Work Text:
Cynthia puts her notebook down, making sure no ink spills down her page and onto the covers of the bed. It was time she finally went to sleep. Checking her watch before setting down her glasses onto the bedside table.
2:30, just my luck.
The pressure of the meeting tomorrow falls onto her, crushing any hope she had for an at least fine day in the morning. She slowly clambers out of bed, and walks to the bathroom, making sure to stay quiet so as to not wake the kids.
She stares at herself in the mirror, the bags hang heavy under her eyes, swollen tear ducts look at her back as her vision is clouded by tears. Just sleep. It’ll be better in the morning. She splashes her face with water, the coldest she could make it, feeling the adrenaline rush to stop herself from crying more, rubbing the corners of her eyes in hopes of making it all go away. She scrubs at her hands to rub the ink stains off, rubbing it raw until it is red. This wasn’t ever the life she dreamed of, but this hand chose her and she has to play with them. The years of torment she had already left rush back to her. And all she can do is watch. Watch as she is forcibly put through all the years of naivety she had fallen into.
She looks back in the mirror, the light above flickering. Pouring more water on her face, the drops rolling down her chin and onto her chest. Her bangs a wet mess, sticking to her forehead as the water falls in front of her eyes, unable to see her true reflection. She looks back down at her watch, only able to make out that it's 3 already. She slowly goes to sit down on the floor, the cold tile stinging her skin. What am I meant to do?
The big lights flashed on, her eyes blinded by the sudden brightness which filled the room, Cynthia looked up after her vision cleared up. Oh fuck. Her wife stands their, looking down at her with their hand out.
“Let’s just get you a shower, it’ll be better in the morning”
She doesn’t know what to do. She should just accept the help and move on. The hurt of the past stabs her in the heart. She can’t reach back out to help. She starts to sob again.
Her wife walks over to the bath and starts running it. Keeping it simple and only taking the essentials out of the cabinet. Her wife beckons her to stand up, or at least sit up so they can take their clothes off. Cynthia looks up pitifully, bleary eyed.
Maybe it'll be ok after all.