Flash Fiction: Mirror
My eyes lock with hers. Her eyes are blood shot and tired, lost and unfocused. Her face is older than she is, by a decade at least; pale, gaunt, and covered in powder.
The powder isn’t on her face; it is on the mirror. I hadn’t seen my face in weeks, and seeing it reflected on the table as I lean over it with a rolled bill in hand shocks me.
What am I doing? I can’t keep doing this. I have a life. Kids…
“Come on babe,” he says.
I smile at him and snort some more.