.

But today, at 10 AM—an hour earlier than usual—he emerged.

And he was already angry.

His bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor, his presence filling the space before he even spoke. His sharp gaze swept the room, landing first on her, then on the kitchen.

“What?! No tea?!”

Nadine didn’t flinch.

She kept her eyes on her laptop screen, fingers poised over the keyboard as if she hadn’t heard him.

But she had.

Ydal stalked closer, his shadow stretching over her desk.

His eyes flicked down. Her phone was next to her laptop.

His jaw clenched. “Who were you texting?”

Her fingers stilled over the keys. “No one.”

That wasn’t good enough.

He grabbed her phone before she could react, unlocking it with practiced ease, swiping through her messages.

Scroll. Click. Scroll.

Silence.

His eyes darkened. “Who were you on the phone with last night?”

“I wasn’t—”

He shoved the phone onto her desk. “Liar.”

Her heart pounded, but her face remained impassive. She had done nothing wrong, yet he watched her every move, dissected her every word, certain that he would find proof of betrayal where none existed.

As his breath heaved, his muscles coiled, Nadine made her decision.

She rose from her desk.

Without a word, she walked past him to the kitchen.

Ydal was already heading toward the bathroom, peeling off his shirt, preparing for his first shower of the day. Another part of his ritual. His faith. His need to be clean before stepping into the world.

But not everything could be purified.

Some things only grew darker with time.

The tea had been brewing for seven days—stagnant, darkening, turning into something unclean.

As he rinsed himself beneath the shower, Nadine lit the stove burner, the blue flame flickering to life beneath the stainless steel pot.

She reached for the container at the back of the fridge—the week-long brewed tea, thickened, darkened, stripped of its sweetness.

The old liquid swirled as she poured it into the simmering water, watching the past and present combine into something sharper, something unforgiving.

The scent rose, but it was not the warm, spiced aroma he expected.

It was harsh. Strong. Unrelenting.

The bubbles swelled, boiling over, scorching the edges of the pot. She stirred slowly, methodically, ensuring the thickened tannins coated every sip.

By the time Ydal stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, the tea was ready.

She moved slowly, pouring the blackened liquid into his to-go cup, watching steam curl in lazy ribbons.

She secured the black plastic lid on top, pressing firmly until it snapped into place.

Then, she waited.

~~~~~

Ydal reappeared fifteen minutes later, dressed in his work pants and button-down, still fuming, still watching her.

He sat on the couch, scrolling his phone, huffing irritably, shaking his head like he was still thinking about her supposed betrayal.

Nadine remained in the kitchen, moving without urgency.

She saw him lace up his sneakers.

Saw him grab his jacket from the hook.

Only then—only when she knew it was time—did she walk forward.

He expected her to place the cup in his right hand, as she always had.

Instead, she extended it to his left.

A quiet, deliberate defiance.

Ydal hesitated. His jaw tensed, his lips pressing into a firm line.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, reluctantly, he took the cup.

His fingers closed around it, rough and ungrateful.

She watched as he took a sip—as the bitterness settled into his mouth like a truth he refused to swallow.

His face contorted. His brows knitted together.

“This is awful.”

Nadine tilted her head, feigning innocence.

“Oh?”

For the first time in months, Nadine did not shrink away.

She met his gaze, unblinking. “Maybe it’s just how you like it—black and bitter.”

Ydal’s nostrils flared. His muscles tensed.

Ydal took another sip, his brows furrowing deeper, the lines of his face pulling tight.

His nostrils flared. He swallowed hard, but the bitterness settled like a weight on his tongue.

He pulled the cup away, examining it like it had betrayed him.

His voice dropped to a dangerous low.

"This is not my perfectly sweet tea."

Nadine said nothing.

She watched him piece it together, the moment he realized she had left out the sugar.

Ydal’s fingers curled around the cup, his knuckles white. Without breaking his glare, he peeled off the lid, stepping toward the sink.

Then, with one deliberate motion, he dumped its contents down the drain.

The sludge of tea grounds slid out in slow, murky clumps, clinging to the metal. Nearly half an inch thick.

His breath hitched. His eyes darkened.

He turned the cup over in his hand, as if realizing what he had just consumed.

Stale. Over-brewed. Bitter.

Like them.

His gaze snapped back to Nadine.

Her face was impassive. Unshaken.

Ydal let out a sharp breath, gripping the empty cup like he might crush it.

His fingers twitched as he reached toward the small table by the door.

There, his keys sat next to the "Sweet Tea" keychain—the one he had once given Nadine.

A souvenir from a trip the summer before.

Back when things were simpler.

Back when he wanted her sweet.

The T in tea flickered, shifting into the shape of a lollipop as he picked it up, the plastic catching the light in a mocking transition.

A gift that had once been playful. Now a reminder of something gone stale.

His jaw tightened.

He shoved the keychain into his pocket, gripping the keys to her car—her Red Honda Civic.

The same car he insisted on driving instead of his own.

The one he kept in his possession, so she would always be home.

Where he could control her.

Where he knew exactly where she was.

His breath was heavy now, shoulders rising and falling in tight, controlled movements.

With one last glare, he spat: “You’ll regret this.”

Then, he stormed toward the door, the apartment shaking with the force of his rage.

~~~~~

Nadine exhaled slowly.

Her eyes flickered toward the sink. The remnants of the tea grounds clung to the drain, a murky stain left behind.

Much like him.

The cup still sat on the counter, its contents gone, but its stain remaining.

Tomorrow, she would make his tea again.

But someday—he wouldn’t be here to drink it.