New day.

Same routine.

My mother helps my father open the coffee shop, taking out her chalk set and just designing the deal of our day. Or as my father likes to say "Coffee Day." The constant routine of coffee in my daily life does not send energy waves through my body.

I wake up, and I smell the scent of coffee beans that linger up towards our loft. I try to get ready for my day, and my mother makes coffee for my father and brother. She never fails to ask me if I want a cup, as well. Ever since I turned sixteen, I deny my mother's offer and open the fridge and pour myself whatever juice we might have in there.

Then we go downstairs to the shop and make sure we're stocked up on every coffee bean that we sell. Columbian coffee beans. Brazilian coffee beans. Japanese coffee beans. California coffee beans. Spaniard coffee beans. We have one dozen kinds of coffee beans that help with the signature drinks that my father sometimes offers.

Coffee in the morning. Coffee in the afternoon. Coffee when I sleep.

Coffee is always there.

"Woah there, is it going to be moody, Ari today." Lance distracts me from my torturous routine thought process. I'm standing behind our bar counter, and I just rolled my eyes.

"It's going to be the same Ari as the day before," I tell him going ahead and placing the clean mugs and cups and shot glasses in the racks.

"Just like the day before that one as well," I mumbled, and with the reflection of one of the glasses, I see my brother arch his brow a bit.

"You do know that we're supposed to feast on misery, not actually dwell in it." He tells me, and I clank a cup down and glare at him a bit. I glared at him for a three-second moment before I turned and just shrug his comment off for right now.

"Umm, just trying to joke here, is there something that's really bothering you?" He asks me, but I don't respond back to him. I grabbed my black waist apron and tied it around my waist and grabbed my checkbook, making sure that I was prepared again.

"Well, try to at least find someone to feed on; our father is getting worried that you aren't feeding properly as you should be," Lance calls out to me as I walk away from the bar and go ahead and grab the creamed colored two page menus and started placing one in each table. My eyes casually wandering over to my parents.

My mother is giggling when my father sneaks up behind her and tickles her sides while she was trying to finish the outside menu stand. My father's eyes just shine when they see my mother's beaming smile. Her perfect teeth showing not hiding behind a polite smile. She cups his face and presses a kiss to his lips.

I don't know why I'm miserable. Maybe it's the fact that I wake up at five am in the morning. Perhaps it's the fact that the only person that teases me is my older brother. Maybe it's the fact that I was homeschooled, and I lack the necessary skills in how to not be miserable. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm stuck in this never-ending routine!

I let out a soft growl under my breath before I finish with the stupid menus. And I go towards the bar again and stay behind the register. Setting up the fresh pot of coffees on the burners when my father placed the open sign right at 7:30 in the morning sharp. The door begins a steady pace of open doors. But I already know who comes at 7:31 am sharp.

I set up a small cup of coffee, three pumps of cream one spoon of sugar. I write down in my cursive penmanship

Sally, I set it down and look up. Smiling at our first customer Sally from the Rue 21 store down the block.

"Thanks." She smiles, and I finish bringing her. When I turned around and prepared a caramel latte with a touch of whip cream when I wrote the name

John, I turn around, and just in time, John, the corner window writer, smiles at me. "Always prepared." He tries to make small talk with me. I only mutter the words, not a problem, and I hand him today's newspaper. I see him walking towards his standard seat over by the window, taking out his laptop while he starts to read.

For the first two hours, it was the routine of giving our regulars their coffees, and some grab out treats as well. The ones that do decide to take a seat are tended continuously by my brother. I try to disconnect from what my family is doing and just go into this mechanic side of me. The side of me that smiled tilted made and gave an order. My mind spun for a moment, wondering when will something happen, anything happen.

"Can I have some water?" a rustic voice snaps me out of my coffee trend. My eyes blinked a little when I looked at the guy in front of me. His short tousled black curls were wet still, and he was fumbling in his pockets. Not looking at me.

"Water? Do you want anything to eat?" I asked a bit puzzled when his head snaps up, and his honey hazel eyes look at mine.

"Not what I asked, so again, big water glass." He places a dollar on the counter, and I bit back a snark. It wasn't what he asked, but just water isn't really worth a dollar. Instead of making a scene, I force a smile.

I turned, grabbed a plastic cup that reads "café au lait," poured some ice, and filled it with our filtered water. I turned and handed him the cup.

"If you want anyth-" I am cut off when he just walks away from me. I bite my lip, not wanting to just vent my frustration right now. My brows were knit together a little when my brother comes from behind me.

"Well, there goes the morning rush, want food?" He asks me, and I just turned and walked away from him and the counter. Clocking in for my break time.

I needed that break.