your heart still races. Your legs carry you to the sink and
your hand moves forward to turn on the tap. A cold stream
splashes out. You rinse your face and spit the foul, bitter
taste from your mouth. When you stand you catch a
glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The face you see has
worn down eyes which droop, framed by the wrinkles that
ripple outwards. Like two stones thrown into a still pond.
It looks tired. It looks sad. It’s not you.
You look down to the reflection’s stomach, not yet showing
but not far from it. Soon she’ll have to make a decision.
She doesn’t have long. You look at her arm, five fingers
burning on her flesh. Not dark enough for a bruise. It’ll
fade.
You walk out of the bathroom, back to the party. Back to
the crowd. The sound hits you first; raucous and full of life.
It’s strange that in a room full of people, you feel the most
alone. Still you look across the room, a smile on your face.
Your cheeks ache, but they won’t drop, you won’t let them.
You catch his eye and walk over. His hand still burns on
your arm.