#17

she fixed herself a mojito, a usually celebratory drink, heavy on the rum.
okay... maybe just a little heavier.
he wasn't coming home tonight. she cranked black flag on the stereo and let henry rollins voice her anger and frustration at people, at the man, at her own inability to retain the independence she had worked so hard in earlier years to establish.
in the bathroom she curled her hair in tight ringlets and took care to blend her makeup perfectly. she studied her own reflection in the mirror, added a little more lipstick, and went to find the camera.
she had on her favorite dress, the little blue one with black lace peeking through in all the sexiest places. she had never worn it out yet. picture after picture, she posed in different places around the house. at the end, she looked through each photo, each shot... and deleted every one.
her face scrubbed clean, she fell asleep on the couch in her beautiful blue dress that no one ever saw, happy with mojito, angry with love, purged with punk rock.