Forty seven

She leaned over the kitchen counter and took a sip of the coffee she just made. “Yuck…” she grimaced, shaking her head in disapproval. She had seen Kendrix make coffee and take it multiple times, and claims that he enjoys it. How could something so bitter be pleasant? Or she didn’t make it the right way?

She dropped the mug, glancing at the kitchen wall clock. It’s past midnight and there was still no sign of Kendrix coming back. And with each minute passing by, she grew more tensed and jumpier about the talk he promised her. She doesn’t know how it’s going to begin or how it’s going to end—she hopes they make things up tonight. And she hopes this would be the last huge fight they’d ever have, because it’s pure torture not being able to talk to him.

She straightened up herself and turned around, leaning her back on the counter. She stared at the fridge in front of her. The fridge she glued her back to earlier while he almost closed the gap between them.

She grips her chest as she bi