Straightening, she looks down at me, eyes taking in what she's, on many occasions, termed my trashy fashion sense. "Get dressed, we need to be at the airport two hours before our flight leaves."
I give a light salute.
She huffs.
The door closes behind her and I drag myself up on wobbly feet. I grip the sink when my vision whooshes. I catch myself observing the crack in the mirror before I notice my appearance. I'm a mess. Green hair in disarray, black eyeliner smudged, skin ghastly white. I smack my face, pulling down on my bottom lids. I laugh when I see what I look like.
The sound grows muffled when I pull my shirt over my head. Next, my miniskirt and fishnet stockings come off. Then I'm making it into the shower.
It's quick. Later I head back into my room, throwing things into my c
