TRISHA
I gripped the edges of the sink and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror.
The fluorescent lights overhead were unforgiving. They flattened every color in the room and carved sharp shadows into my face, like someone had taken a blade and traced the tension sitting under my skin. My mascara had smudged a little beneath my eyes. My lipstick had faded to a dull stain. My hair, which I had spent an hour perfecting earlier that evening, now looked like something that had survived a small storm.
For a moment, I just stood there breathing.
Then I made a fist and drove it straight into the glass.
The mirror exploded with a brittle crack that echoed around the empty restroom. Shards scattered into the sink and skittered across the tile floor. The sound was sharp, almost musical, and f
