The fluorescent light in the kitchen flickered, a rhythmic, annoying buzz that matched the pounding in Morris's temples. He sat at the small wooden table, staring at a stack of envelopes that might as well have been a pile of bricks.
Morris is a strikingly handsome man with a presence that balances strength and warmth. He has a deep, rich chestnut complexion and a sharp, well-groomed beard that defines his strong jawline. His dark hair is styled in a voluminous, textured fade that adds a modern edge to his look. He had a thick natural coils hair, beautiful eyes with a whitening smile.
The water bill was a month overdue. The gas bill had a bright pink "Final Notice" stamp that felt like a slap in the face. And then there was the phone bill—the one Connie had sworn, on her life, she had paid two weeks ago.
Connie is a woman of undeniable, striking beauty—the kind that makes people stop in their tracks, even if her personality has become a storm Morris can no longer weather. She stands at a petite 5'3", possessing a face that could only be described as that of a goddess, with symmetrical features and a radiance that belies her chaotic nature.
Her dark chestnut skin is flawlessly smooth, serving as a canvas for her bold and intricate self-expression. She often wears black lipstick, which gives her a sharp, edgy aesthetic, and her ears are adorned with large, shimmering gold hoop earrings that catch the light whenever she tosses her head. Her hair is a glorious mane of long, dark brown kinky curls that cascade down her shoulders.
Beneath the stylish clothes she prioritizes so heavily, Connie is a gallery of ink:
A fierce jaguar tattoo prowls down her left leg.
A vibrant, detailed peacock spreads its feathers across her right leg.
A haunting skull tattoo sits centered on her back, a hidden piece of art revealed only in backless dresses.
Morris rubbed his eyes, his large frame feeling too heavy for the chair. They were thirty years old. They had been together for twelve years, starting as bright-eyed college sweethearts at U of Chicago. Back then, her spontaneity was "charming." Now, at thirty, with a shared apartment and a life to build, it was just negligence.
Morris was wearing his construction work clothing, jeans, boots, sweatshirt and the orange yellow vest.
The door to their Chicago apartment swung open, and Connie breezed in, surrounded by the crisp February air and the rustle of shopping bags.
"Morris! You won't believe the sale they had at that boutique on Michigan Ave," she chirped, dropping three glossy bags onto the counter—right next to the 'Final Notice' for the gas. "I got those boots I wanted. Fifty percent off! It's basically like I made money."
Morris didn't look up. "Did you pay the Verizon bill, Connie?"
The silence that followed was the sound of a six-year-old cycle repeating itself.
"I... I was going to do it tonight," she murmured, her voice losing its lilt. "I just got distracted, and—"
"Distracted by boots?" Morris finally looked at her. His eyes weren't angry anymore; they were just tired. "The water is going to be shut off on Tuesday. We're thirty, Connie. Not twenty. I can't be the only adult in this relationship anymore."
"You're always so dramatic about the bills," she huffed, reaching for her wine glass. "We'll just pay the late fee. It's not the end of the world."
"It's the end of this world," Morris said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He stood up, towering over the kitchen island. "For six years, I've waited for you to prioritize us over your closet. For six years, I've covered your half of the rent, your late fees, and your excuses. I'm done. I'm officially done with the nonsense."
"What are you saying?" Connie asked, her hand trembling.