Dean's hand slipped down from her infuriatingly short hair down to the stubble on her chin. Her fingers ghosted over her sharp jawline and she grimaced with distaste. By now she had gotten used to people calling her a man. After all, she hadn't told anyone otherwise. God knows she and anyone she'd tell were too busy trying not to die.
But at times like these, going the whole day knowing she's a woman but not ever wanting to look in the mirror...it made her sick. She opened her eyes hesitantly, half expecting to see the gorgeous, feminine reflection she longed for. When she looked up into the mirror, though, she only saw the scarred, masculine face that she knew belonged to her.
With a sigh, Dean turned away and tried not to focus on the beyond-disappointing reality. She leaned back against the edge of the counted and tapped a rhythm onto the dirty marble, nails slightly scraping against it. With her other hand she gripped the neck of the beer bottle beside her, fingers clamped tightly around the cold glass. She was tempted to drink, but peering down at the amber liquid made her feel even worse.
With one fluid, impulsive motion, Dean thrust the bottle off the counter and watched it fall to the floor.