Mirror Lake

Four

Jillian awoke when Casper decided that her chest was the perfect place to stretch his claws. She jumped, yelling profanities, and shoved the cat to the floor.

"Ugh, I could be sleeping still." she complained, glaring at him. He didn't seem phased. He never did.

Asshole.

The clock read 4:37. She had slept for about two hours. She thought for a moment about crawling back in bed, but remembered she had dinner plans. With herself.

Because you're a loser.

She stretched, and took a long drink of the now-warm tea on her nightstand. It didn't taste as good warm.

The shower in the apartment was small, and as Jillian stood under the hot water, she wished it was slightly bigger. She tilted her head back and let the spray run over her face, massaging her scalp with her fingertips. Her afternoon nap-

-and probably the pot-

-had left her feeling groggy and sticky. Her body wash smelled like cinnamon apples. It was some fancy shit, her brother's wife had insisted on buying her the last time they came into town from Los Angeles. Paul's wife, Marcy, sold bath products at some big company. She insisted on telling Jillian all about how she should be taking care of her skin better. Jillian didn't much care, since her skin was relatively problem-free, but the wash smelled nice.

Jillian's makeup took longer than usual.

Not that I'm trying to impress anyone.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair fell straight, almost to her waist. She had never been fond of her naturally curly hair. Her eyeliner swept in bold wings, and she had the faintest bit of gold eyeshadow. Her mother would not approve. Catherine had always said she preferred the 'natural look' on her daughter.

Jillian looked through her closet and bit her lip. The black sequined skirt that hung called to her, but this was Mirror Lake. There was no one, nowhere, and nothing to dress up for.

And my black heels? Ugh. I'll never get to wear those again.

Jillian grumbled to herself and pulled on a pair of jeans, wiggling a little so that she could get them over her hips. Her figure had blossomed at fifteen, leaving her to the mercy of the other girls in school, who were jealous of her. As an adult, Jillian knew she wasn't overweight; but she still struggled to look at herself and see beauty.

It's not bad, she thought. But I definitely can't wear my Converse with this shirt.

The black blouse was made snuggly, but had a flowing, sheer material draping across the front. It was very pretty, and she hasn't worn it since her brother had invited her to stay with them for a week. That was almost two years prior.

"Fuck it, I'm wearing the heels." she said aloud.

It sounded like a declaration. Casper meowed lowly, as if he disapproved. Jillian shrugged him off.

"Don't judge me, murderer."

As she left her apartment, she noticed that her landlord's car was still missing from its spot.

Maybe he finally got a girlfriend.

Before she could stop it, the image of Hank, humping away on top of some equally-sweaty middle-aged woman, filled her mind. Jillian gagged, and lit a cigarette as she headed into town. She didn't feel much like eating anymore, and decided that maybe she would drink her dinner instead. There was a bar in town, where not a lot of people from town actually went. It was a hole in the wall and usually had one or two strays from out of town, crying into their beer, about how their wives had kicked them out for cheating. They were usually so distraught they didn't even bother to pay anyone else any mind.