blind. 2 | styles (hariana)

XXXII. Let It Bleed

Song: Let It Bleed – The Rolling Stones

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~ Harry ~

I had entered most of my exams with my expectations significantly lowered. I found lowered expectations to be really helpful during the multiple choice portion; if only life was just the multiple choice section.

Imagine having your potential futures laid out for you and all you have to do is pick one and hope to God you're right. But no, life has to be a written answer where you're expected to already know what the right thing to do is but now you have to work towards it and pray that you at least get a portion of the answer right.

My false confidence powered me through, but I knew better than to expect a high grade after bullshïtting most of my answers.

Nevertheless, I only had one exam left to do which left me relieved that once it was over, so would hell week, and Ariana would be visiting afterwards– I would finally be free.

In the early hours of the morning, I decided not to go on my usual coffee run which proved to be a poor decision on my behalf.

I used to work in a bakery– I made pastries, I made tea, I made cakes, but in my entire baking experience I have never made a cup of coffee and if I ever had it probably wasn't very good.

I'd already gone through two failed cups of coffee, and I was growing impatient with myself if I dared to add another to the collection. It was frustrating; all the measuring, the pouring, the scooping– stirring, God forbid I spill over the rim onto my hand because I might actually throw the cup across the room.

"Marcel stop laughing I can't concentrate!"

"You're making coffee, not taking an exam. You're in Harvard Medical and you can't even make a cup of coffee."

"I know how to make coffee you piece of shït, it just doesn't taste... right." I mumbled. "Usually Ariana makes me coffee or we buy it together at Starbucks."

"Well aren't you both just relationship goals." He chuckled. "If you're completely helpless, why don't I just make it for you so you can study some more for your stupid exam."

I turned to him sharply, "You asked me to make coffee for the both of us, assbutt."

"Assbutt?" He coughed. "Has hell week really ruined you to the point you have your own vocabulary?"

"It's from Supernatural– you know what, never mind. If you were going to complain about how your coffee tastes, then you shouldn't have asked me to make coffee."

"I didn't think it would be like rocket science for you." He chuckled. "I can't imagine Ariana would be proud of you, knowing something basic as preparing coffee is strenuous for you."

I rolled my eyes, ignoring his last comment as I abandoned the kitchen counter. Turning to him, I handed him the spoon I held. He lips twitched upwards as he retrieved both from me then superseded me in the kitchen. Sitting where he was, I reached for my notebook and set it open in front of me. The words on the pages were repeated knowledge, almost like second nature for me now.

I found it had become increasingly easier for me to cache the information in my mind, and my understanding of what I was writing was at an average standard. Still, although I found this aspect of my education to be straightforward, I was having difficulty staying motivated and concentrated in what I was doing. With it only being my second year, I felt apprehensive that I was already having doubts for what I was once passionate about.