again & again - [ sasusaku ] [ au one-shot collection ]

fifteen

A timer quietly goes off in a small bathroom, with swift fingers quickly silencing the alarm. Thankfully, there's enough sound going on outside to cover the noise.

Those same shaking fingers quickly move to wipe and clean up. They tuck the soiled toilet paper in the bin before getting a new wad to hide something within it. The wad is then quickly shoved into a black purse.

A flush is heard and then the sound of a running faucet follows. Moments later, a petite woman walks out of the restroom. She keeps her head down as she exits the crowded gas station.

Her slim fingers fumble to pull her car keys out of her large bag. It takes her a moment, but she finally gets them out and in to start the engine.

Her whitened knuckles are clenched around the steering wheel as she keeps her eyes forward, making the black nail polish pop out against her skin.

The small woman finally makes it to her home. She stares at it for a while, trying to draw comfort that she can't find from the modest house. She lets out a sigh before pulling her bag out of the car with her.

This time, she has her keys in her hand, so opening the door is less of a struggle. Once the door is unlocked, she slowly pushes the door forward, wincing as it creaks loudly.

She's told him a million times to do something about the hinges.

The woman looks around the small house, and finds that it's empty, except for the small black kitten with the lovely green eyes that's napping on the couch. There's a mess of papers on the coffee table beside it that she tells herself she'll look at later.

She kicks off her black heels by the door and pulls her hair into a spiky ponytail. As she crosses the living room to go down the narrow hall and into the bedroom, she shrugs off her blazer and starts unbuttoning the blouse she has under.

When she enters the bedroom, she pulls off her skirt and sits on the edge of the bed in her undergarments, staring at the red and white uchiwa hanging on the cream colored wall across from her.

She feels naked. Vulnerable.

And so stupid.

She stands back up and stares at herself in the full length mirror he had bought because he knew she always had to make sure her shoes looked good with her outfit and she couldn't check in the bathroom mirror.

The woman runs her fingers over her pale face, her skin a nice ivory color and with a perfect complexion. Her best friend, the loud blonde one, always tells her that her face is her best feature. She supposes she could be right. He says she is too.

She slowly moves down to inspect her collarbones that stick out all the time, moving down her slim and toned arms. They're strong, because she never skips a chance to go to the gym; he never lets her anyways. He always motivates her to go and better herself.

Her modest chest is covered with a plain white bra that matches the underwear she has on. She always wished she'd have a little more in that area, but she supposes she's got that covered now.

Finally, her fingers move up to her small waist, and around to settle hesitantly around her almost flat stomach. They're shaking again.

She isn't sure how she feels about the image her reflection gives off.

She's still too small to be posing like this.

She figures it's only a matter of time before she isn't.

The woman stares at herself a little more before she walks back to pick up her purse. Rustling through it, she pulls out the wad of toilet paper she had stuffed in there earlier. She unravels it to pull out the cause of all her worries.