"Lately, I'm not feeling like myself.
When I look into the glass, I see someone else.
I hardly recognize this face I wear;
when I stare into her eyes, I see no one there.
Lately, I'm not feeling like myself."

Cruz placed her hands on either side of the sink as she stared toward her own reflection. Memories emerged from the more delicate regions of her cognition in quick, disorienting flashes. Each recollection found the southerner tossing her head in varying direction, violent vigor executed as though such agitation could rupture these impressions from her skull.

Charlie.
Daddy.
Voltiel.
Mama.
Charlie.
Daddy.
Voltiel.
Mama.
Charlie.
Daddy.
Voltiel.

Mama.

A slap to the glass set her nerves aflame, pale palm turning crimson, capillaries bursting on impact throughout her flesh. Her hand vibrated with tremors of pain that surged from the ball of her mitt through the lengths of her fingers, slender digits caving weakly. Eyes darted toward the faucet, the cold-water knob within reach. Slowly, she crept from the bathroom, steps backward and fleeing.

Her figured melted into the shadows of her bedroom, where, atop her nightstand, she found the five inches worth of platinum locks, cinched via yarn within a small, sealed mason jar, sheared from Ellie's crown.

Ellie.

The back of her hand tore through the air, colliding with the side of the canning jar to propel it from the table. It met the floor with a crash, pieces of glass scattered across the hardwood. She roared with frustration and turmoil. Her scream was like windows breaking, alarming neighboring boarders. She threw open a drawer, hastily seizing the knife she retained amongst a mass of clutter before scrambling onto her bed. Gripping the hilt of the blade with both hands, right palm sore in its handling, she launched the weapon toward one of her pillows, imagining Ellie's kind face amid the savage eruption of feathers. Her actions continued without cessation until only fragments of the pillowcase remained, disbanded across the head of her mattress.

Cruz stopped. Lowering the knife, she viewed the plumy massacre with escalating anxiety, breaths sharp and sudden as they entered and exited her lungs. She suspended the weapon before her eyes and tossed it to the floor in repugnance, rolling over onto her back with legs spread and knees angled skyward. The bed of her left, middle finger pressed between her thighs, and she delivered circular motions with swift rhythm, carnal satisfaction spilling over her nerves and causing her toes to curl in arousal. Ellie. Her breathing quickened. She turned her head to the side, burying it within the feathers gathered beneath her hair, the olive hourglass of her frame writhing with sexual fantasy. Ellie. Her brows knit together as her hurting hand rose to grip her right breast, fingertips capturing her bare nipple within their pinching hold. Ecstasy came in waves, the face of her former love interest the final image before her mind blackened into sleep.