After a torturous morning that seemed never to end, Willow slammed the door to the locker room shut then leaned against the cold metal, breathing heavily.
Her arms were folded tight around herself like they were the only thing holding her together.
The scent of cleaning supplies, cardboard, and something vaguely burnt filled the air, so unlike the perfume clouds and champagne-glazed ballrooms she was used to.
Her reflection stared back at her from the grimy locker mirror—orange vest, wrinkled cap, name tag screaming Carryout Assistant, and a pair of red-rimmed eyes she could hardly recognize as hers anymore.
"I can't believe this!" she cried, raking her fingers through her hair and yanking off the cursed orange cap like it was burning her scalp. "I cannot believe any of this!
She let out a bitter laugh, then cracked as she finally let out a scream so shrill it rattled the windows.
