Cold water runs over my hands, I’ve been standing at the cracked sink in this stinking bathroom much longer than necessary. The place is giving me a headache. Or maybe that's the stress. It drips from my fingertips into the stained porcelain basin while I study the bruised shadows beneath my eyes.
Nothing can hide the fact that I look like s**t. My own mini apocalypse written across my face. I wonder what they’d say if they were here now? The thought of them makes me want to lie on the filthy floor and stay there.
I shut off the tap and dry my hands slowly, buying myself another thirty seconds before I have to go back out there.
Cute guy Greg has been talking at me for almost an hour. He’s drifted between so many topics I lost track, all with little to no input from me. He seems nice.
