She rushes around the empty suite gathering her things. Lipstick, check. Wallet, check. Keys, check. The typical ‘get-ready’ montage of a woman putting together a last minute outfit is sequenced to ‘Move on Up’ by Curtis Mayfield. Her black ankle-cut boots click-clack on the hardwood floors as she makes her way into the bathroom to primp up her hair. Down? Up? Ugh. She chooses to compromise somewhere in between.
In the midst of her busyness, her eyes take hold of her reflection in the mirror. She pauses. She remembers this look. She remembers the exact same feelings she felt that day as she stares back into her own deep, brown eyes. She remembers her words.
“I will not cry. I will not cry. You are worth fighting for. One day, I promise you, you will get exactly what you deserve…”
She snaps back to two years later and asks herself what the hell she thinks she’s doing.
She is tired of fighting. She is tired of convincing. She is tired of working. She has felt this before, she has gone through it, and she has been hurt by it. She knows better than to allow herself to go through it all over again.
She removes her jacket. She clips off her earrings. She slides into bed and wonders when that day will finally arrive…