Salted Caramel Coffee (COMPLETED!)

Chapter Two} Fåt¡güę

     A) write
B) punishment
C) neither

     "Wake up, Emma," someone whispers. I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder and warm breath on my neck. "If you don't wake up and finish, mom's gonna kill you."

      I sit up and groan, running a hand through my hair. "What time is it?"

      Carmen checks his watch, a cringe spreading across his face. "It's almost midnight."

     I press my palms over my eyes and drop my forehead onto the table, not bothering to move the paper in my way. "I'm tired, let me sleep," I say, my words muffled by my hands.

     I hear some shuffling from the middle of the kitchen, and then a cabinet being opened. "I would if I wanted you do be murdered," Carmen says, "but unfortunately I care about you."

     "I hate you."

     "No you don't."

     I hear the coffee maker going, contrasting with the quietness of the room. I liked the silence- it was calming. And Carmen is ruining it."Stop," I whine, squeezing my eyes shut. I'm sure I look gross right now with my mascara and dark brown eyeshadow smeared across my cheeks from sleeping on it. My lipstick is faded in some places, making it look uneven. And don't even get me started on how badly my hair is messed up. I usually put it in a braid so it doesn't get like this, but I didn't realize I was going to sleep. Writing is just so boring it puts me to sleep without me realizing it.

     There's a thump on the table in front of me, making me look up. "Cmon, drink up," Carmen says.

      When I look, I see a mug filled to the brim with light brown frothy liquid. It looks good, but I can't stand the smell. "What the hell is that?" I ask, wrinkling my nose.

     "It's coffee, Sherlock. Drink it and finish your chapters before mom comes down."

     I glare at the coffee, not reaching for it just yet. "You probably poisoned it."

     Carmen rolls his eyes pushed the mug closer to me. He acts like he gets to tell me what to do- like he's the boss of me just because he's two years older. I hate that, even if I don't really hate him. "Don't be so dramatic, Emma. Honestly, I'm gonna give up hope on you and leave soon if you don't just drink it."

     I press my lips together defiantly for a moment. If I drink, he expects me to write. I could do that, sure, or I could walk right up to my bed and face punishment tomorrow.

I don't want to be punished again.

I begrudgingly take the mug and hold it up to my mouth, the hot liquid seeping between my lips. It's not like the coffee I usually have, it's sweeter. The bitterness combined with the faint taste of caramel disgusts me, but I drink it anyway. "This tastes weird," I say, grimacing as I take another sip.

"Yeah, well mom only bought salted caramel this week so you're going to have to live with it."

I set the mug down an pick up my pencil. I'm tired- desperately tired. If I can find a loophole, you better believe I'm jumping through it. As Carmen finally leaves, my pencil still hovers over the paper, unable to find a good beginning that I can stick with.

You don't know me, but I know you. I'm special in a way that is- indescribable pain shoots through my leg as I look up to see a man with a still smoking gun pointed up into the- air whooshes in through the car window, hitting me in the- face it, Marlon! You're not who you were- two months ago was the worst eight weeks of my life. I would tell you why, but it's much too complicated, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to sit and listen to my long, long story...

Did my mom even say how long the chapters have to be? All I remember is her telling me I have to write two of them. If she specified any farther, I didn't hear it. The gears in my brain start turning, but not in the way that they should be.

I take another sip of my coffee, feeling the bittersweet drink slide down my throat. I'm not sure if this is worth the trouble I'll get into, but it's all I can do so I don't drive myself up a goddamn wall. If I'm going to be raised to do something I hate, then I'm not going down easy.

     If I'm gonna do something wrong, then I might as well do it right.

     I bite my lip, looking at the large stack of papers my mom placed beside the singular one waiting in front of me. They're completely useless to me; it's not like I'm ever going to use that much paper.

     Emotionless, I pick up my pencil again and place the tip at the very top of the paper. Then, in my best handwriting, I write: Chapter One. I skip two lines before beginning to write.

     Well, I don't know if that's the correct description for what I do. What I put on the paper is no more than one word. Fatigue.

     I flip the paper over to start the next 'chapter'. My hand swoops over the sheet, creating a much too precise: Chapter Two. I look around, trying to see if I can find the right word for my next page in the room somewhere. Sure, the chapters might be short, but that doesn't mean that my writing doesn't mean anything.

     I smile as my eyes fall on the mug in front of me, setting off an alarm in my head. I pick up the pencil, listening to the satisfying scratching sound that it makes as I scrawl three perfect words onto the paper. Salted Caramel Coffee.

     If I'm gonna do something wrong, then I may as well do it right.

_______________________________

More is coming soon! Lmk if you liked this part or not!💞
- Shayna