She steps out of the shower with drops of water from her hair colliding with blood dripping down her ankle- how she hates shaving. She opens the blinds in her room to let in some sunlight and she thinks what a shame it is that no one else can see this beautiful scene of her skin being caressed by the beams of light.
The CD is on repeat for track five. Lately, this song is one of the few things that make her feel together. She goes through her wardrobe and within seconds her floor has become a sea of designer jeans and skimpy shirts. She hates how everything looks on.
She sits in front of her vanity mirror to put in her contacts. Half way through the process of her index finger inching towards her eye, she pauses. She stays concentrated on the stranger looking back at her.
The scent of soap still fresh on her skin would seem obvious to anyone else that she is clean, but she feels dirty. Gucci and Prada show her eye for good fashion, but she can’t remember the last time she felt comfortable with her body. Plastic vision gives her 20/20 but she just can’t grasp what’s right in front of her.
The song starts over in the background and she is convinced these lyrics were specifically made for her. She slides her tongue against the corner of her lips to catch the remnants of a tear. The salty taste makes her feel real.
She fills her bag with gum and cigarettes. She presses eject on the stereo, grabs her keys, and gets into her car. The smell of coconut hits her in the face especially hard today because of how hot and humid it is. It reminds her of the time she bought the air freshener, knowing it was his favorite scent.
The windows are down and the CD is on track five. Repeating. She gets onto the highway, as if this is okay, as if she has a destination where she is welcomed, as if anyone is expecting her.
Off of the exit and stopped at a red light, a trail of Newport cigarette smoke leaves a stranger’s mouth and enters her nostrils. He smokes Newport, she thinks to herself. She lets out a sarcastic laugh for knowing the difference between Newport’s smoke and any other brand- not because this is real amusement for her, but because she realizes how pathetic that is.
Right now, she couldn’t ask for anything more than to have a head-on collision with the Green Line bus on the other side of the yellow lines. She has known all morning where she is headed. She knows why she feels so dirty; she can’t live without him and she can’t live with herself because of that. She knew a long time ago what was good for her, but she is caught up in a cycle. The light turns green, and a bus never looked more heroic…
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