What If Just...

6 Vivian

I'm woken up by a knock on the door: my parents are starting their morning routine.

Father's voice is heard outside.
"Vivian, is that you in the bathroom? Out of turn?" he jokes.

My brain is working very slowly, but I manage to gather some thoughts in time for an answer.

"I want to make breakfast today, so I need a little more time before leaving for work," parents would better think I just walked in.

I'm scared to see myself in the mirror, but I need to understand how I look after everything that happened so as to cover up the traces of last night.

I walk over to the sink and look up. It's not a young woman looking at me in the mirror, but a ghost.
My face is haggard, as if I had lost a dozen kilograms, there are huge circles under my eyes, my gaze is glassy.

"There is no life in me anymore," my inner voice states dramatically while I am looking at myself like at an exhibit in a museum.

I don't know how long I was unconscious on the floor, but my hair still hasn't dried completely. I'll take a hair dryer to my room so as not to make my parents wait.

I need to pass through unnoticed in order not to arouse suspicion with my appearance.

In the room, I immediately go to the makeup bag. Bright makeup is not welcome in our world, but nevertheless the use of cosmetics is not strictly prohibited. After all, everyone has a different skin condition, and you may need special products to keep yourself neat.

Of course, there are mostly shades of beige and brown in the palette, but for some events one can use burgundy lipstick to add color.

All I care about right now are the black circles around my eyes, which I need to get rid of first.

If I don't rub the foundation, I will look like a panda, and if I rub it properly, everything will remain almost as clearly visible as it is now.

Maybe to put on sunglasses? Yes, a great choice if you don't want to arouse suspicion.

My brain is definitely going to boil from wracking now.

I will try to make up my eyes with light shadows, maybe it will help somehow...

As I approach the kitchen, I realize that I haven't done anything to justify my lie - I haven't cooked the breakfast as promised.

My heartbeat is gaining momentum. What to come up with if father asks...

"Vivian, we are lucky your mother didn't know about your plans to cook breakfast, otherwise we would have been starving," father smiles, and I'm not feeling it.

Why am I trying to be someone else? Lying, hiding, making up excuses?
I just have to do what I've always done - tell the truth. The only exception was the lie about the book, but it was forced.

I take a deep breath.

"I'm not feeling very well. I have a problem."

"What happened?" father worries.

"I...I was fired."

There is a sharp clatter of a teaspoon hitting the floor.
I can feel the storm coming from my mother's side.

"Vivian, what needs to be done in our world to get fired? I know only absolutely inappropriate cases when, for example, those who abuse alcohol are expelled. That is, when people are completely uncontrollable..."

I can see how upset mother is. She was always proud of my success and was happy to share some facts of my life with friends, colleagues and all possible acquaintances.