Amanda stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her pupils were blown wide, her lips cracked and pale. She barely recognized the face looking back at her. Dark bruises crept along her collarbone like ink stains, a sickly reminder of the last operation.
Her fingers gripped the sink as her stomach convulsed. She bent forward, coughing violently. A warm splash hit porcelain—blood.
She spat again. Another streak of blood swirled down the drain.
"Never again," she whispered, her voice hoarse.
She turned on the faucet, letting the cold water wash away the stains. When she finally looked up, her face was clean, but the hollowness in her eyes remained.
Without another glance at the mirror, she pulled herself together and stepped out into the hallway. Her boots barely made a sound on the polished floor as she moved.
Amanda didn't knock. She slipped into the next room like a shadow.
Inside, the air smelled of alcohol and stress.
