𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞
It was a bad break-up. He didn't love me, I was starting to loose interest. But I tried to rekindle, what I thought, we had left. It didn't go well. We went to a small coffee shop, I ordered vanilla scones while he ordered a cup of black coffee. We started to talk, but it wasn't like the many other times we've. It was awkward, as if it were a first date. But as the time escalated, we started to rant about things we hate. It was a weird topic but I was starting to get hopeful.
Something slipped out of his mouth, something I'm never going to forget. I could tell by the look on his face he didn't mean to say that, but the wound was already infected. I stood up and yelled at him, saying things I would never say to his face. He was shocked, I was always quite and reserved. I guess he didn't know me. I was heartbroken, hot tears were streaming down my face. I didn't want him to see me like this.
I left the small coffee shop, leaving him behind. Sitting at home I was blank, the static on the t/v was making my head fuzzy. I could hear my phone vibrating in the other room, probably from the calls I was not going to answer. My hair was draped over my face as I leaned my head back, my eyes closing.
I awoke to birds chirping outside my window, my mind replaying what happened last night. I sneered at how happy they sounded, they didn't deserve to be happy while I was sitting here suffering. But why should I care, I'm not strong enough to hurt them. I forced myself to get up, my body shaking from exhaustion. I pulled my feet across the floor to go into my other room, grabbing my phone.
Checking it I noticed I had over one-hundred missed calls and two-hundred plus text messages, 'Later' I thought. I went into the kitchen and started to make myself black coffee, hoping it will wake me up. As seconds past I thought about what I was going to do now, he was all I had. But he ruined it. I grabbed a mug and poured the bitter liquid into the colorful mug I got for my birthday. I placed it on the counter, my eyes narrowed.
It smelled heavenly, but I knew it tasted like the pits of hell. I remember he got black coffee, I never understood why he liked it. Maybe because it was bitter, like him. I grabbed the mug and placed it to my lips. Tilting it upwards I remembered how we fought over a cup of this. I remembered how he barely touched it, how he didn't even drink it.
I opened my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut. As if that's going to make the horrible taste go away. The hot liquid burnt my tongue, but I didn't care. After I took a gulp I set it back on the counter. My hair fell over the right side of my face once more.
Oh how I hate black coffee, Oh how I hate him.
