Barista.

“Well, honey, the check doesn’t come until next week.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in? We could watch a movie.”

Amidst a small and rank mercado, Jessie and Iven lived comfortably within a small apartment in uptown New Jersey. Jessie worked at a coffee shop across the street and Iven worked in retail. Both had graduated from the same high school, both in the same year, and both far too broke for university. City life is what they both considered success, even if it meant living uncomfortably. 

In desperation of life, both characters of modern America, flawed to their own unique devices. Iven dealt with a crippling pornography addiction and Jessie battled pills. 

She let him watch his girls when she worked late, he always paid the extra hundred at the pain clinic. 

Money was dry, as the local nightlife tilled both of them on the weekends. Jessie loved to drink and Iven did as well. Jessie liked to mix her Vicodin with amber gin so she would be more of a liability for Iven. Iven liked to fuck Jessie when she was drunk and high because it was much easier than doing it when she was sober. Jessie loved making important relationship decisions while intoxicated. One evening, she advised that they’d go about acquiring another credit card and another partner in the bedroom. She would additionally decide to open the relationship up afterwards. Allowing the visitation of others on weekends. Iven hated this idea and watching his beloved be fucked by another, but Iven could not afford rent alone. 

On Mondays, Iven would return home late from the department store. The manager had him count the bills at the register to make up for the amount of time he’d spend on the phone. He’d count until the clock struck twelve, then make his way home to greet Jessie. Jessie was always in bed by twelve, but Iven had a twisted method of disrupting her sleep by washing the dishes loudly or slamming doors. Jessie would walk from the bedroom to the kitchen and cross her arms at Iven. Iven would talk about his day, about how he worked harder, and how he knew that she had broken the rule of ‘No guests until the weekends.’ On some nights, Jessie would return to bed and crawl under the covers. On others, she’d spend them patting at blood in her reflection.

On Tuesdays, Jessie worked from nine to six and Iven had the day off.  The coffee shop across the street had a plethora of daily traffic. Jessie offered to stay the extra hour past closing, duly part to the fact that she could be alone from five to six. She steamed the espresso machine, wiped the counter down, and listened to hip-hop music that Iven hated. In her mind, this was the only part of the day when she could be alone, in her thoughts, and away from the busy world she’d never been apart from. Making coffee was a difficult task for a modern woman, taking a wavering toll on her mind and body. She’d smoke half a pack of cigarettes and chew three sticks of gum in the slim, New Jersey evening, and then she’d go. 

When she arrived home, dinner from a delivery service waited cold atop the dining room table, and the kitchen remained a mess from the weekend before.

On Wednesdays, both Iven and Jessie had the day off. Iven was up by eleven and Jessie later rose by twelve. Iven would spend his day off chatting with friends on a video game and Jessie would scroll through her phone until she’d ask Iven if they could spend time together. Iven retorted on most occasions, proclaiming that he’d been busy all week and “This was his only chance to relax.” She’d roll her eyes at his comments, grab the keys, and go. Iven would smile, in security of his relationship and the lease agreement, and quietly make his way into the bedroom to fondle himself. 

On her way to pick up food, she’d check her bank statement. Only ninety dollars left between the two of them remained and she stayed confident that this amount would suffice until the next pay cycle. Even if they had decided to eat out on most days. Jessie liked leaving the house on Wednesday. Iven liked staying home. 

On Thursdays, both worked until late. While Iven’s phone buzzed with notifications from credit agencies, Jessie’s buzzed with notifications from dating applications. Iven would miserably dismiss these notifications from his home screen, while Jessie eagerly opened messages from better men. This went on all day. Iven grew more miserable to the thought of being desperately trapped and Jessie grew horny at the thought of her weekend plans. Jessie made her way into the ‘Barista Only’ bathroom and touched herself. She thought of Kevin, the man who had complimented her rack last weekend. 

On Fridays, Iven was off of work by three and Jessie worked her usual nine to six. Iven would clean the house after he had gotten off and begin drinking. He’d look at the hanging pictures around the house and smile, knowing that his beloved Jessie would be joining him later. The booze eased Iven’s gears. He’d smile and remember the year that they had gone to the family reunion in upstate New York, when things were tighter between the two of them. Unlike Monday, Iven gently cleaned the leaning pile of dishes inside of the sink. He ensured every last cup, spoon, and plate were spotless before entering the cabinets. While Iven tidied, Jessie spent her Fridays in a similar bliss. She too thought about the wonder years, thinking that Iven was truly the man for her, and felt guilty and depraved when thinking about how it had all gone to shit. 

When Jessie arrived home, Iven awaited with a generous welcoming ceremony. Prepared, Iven had laid out Jessie’s favorite cocktail of pills and a freshly iced gin soda. Jessie would smile, hesitate for a second, and smile again. 

On Saturdays, both Iven and Jessie started their weekend. Iven rose in expectancy of Jessie’s absence. Iven, sad, but tempered to this pain nonetheless, would open up his porn and think about the mysterious man that Jessie had left with the night before. Jessie, far away from home, arose distraughtly. She’d woken up in a motel across town, one she’d never been in before. On the rug below, Jessie’s clothes lay scattered among used condoms and varying sex toys. Jessie grabbed her keys and made her way home.

On Sunday, unlike the many Sundays before, Jessie rose to an absence in the bedroom. Iven laid beside her on Saturday night, but on this Sunday he was nowhere to be found. Jessie made her way into the living room to find that Iven had taken his own life.