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Sharp-mint swirled in her mouth, five seconds, spat out onto the bottom of the cracked porcelain sink. Thick, dark hair obscured her vision, pale brown knuckles becoming paler as she white-knuckled the sink’s round edges.
Dani didn’t like mirrors. She knew what she would see – a young woman, with bruise-like eyebags, a butterfly stitch across her left cheekbone. Someone who couldn’t get it together.
Accidentally, exhausted, defeated, brown eyes met.
Dani then found herself staring down at her dripping-red knuckles and then at the spiderwebbing cracks in the glass in front of her. She knew no one would come to find her like this — no one could hear it.
No one could hear her.
It was better this way. Dani slowly turned the tap back on. If they knew how weak she really was…
Well, she didn’t want to think about that. She wouldn’t be weak, so they would never know. And if that meant she did this sometimes, wasn’t it justified? Wasn’t it right?
(She knows the answer should be no, just as surely as she knew that for her, it was yes.)