Morning came. Tears had encrusted Carlie’s hair to her face. Her swollen eyelids, opening with difficulty, exposed the same messy life she had fallen asleep to. Her feet struggled out of the blanket wrapped around her limbs, off the couch and onto the cold floor. With an in-breath, she pushed herself up from the sinking cushions, the springs creaking as she rose, and dragged her bare soles with dry, swishy noises all the way to the bathroom.
“Ugh,” she said, seeing herself in the mirror. “You look like shit, Carlie Jones.”
The Nirvana Threads, a 90s punk & spiritual magical realism romance
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