Page 15 of Their Arrangement

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Frizzy curls.

Uneven lipstick.

A small, dark stain on the sleeve of my blouse I hadn’t noticed before.

I looked like everything they said.

I looked tired. Unpolished. Disposable.

And yet...

There I was.

Still standing.

Still trying.

“You don’t belong here,” I whispered to my reflection.

And for one broken second…

I heard her voice say it back.

Not Selene’s.

Not mine.

Camille’s.

Soft.

Pained.

Like maybe she’d known all along.

I pressed my hand to the mirror. The glass was cool beneath my fingertips. My own breath fogged the surface.

This wasn’t strength.

This was survival.

And sometimes, those looked nothing alike.

I didn’t go back to the bathroom stall.

I didn’t curl up again.

I just walked back into the hallway.

Back into the building that didn’t want me.

And I kept moving.

Because they weren’t going to make me disappear.

Not yet.

I went back to my desk—the tiny, suffocating space at the end of the hall with no nameplate, no windows, no welcome.

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