A Collection Of Short Stories | ✔

Like Sugar In Black Coffee

"Let me turn over," Anita said hoarsely, her naked body rolling sideways till she was laying on the bed in a prostrate position. She felt the cold breeze blow on her long back and plump bump which caused goosebumps to rise all over her smooth skin. Her cold bum reminded her of the frustrating times when she was waiting patiently on the toilet for the shit to come out. She brushed her damp, black hair back and confusingly lifted her face up from the pillow, to look what the hell was Joseph doing instead of doing her. "What?"

He suddenly gripped her waist and tried flipping her on her back so he could see her, but struggling wildly, she pushed his hands away.

"We always do it when-when we can see each other," Joseph voiced his thoughts, trying to flip her again, but she didn't budge. Instead, she reached towards the button and switched off the only yellow lamp that was illuminating the bedroom. "Why did you do that?"

Since this was the last time they would do it, she couldn't bear to look at his naive face.

"Do you want to fuck me or not?" she snapped coarsely.

There was hesitant shuffling behind her before he spoke, "Alright, whatever you like." He gripped her hips and entered her bum, sending a foreign shudder through her rigid body. "Are y-you okay?"

"No! What the hell did you do?" she cried out, shifting away from him. "Who told you to do that?"

"Was I not supposed to put it-put it in there?" he stammered cluelessly.

"No, no, no!" She stumbled out of the bed, accidentally knocking off the lamp in the dark which shattered on the ground. He quickly switched on the main lights and the entire room flooded with brightness. In one corner, stood Anita wearily as naked as the day she was born, grabbing a blanket and draping it over her shoulders. "Have we ever done anal?"

"No," replied Joseph uneasily, not bothering to cover his manhood. "But we haven't ever done it in this position either. We haven't done many things that we have been doing lately . . . In fact, things that I have been doing."

"Don't talk rubbish," she said strangely, plopping on the bed and not meeting his eyes.

"Look at this shelf, you have replaced all my books with these," he burst out suddenly, looking quite comical without any clothes on as he flung the fat finance books which went crashing to the ground. Then he crossed the tiny, filthy room and picked up the numerous DVDs, exaggeratedly displaying them to her. "How to be rich by twenty-five? Well, this DVD can suck it up because I'm bloody going to turn thirty!"

Anita tiredly picked up the books, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. "Help is not appreciated these days . . ."

'Help to make you stand on your own fat feet after I'm gone,' She thought bitterly.

"What happened to us?" He sorrowfully took her in his arms, rubbing her naked flesh.

Feeling the coarseness of his skin against her soft, supple body, she let out a content sigh. Hushing him, she captured his lips and quietly led him to the bed. No words of resentment or of trepidation were exchanged, only rhythmic movements and familiar caresses. He watched her with the same passionate gaze as they both slowly climaxed, leaving both of them momentarily feel that old times were restored.

But then, he stayed lazily on the bed and insisted on cuddling, instead of cleaning up the way that Anita had taught him, so she scrambled from the bed. 'Wanting him to change was like wishing for sugar in black coffee.'

Wiping her thighs with tissues in the bathroom, she shouted, "We should break up!"

She could hear the sound of the paper  scraping against her thighs, that was how heavily silence had descended upon them. When she quickly wore a billowy dress and went out, she saw him blankly heading towards the kitchen. She caught his arm, her voice barely a whisper, "Did you hear what I said?"

He faintly nodded. "I'm getting us something hot to drink."

"Not hot chocolate please." She squeezed his arm, conveying that the beverage would derail him from his diet routine.

"I'll get black coffee."

"I'll go pack my stuff," she lied, knowing fully well that all her bags were already packed and neatly hidden under the bed.

She wore the cross-body bag and carried the tote bags, tacitly passing by him (who was vacantly stirring steaming water in a pot) and exited, her own restrained tears rolling down her cheekbones.

She arrived at her mother's immaculate, enormous house and her mother smartly dressed, came rushing out to greet her. "Oh, my poor baby . . . "

"I'm fine." She hugged her back, albeit with little warmth.

She felt like him, dirty and out-of-place as she entered the grand house, treading carefully not because of the filth lying around as it had been in his tiny apartment, but because of how her own filth stood out like a small puddle of brown water in a beautiful expanse of a dry, summer field, sprouting jauntily of dainty, white flowers.

"It's all for the good. He wasn't right for a princess like you," her mother said gently, taking the bags from her and placing them haphazardly in the storage cabinet which was surprisingly over-flowing with things which were not properly arranged, a stark contrast with the external, lustrous surface of the cabinet and all the pretty surroundings. "Let's get you in actual clothes."

She deliberately emphasised on 'actual' as if Anita's favourite dress was a garbage bag.

Anita blankly headed to the kitchen, desiring a hot drink that she had missed at his place while her mother excitedly rummaged through her own, expensive clothes to tidy up her daughter. Anita mechanically began pouring cocoa powder instead of coffee powder and the aroma of the hot chocolate reminded her of him, comforting her in this strange, foreign place. She was about to lift the filled mug of cosiness and love when suddenly, her mum took it from her.

"This has too many calories, dear. It'll make you feel awful later," her mother said dotingly, draining the cup in the sink. "Let's get you a nice, healthy cup of black coffee."