You hate the smell of coffee, especially on bitterly cold mornings, when the heat of a fresh pot fogs up the kitchen windows. The steady rain tapping against the panes of glass sounding like nails on a chalkboard. The waft of wet grass and fresh mud is a nauseating smell that invades your home through the slightly open windows. You look down at the old and worn mug, one of the few things you saved from him, it’s filled with that bitter liquid you hate so much. Maybe it’s the way its smell clings to everything and even after a shower you still find yourself smelling like it… like him. Or perhaps it’s just the memory of him, sitting at the kitchen table with that damn mug and a slice of toast— you've also come to detest toast, which had once seemed impossible.

You couldn’t help but blame your current situation on whatever astrological mishap was occurring at the moment– mercury retrograde or some shit like that. Those damn stars were ruining your life, they always were. You didn’t even believe in all that crap, but endless hours of scrolling on social media had rotted your brain beyond recognition. A groan left you as you finally rolled off of your couch, to your surprise you found no body shaped impression on it. 11:30 pm, the clock on your stove blinked at you as you strolled into the kitchen to eat your first meal of the day— that stupid mug still sitting on your kitchen table, taunting you.

You froze at the sudden sound of your balcony door sliding open. Slowly you made your way back towards the living room, a large kitchen knife in hand. “What the hell are you doing here Clark?” You lowered the knife, staring at your ex boyfriend who was currently bleeding on your couch— Superman suit and all.