Satin and leather.

All fucking humanity.

1-

Ten years.

That was her first thought when she opened her eyes that morning.
Better, when she opened her eye.
This anniversary had always been a date marked by dread rather than celebration, and this year was no different.

As she stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her hair, memories flood back with an intensity that took her breath away. She had accepted what had happened, her condition, but everytime she started thinking deeply about it, it always felt like the first time.

Her old life was shattered beyond repair and it was hard for her to remember. Her mom's face, her sister's, the way her mother turned her back and started silently crying and the way she couldn't understand if she was relieved she wasn't dead or terrified for her eyesight.
Her sister's hug and the first time she was allowed to see herself in the mirror.

Her right eye was long gone, her now empty eye socket stood before her. She had stiches on her eyebrows and forehead, she could feel her face burning. The doctors were explaining her how her life would now be, the need of a prostethic eye, how she had to take care of that new nonexistent part of her body, and how she was "lucky" to be alive.

But she never felt lucky. Maybe she was, but she had lost. A lot-not only her eye.
She had to quit college, because neither she nor her family could afford both her eye treatment and college. She had to learn her balance again; at first she couldn't even walk a straight line. Every step was a constant reminder of what happened to her and physical therapy was expensive and exhausting.

It took her two years to even sit again on the driver's seat, three more to drive again and another year after that to do it without shaking hands on the wheel and a trusted friend on the passenger seat.  She used to love the open road, but what used to be a synonym for freedom, became a prison.

Her social life suffered, too.
Some friends stayed but drifted after a while and she mantained contact with very few people.
She was never much of a party animal, but after the accident, even the tiny, social butterfly within her had its wings clipped.

Money always felt tight, and she decided to temporarily quit her degree to avoid being buried in debt. “As soon as I finish paying off my eye, I’ll get my degree,” she constantly reminded herself during the tough days.

But it wasn't that easy.

The decision to change her job had been one of the most difficult consequences of the accident. Vivian had loved her work as a bartender—the lively atmosphere, the useless gossip with customers, and the artistry of mixing drinks. But after losing her eye, the late-night shifts became increasingly challenging. The semi dark bar felt impossible to navigate into, at first.
Plus, the job didn't pay good enough.

Some customers stared at her scars, while others whispered behind their hands. Vivian felt their pity and their curiosity like a weight on her shoulders. It was only a matter of time before she knew she had to make a change.

She needed something to make her feel empowered and in control again, something to boost her ego. She had lost so much and didn’t want to lose one of the few things that distinguished her: her confidence.

She was well known for her harsh attitude with any single soul that dared to cause trouble.
That's why, one day, while Vivian was busy cleaning the shelves before closing the bar, she had started ranting to herself. Her thoughts spilled out, her tone sharp and biting.

"Vivian, you really need to focus that energy somewhere," a voice interrupted her stream of consciouness. She had turned to see her coworker, Emily, leaning against the bar with a sly smile.