Routine

Mid morning light filtered through the crack of her blinds, warming her pillow and hitting her weary eyes. Groggily, she pulled her duvet around her and hid from the day, seeking solace in a cacoon of duck down. The day holds too much in store, and she knows the courage she has to muster in order to face it has left her, apparently fleeing with her dreams. The heaviness she felt the night prior, sinks again deep into her chest, her ribs made of lead, her stomach knotted into a marble sculpture of nerves and anxiety.  She steels her face, building an iron mask to hold back the tears, and swings her legs out of bed. Sitting on the side of her bed, she sighs, every fibre in her body fighting, urging her to go back to sleep, to run, to hide in the safety of her duvet and pillows. She draws a long, deep breath, trying to muffle the cries of protest coursing through her veins, and stands up to face the day.

  She’s up now, she can do this. Music starts murmuring from her laptop as she begins to get ready, absentmindedly brushing her hair, and fussing over an outfit to wear. Eventually she stands in front of the mirror and feels her heart sink ever so slightly. She gazes back at the familiar reflection gazing back at her and notices all the changes. Dark, puffy circles line her eyes, the eyes that were once bright and full of life, now only dull and empty. Her lips form a straight line, where an easy smile used to live. She gazes down and tenderly picks up her make up and begins to rebuild the face she used to wear, and to hide the one she wears now. Once she’s done, her eyes are bright, the circles are gone, and she flicks a smile, so easy it came, and so easy it left. The music swirls and swells around her, carrying her through her morning routine, letting her drift away for a while and forget what’s to come.

  She’s dressed for the day and shuts the music off, swings her bag up to her shoulder and glances around the room. Again, an involuntary sigh escapes her, and she turns to the door. Her hand shakes, her body screaming, everything inside her telling her to go back to bed and hide from everything the day has in store for her. She forces her hand to the doorknob, its cool metal like a shock to her sweaty palm. Eyes closed, she urges herself to just open the door, just open it and get the day over with. She stands there silently at war; her arm disobeying her shaky commands and her internal fight to leave or stay escalates. The tears are coming, her breath is becoming shallow, and she knows she has to make the choice now. Tensing her entire body, she furiously throws open the door and steps outside. She did it. Automatically, a smile flicks up to her face, and the sparkle returns to her eyes, as fake as the turf under her feet. 

Author's Note

Please leave a comment on what you thought, more than happy to return the favour.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I was going to say your second sentence was a little too information-filled, but read on and saw this to be your style. It may just be a matter of taste, and others will have no problem with it.
1) ".. swings her legs out of bed. Sitting on the side of her bed.." Here, you've used two actions that sound too similar.
2) "..rebuild the face she used to wear..." I think you could stop here and omit "hide the one she has now".
3) You've used "flicks a smile" twice, which I would advise against. It's good, but glares at you the second time.
Overall, your writing is quite good. These are just my humble opinions, for what they may be worth.

[o.nolan]

Thanks so much for the feedback! To be completely honest this was just the 12am thought-vomit of a procrastinating uni student, but I really appreciate your opinions. I agree with everything you said and I'll make the appropriate changes :)