bitter, cold coffee

There was a pounding ache in the back of her head, ringing in her ears, and burning in her eyes. She ran her shaky hands through her messy, short hair and glared at the text book pages in front of her. Frustrated tears blurred her vision as she tried to take notes for her final philosophy paper. No one told her there would be so many essays. No one warned her how hard it would be. After all, she never had anyone; she was always alone. Angrily, she swiped her fingers under her eyes, clearing away the wet drops that were dripping out of her tired eyes and wiping away the signs of weakness. With a small tilt of her head, she looked up at the clock on the wall in front of her. 

6:35 am. She had been awake for two days now. With a new goal in mind, she shot up off the sofa, knocking her text book off her lap. She messily pulled her short hair into a low bun and pulled on a sweater. Anyone who took a single glance at her would know she was not okay. Her eye bags were deep; any darker, they would be black. Her hair was messy and tangled, with thick bangs covering half her face. Her hands were shaky; whether it was from sleep deprivation or caffeine, no one was sure. Her shoulders were sagged forward, fingers ripped at the cuticles with pencil dents in the crook of her middle fingers. Without sparing a glance at herself in the mirror, she grabbed her wallet,phone, and keys and stepped out of her small apartment, letting the sun hit her for the first time in what felt like forever. 

Coffee. That's what she needed. She needs caffeine to pump through her blood and keep her functional for the next few days. At least until all her exams were over. Until she pulled herself out of her own personal hell. Until she felt accomplished and proud of the work she had done, The walk to the coffee shop was short, around seven minutes. She took the time to breathe in the fresh air and relax. Her hands were less shaky, and her vision had cleared. Once she made it to the small shop and stepped in, the smell of warm coffee and hot air hit her face. She tilted her head in a small greeting as she made her way to the back of the line. The line was not long; there were around three people in front of her, but in her anxiety-ridden brain, it felt too long. These are the minutes she should be studying. She hasn’t memorized everything yet; she hasn't learned anything yet. 

Tapping her fingers on the back of her phonecase, she waited as the person in front of her ordered. She took the time to get a good look at the barista. It was a boy, maybe the same age as her. He was tall, with a friendly smile on his face. Messy black hair fell in waves, framing his sharp jawline and kind golden eyes. As the line moved forward, she stepped up with a small smile.

“Hey, uh, can I have a large mocha latte with extra mocha, expresso, and hazelnut? Can you add whipped cream to that and creamer, please?" She recited with a small smile. The barista looked at her with a laugh.

“Yea… sure? That's a wild order,” he laughed as he entered the information into the register. 

"Yeah, midterms, you know? I need all the sugar to make up for the lack of sleep,” she awkwardly laughed. 

"No, yeah, I totally get that. Your total is 4:50, cash or card?” 

"Card,” she handed him her credit card with a slight tremble in her fingers. He smiled gently as he swiped the card. With an affirmative ding, the card was handed back to her. 

“You can wait for your drink over there. Good luck with your studies.” With a smile and a small thank you, she walked to the pickup area. She watched as a pretty girl behind the counter made her drink. mesmerized by the way she confidently poured the ingredients for her drink. The way she mixed it all and twirled the whipped cream. After capping her drink, the barista held it up and called out her name. 

“Eliana!” She made eye contact with the barista and stepped forward. Wordlessly, she grabbed her drink with a small smile. She turned, walked out of the coffee shop, and started her way back home. She took a sip of her drink and groaned as she realized they had messed up her order. It was bitter, traveling down her throat and burning like acid that settled uncomfortably in her stomach. Frustrated tears welled up in her eyes as she roughly wiped them with the back of her hand. With fumbling hands, she struggled to twist the key into the lock. After fighting it for a few minutes, she finally got the door open. 

Absentmindedly, she took a sip of her drink, only to choke. More frustrated tears sprang up. She just does not understand; why can’t she stop crying? 

Everything hurts. Her head is throbbing, and nails are being hammered into her brain. Her fingers are cold and unstable, barely supporting the weight of the disgusting coffee. Her eyes are bleary and wet, and her skin is gross and sticky from tears. Her knees are sore from sitting, her wrists hurt from writing, and her arms hurt from supporting her weight all night long. This was nothing compared to the pain of the panic seeping into her bloodstream. The sounds of her heavy breathing filled the room as she fell to her knees. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers the feeling of cold coffee seeping into her knees as the cup slips from her trembling fingers. Tears travel their way down, settling uncomfortably in the crook of her neck. She grips her sweater, right where her heart would be. Everything is cold. Its hard to breathe as the cold darkness in her mind seeps out and suffocates her. The aftertaste of the disgusting coffee lingers in her mouth, coating her taste buds like poison. She feels the cold coffee settle in her stomach, mocking her for being so weak. She gathers the last bit of her strength and drags her sobbing self to the couch, where she settles into the cold pillows and lets the cold darkness envelope her in its cold, unwelcoming embrace.