After several attempts and she didn’t know how many precious minutes, she still hadn’t gotten it right. Her arced back was weak with strain. She would surely faint if she couldn’t stand upright. And the lines would be neither thin nor straight. Tears flooded her eyes, streaking brown messes – she could almost hear Michael’s angry voice using the words – down her cheeks. Her eyes rolled upward and she slid to the floor, her face pulled sideways onto the cool tile countertop and her arms twisted upward.
When her eyelids fluttered open, her face was pressed against the yellow-filled bag. She jerked away, overcome with revulsion, and was yanked back by the chain. The vile bag cushioned her face’s impact against the countertop.
Her aversion was so great it shocked her into rationality. Slowly
