She stares at the image looking back at her. Steam fills the room as she lets the water run from both faucets. Solitude is what she’s after and this is how she finds it. The noises coming from her skin are wretched and loud, she covers her ears hoping to drown them out. If she’s not careful it will give her away.

As a painful reminder, her delicate fingers slowly find their way down from her ears to her neck. They lightly wrap themselves around it and she swears she can still see his fingerprints there. “How has no one else noticed,” she thinks, “They’re right there! Aren’t they?” The panic at someone seeing is enough to make her scream. The invisible marks feel raw and open and she can’t handle even looking at them.

Her eyes find the silent, cold, eyes staring back in the mirror and they mock her, judge her, even laugh at her. The reflective lips spit words out at her, “Worthless, slut, weak.” She now hates the look of her porcelain skin because it only reminds her of how fragile she really is. Ever since that night she’s felt like the strong winds blowing outside could tear her into a million pieces. Lines that weren’t there days before have now entered her face. She leans closer and traces the path tears have left on her skin; it feels familiar and old like she’s never stopped.

There are things she has yet to speak aloud. Things too embarrassing for her tongue to even utter. She truly believes if she finds the furthest corner of her brain to push these unmentionables to they will never return. If she practices smiles and words like, ‘fine and okay’ she will honestly feel these things.

The water has been running for a long time now, long enough for the steam to be overtaking the reflection in the mirror. The girl reaches up as the image disappears behind fog. She takes her finger and traces a smiling face in place of the old one. Bright and happy like a Walmart sticker. She clutches her stomach as she holds back the reaction her body has. There’s a knock on the door and the tingling on her spine returns, “I’ll be right out,” she shouts with a smiling edge to her voice. She has perfected the art of acting to the point that she doesn’t even know she’s doing it anymore. She reaches over and turns off the faucet, pulls her robe tighter around the fingerprints only she can see and puts back on a smile.

The lies she tells herself is always harder than the truth.