***

Clarke woke up in a cold sweat and looked around to see the one story, brick house she'd worked so hard to afford surrounding her. She turned to her right and scooped up the clothes she'd set out for herself the night before and began pulling them on one piece at a time.

It wasn't the first dream she'd had like that, and she knew if she told anyone they'd probably tell her she needed to see a therapist. But she knew for sure that a therapist couldn't handle her problems. They'd run away screaming. Besides, Clarke was more than aware of what her flaws were; she didn't need someone with a degree in sympathy for crazy people listing them for her. One day, they'd either work themselves out, or she'd be the cat lady that all the little kids were scared of.

She tiptoed into her bedroom and went to the vanity that bridged the gap between the bathroom and the main part of the bedroom. She flipped on the switch to her straightener and went to find some shoes in the closet. After her dream she was totally over heels, so she just settled for some flats. She didn't feel short enough to worry about that kind of thing anyway.

Clarke looked at herself critically in the mirror as she tried, with no success, to straighten her large curls. She had been trying to get rid of them for years, but they just kept coming back like a family of cockroaches after the apocalypse. She wanted to stomp around in frustration like she sometimes did, but she didn't want to wake her house guest. So, she just scowled at herself in the mirror. Then, she quickly straightened her face out, remembering how scowling could give her wrinkles way earlier than she was ready for them. She spent hundreds of dollars and several hours in the morning to keep her 33-year-old-self looking ten years younger. There was no reason to ruin it in one fit of frustration.

She grabbed her makeup kit and riffled through it until she found just what she needed; all 12 items. To some it may have seemed extreme, but Clarke knew the importance of perfection especially now that she owned her own business. If her mother had taught her absolutely nothing else, it was that.

As she drew on her perfect face she caught her bed in the corner of the mirror and saw a lump in it tossing and turning. She'd met that one at the grocery store the day before when she went to pick up some tofu. She thought his name was Steve or Stephen or something like that. She couldn't quite remember. They had ended up going out for dinner and then he came home with her.




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