L A N A
I stare at my reflection for a long moment, barely recognising the woman looking back at me.
My makeup is smeared beneath my eyes, dark shadows carved there from crying too hard, too often, my mascara clinging stubbornly to skin that feels sore and tight. My hair is tangled, flattened in places from fingers running through it in panic, from hands pressing to my scalp as if that might keep my thoughts from spilling out and from how much I had been sweating. I look tired, beyond something that sleep can fix... and I fear that even if I lay my head down to rest tonight, the exhaustion I feel will never truly leave.
This is the second time tonight I am standing in front of a mirror like this.
The first was hours ago, in a bathroom that smelled like champagne and perfume, right afte
