The faint beeping sound of the alarm wakes me up. I force up my clearly puffy eyes, my vision blurry as I struggle to take in the room, the ceiling. Then the memories from yesterday's events flood in like a storm.
My mother. She is dead now. She really killed herself. Wanted nothing to do with this world anymore. With me.
Tears prick at my eyes, big drops that I'm sure will wet my pillow in no time. And here I was thinking last night drained me clean. I thought I had no tears left to cry. I forcefully wipe them away though, licking my lips that I know all too well are dry this morning—but my tongue grazes soft, jellied lips instead. And just like that, I suddenly sense how clean I am, I feel. Even my body which should be smelling a little by now smells great. Perfumed even.
I touch my face, half expecting to wipe a layer of makeup from there—but it's clean.
