A Clouded Day

Erin was woken up by a ray of sunshine that illuminated the bedroom and gently warmed her soft skin. After stretching her back and hearing a satisfying crack, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times in order to adjust to the brightness the sun brought into the room. The horizon had a magical red glow, announcing the beginning of a brand-new day. The streets of New York were as busy as always, packed with people rushing, as they were in a hurry to get to work in time. She asked herself whether there would ever be a time, even if it was just for the blink of an eye, where those streets would finally be calm.

In the exact same moment, a car honked loudly and she could hear a man having a heated argument with someone on the phone. Erin swung her legs to the edge of the bed and sat up. After she had taken a deep breath to get rid of the dizziness that clouded her otherwise vigilant perception, she stood up, walked over to the window and opened it. A chilly breeze refreshed the slightly stuffy air that had built up overnight and still hung in the room.

In moments like these, where the day would be considered marvellous and joy bringing to any other person, it once again became clear to her that her life wasn't normal. Even on the brightest of days there would always be something that set her off, something that tried to demolish her over and over again. A trigger, sinister and louring, seeking for another possibility to push her even deeper. It almost couldn't be a coincidence when that dark cloud moved in front of the sun that had been warming the still young day, sending chills down her spine, as to announce the dark places this day would take her.
She quickly closed the window and chose an outfit for the day. After standing in front of the closet for what felt like an eternity to her she finally settled for her new denim skinny jeans, a rose shirt that looked washed out, a tight leather jacket that was a vivid burgundy, as well as her favourite black leather boots.
She went into the bathroom and took out her makeup supplies. She carefully applied it, making sure there were no smears and no unevenness left. It was one of the only things she did the same way as other people. First came the primer, then the foundation and the concealer, then the contouring as well as some other finishing touches. As she was applying mascara, she noticed that her hand was slightly trembling. She looked up into the mirror, fixating her gaze on her hazel eyes. Erin remembered exactly what he had said about them.

"Her eyes are mesmerizing. They are hazel, like a melt of autumn tones. I'm in love with the tiny brown ring around her pupil, the lovely olive green that takes up most of her eye, speckled with dazzling amber specs, surrounded by an almost mysterious grey. Every time I look into her eyes, I have to try so hard not to get lost in their sheer perfection. Every last bit of them is fascinating. For example, she's a great actress, but her eyes always betray her. When she's happy her eyes sparkle like little stars in the nightly sky. If she's angry she narrows them, and when she's upset, they lose their shine a bit. It's little things like these that make her the way she is."
She remembered that evening as if it were yesterday. She had caught him talking to Will about her, and had decided to listen in, as she was curious about what he thought of her. She hadn't heard all of the conversation, but had figured out quickly that Will was trying to determine whether Jay was in love with Erin or not. Will had asked him about her eye colour, and Jay had answered with that very description.

A tear rolled down Erin's now much colder, emotionless face as the memory faded. She didn't make the effort to wipe the tear away, she just let it roll down her slightly pink cheek for it to eventually fall into the cold sink. That tear was followed by another, yet she still didn't show a change in her facial expression.
Her hands started trembling more violently and her heart started pounding in her chest. Her vision started to disfigure, it faded more and more and wasn't clear anymore. Her feet tingled and she felt like she was going to throw up. As a third tear rolled down her cheek, she clutched the container of the mascara harder and harder, until her hands were so tightly wrapped around it that her nails dug into her palms. It hurt, but to her it felt better than doing nothing. This had almost become like her daily ritual. Horrible, petrifying and frightening, but a ritual. She never thought about what triggered the attacks. Was it the drugs, or rather their absence, or her psychological state? It was probably both, but that never came to her mind. She supressed and buried every thought that had to do with this topic. For her it didn't even exist, she didn't have any problem.
During the attacks she desperately wanted it to stop, but she didn't know what to do against it. She used to have people who cared about her looking out for her, but that was long gone.
Not her mother, who never knew how to take care of herself, let alone her children. Not her father, whom she'd never met. Not her half-brother who blamed her for not taking care of him when they were just innocent little children. Not her foster mother who had lost her battle against cancer due to an incapable doctor not treating her properly many years ago. Not her foster brother who was shot in the head even after he had turned his life for the better. But even back then there had been people whom she had been able to count on, but the Feds had made sure that they were ripped out of her life as well.