Up and down, her head motioned.
"Yes, I'm the only one," said Emma to the hefty man sitting in the open door of the Greyhound. "But give me a minute, will you? I have to use the little girls room."
"Hurry up, little missy. We don't have all the time in the world to kill."
Emma scurried away from the bench she had been sitting on for the past hour to the antiqued door of the ladies bathroom. Clumsily, she tripped on a dug-up floor tile but propped herself into balance.
She was a teenage girl. What do you expect?
She didn't actually have to use the bathroom. Stupid excuse...
The mirror was covered with watermarks and phone numbers for booty calls in Sharpie marker, close to the rusted faucet. A decrepit radiator lay in front of the toilet. Its orange glow burned brilliantly with glaring light sealed between the grid protection and the pipes of the humming box.
She proceeded to give it attention.
Only after then, she turned back to stare her reflection down like the devil.
Who is this girl in the mirror? What was she doing? Where was she going?
Her glossy black hair was quite stringy and bouncy, yet voluminous as it lay across her left shoulder like a dead raven. She had not washed it that day. Nor did she scrub her face. A pimple became noticeable in between her brows.
Emma had a beauty spot upon her upper lip, beside the scratch where the fingernails had dug in.
"I'm trash," she told herself. Emma's self-confidence was at rock bottom and had lost all faith in the people of Wyoming. California would be her escape from the harsh world.
"Good riddance."
Emma was ready, was she not?
She hadn't slept the previous night. Her pupils strained as she left the bathroom.
Emma flaunted the dark eerie circles under her eyelids to the empty and cold world she was about to leave, obscuring her emerald eyes.
The Greyhound hissed.
Emma stood in front of the leviathan showing no fear to come aboard, as she had travelled through Hell the night before...
