SLEEPTALK
I stared at my reflection in the mirror by the vanity countertop in the bathroom.
I was void of any feeling. There was no disgust, nor regret. All I knew was that my black tresses had gone down and were now dyed out to this offensive brown bobbed hair, which made me look a little bit skinnier than I actually was.
I looked at my eyes. My hazel eyes were perfect; these honey-brown eyes made it disturbing for me to look at.
My stomach churned, and I felt the need to throw up. The disgust in the pit of my stomach rose back to my gut, threatening to spill.
This wasn't me. This wasn't who I was. How did I get here? Where did I go wrong to have the goddess take my life from me?
When the need to throw up was consuming, I dashed to the toilet and emptied my bowels. I straightened, flushed the toilet, brushed my teeth, and stripped, going into the shower.
After a few minutes, I stepped out, towel-dried my hair and body, and it was a few minutes past eight p.m. when I retired to bed.