Her eyes were vacant, as if she was staring out at the sea. She could feel her helplessness welling up inside her, pushing past any reason, any sense of propriety, flooding eyes that were already swollen and exhausted and forcing her to acknowledge its presence. In a few seconds, the tears began to ebb and she was not betrayed. Telephones rang, keyboards chattered, people moved around her. Her heart quieted and her eyes regained their focus. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mini hand mirror propped up on her desk. First the rising bump on her chin (must be lack of sleep, stress, being pissed off, all the usual culprits). Then the naked, chapped lips, not yet forming the infamous pout, but fixed in a stoic, frightening way. She was more used to seeing those lips jutted out in defiance, or slightly upturned in gentle joviality, right before the careful application of lip liner, or the dabbing of lip gloss. A sense of grief seemed to manifest in all her features, in those stony lips, the unrelenting nostrils, the drawn face, and the circled eyes with their deadened gaze. She flared her nostrils, once, then twice, just to add a bit of the ridiculous into the picture, but to no avail. She had the look of someone beyond consolation.
Her phone rang and she answered mechanically. It was her cousin, the annoying one. After listening for a few moments, responding as needed, she hung up the phone and returned her gaze to the mirror. The slight animation of her features had smoothed away the look, and now she only saw her rounded face, slightly puckered. Her little indulgence had passed. An indulgence in self-pity, a wallowing of sorts in the middle of the workday to appease her low spirits. Her face lost interest and her thoughts turned elsewhere. Just as well. Time for lunch then, she thought.
