she stands
in the gas station bathroom,
looking at
her sunken eyes
in the smudged,
graffitied mirror,
wondering
how she got here
and how she can get out.
her shaking hands
grip the sink
as she stares
at the unrecognizable version
of herself,
the version of herself
she never saw coming.
she wants to run.
to get out
and never turn back
but her mind
holds her
in place,
gripping her
by the collar
of her shirt.
***.
alcohol.
her life
is consumed
by the things
she always told herself
she'd never get near.
but now
her life is
as cracked as
the gas station bathroom mirror
and there is no escape.
there is no turning back.
when she first
opened her legs
to him
she never realized
she would be
shutting the door
to her past life.
when she first
opened the bottle
she never realized
she would be
shutting the door
to her past life.
she never realized.
and now that
she understands
where she stands
she wishes
to be standing
somewhere else.
she wishes
she could build
a time machine
right there
in that gas station bathroom
to take her back
to life
as she once knew it.
"**** it,"
she whispers
to her reflection,
pulling a flask
out of her purse
and taking a swig.
there is no changing
the past
so she won't
bother
trying.
she wipes
the mascara
from under her eyes
and sticks
her middle fingers up,
showing life
she doesn't
give a ****
anymore.
it can't get any worse
than this.
she steps out
of the gas station bathroom,
bumping
chest to chest
with him.
he grins down
at her,
his green eyes
dancing with lust
and seduction.
she follows him
to his car,
the flask
swishing noisily
in her purse.
"it can't get any worse
than this,"
she thinks
to herself
a few weeks later,
crying on the floor
of the gas station bathroom,
staring at
the plus sign
on the dollar store
pregnancy test.