Two pink lines, and it's the day she cries the most. Not her, 'pull yourself together, for God's sake,' single tears that occasionally make an appearance, her face a steely mask that refuses to show any kind of vulnerability. These are quickly wiped when she thinks no one has seen.
Now, with that flimsy piece of white plastic lying in the bathroom sink, she almost convulses with sobs, her body exhausted because she's so goddamn tired of hiding, of pretending, that she looses control of any sense of composure she once had, because of the absolute irony of the situation.
Well shit.