She flings the door of the gas-station bathroom open. The cold handle bites back and finally she is safe, for now. The once white tiles are chipped and cracked like the corners of her lips that have been smothered with her flamingo-pink lipstick. The light above with two long light bulbs flickers on and off like a kid trying to play Bloody Mary, but just can’t quite gain the courage to turn both lights off. She makes her way to the sink and ignores the hair stuck on the corner of the bowl of the sink. She places both hands on the edge and rises to meet her reflection in the mirror. But she feels like she is staring at another face. A weak, pathetic, easy women. She sees the dark circles under her eyes form the months of sleeping with one eye open if at all. Her acne pokes out of her forehead from months of stress. She swallows hard and tastes two upsetting flavors. Blood, and his mouth. Neither was something she wanted to keep, but neither were her choice. He decides. And then she sees the bruise. A swirl of yellow, purple, green, and blue colliding like kids yogurt on her left cheek. She reaches into her purse and pulls out her foundation. She has had plenty of practice with covering these bruises. But the foundation only helped on the outside. She smells the cosmetics and dabs and smears it over the bruise. She cringes a little from the pain, but she is all-to-used to the feeling. The bruise turns white and fades back to its nasty color as she applies pressure. And pat by pat, dab by dab she covers her bruises and her confidence. His hand always seemed to find her cheeks, or whatever body part was convenient. A vibration followed with a “ding” sounds, and slightly echoes in the dimly lit bathroom. It was him. And she knew, she only had a few more moments of peace. Of safety. Of sanity. And a few more moments of a break from a caustic relationship.