Chapter 12 Day Two
So this was her life now.
Camille stood in front of the bathroom mirror, toothbrush hanging loosely from her mouth as she stared at the reflection looking back at her. The fluorescent light overhead washed over her face, making the tiredness beneath her eyes more visible than she would’ve liked. Her cheeks lacked their usual color, and even her posture seemed to droop as if her body hadn’t fully agreed to being awake yet. She could still feel the warmth of her bed lingering on her skin, the soft pull of comfort urging her to turn around and crawl right back under the blankets. A few days ago, she hadn’t looked like this. A few days ago, she hadn’t felt like this.
It had only been one… just one freaking day of this new job, and somehow it had already managed to tug at her energy in ways she didn’t know were possible. She couldn’t pinpoint the reason, not with any real certainty. Maybe it was the sudden shock of early mornings after years of allowing herself long, lazy wake-ups with no obligations. Or maybe it was the constant, quiet pressure that came with trying to prove everyone wrong—her parents, her friends, and even the version of herself that still doubted she could handle something this structured. Or maybe, if she were honest with herself, it was that obnoxious man she had encountered the previous night, the one who had made her morning mood even worse before it had truly begun.
Camille dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to tame the strands sticking out in different directions. Even her hair seemed to be rejecting this lifestyle, refusing to cooperate and making it perfectly clear it hadn’t agreed to this change any more than she had. And really, she hadn’t accepted it yet. Not the job. Not the schedule. Not the idea of herself being someone who woke up before sunrise for work. Maybe she would adjust eventually, or maybe she would forever feel like she was trying to fit herself into a space that wasn’t meant for her.
Just like yesterday, her mother had stormed into her apartment before the sky had fully changed from night to morning. She had been yanked out of bed with no warning, her groggy mumbling drowned out by her mother’s firm insistence that she get up, get dressed, and get moving. It felt exactly like being sixteen again, late for school, confused, and dragged into a day she hadn’t asked for. And now, two days into this routine, Camille could sense a pattern forming, one that didn’t seem likely to break anytime soon. Her mother was too determined, too invested in ensuring Camille didn’t slip back into her old habits.
Her friends’ laughter from the night she’d told them about the job echoed in her mind with annoying clarity. She could almost hear the teasing comments, the disbelief that spilled across the table when she announced she would be working a nine-to-five. Camille let out a soft chuckle as she remembered it, recalling how one friend nearly choked on her drink from laughing too hard, while another simply stared at her as if trying to figure out whether she was serious. Their reactions had been loud and immediate, and even though part of her had been annoyed, she couldn’t blame them. The idea of her working a full-time office job had always seemed impossible. She had felt the same way. She was walking into a life that didn’t feel like her own. Sitting behind a desk, answering phones, organizing schedules—those weren’t roles she had imagined herself taking on. Not at this age. Not at this point in her life. Maybe not ever.
She rinsed her mouth and cleaned her toothbrush, placing it back into the holder before gathering her hair into a messy bun. A quick, hot shower would help—nothing miraculous, but enough to keep her moving. She stepped into the water and let the heat wash over her, loosening the tension in her shoulders. Her body slowly woke up under the stream, and for the first time that morning, she started to feel human again. She was proud of one thing, at least—she hadn’t gotten drunk the previous night. That alone had saved her from waking up with a pounding headache or the kind of nausea that would’ve ruined any chance of making it to work on time.
She knew herself too well. One drink too many, and she might’ve ended up with someone in her bed, some warm body she’d let stay because it was easier than kicking them out at two in the morning. The image of her mother walking in to wake her up only to find a stranger passed out beside her was enough to make Camille shudder. She wouldn’t recover from that humiliation. No amount of excuses could smooth out a scene like that.
After drying off, she stepped out of the bathroom and grabbed her clothes from the chair near her bed. She dressed quickly, pausing only to tug at the hem of her blouse until it sat right. Her apartment was still dim, only a soft sliver of sunlight bleeding past the curtains. It felt like the world outside wasn’t awake yet, like she was moving in a space that didn’t belong to anyone else. She grabbed her bag from the side table, checking inside for her phone, wallet, and the small notebook her mother insisted she carry for taking work notes. She never used it, but she kept it anyway so she wouldn’t have to listen to her mother lecturing her again.
The banging on her door came a moment later.
“Hey, pick up the pace!”
Camille rolled her eyes, letting out a groan loud enough for her mother to hear through the door. “Mom! I’m almost done, jeez!”
“Five minutes, Camille!”
“Yes! Fine!” she yelled back, dragging her hand down her face.
She slipped her shoes on, grabbed her jacket, and glanced at the clock hanging above the doorway. She still had time, but her mother acted as if being early was the only acceptable version of punctual. Camille made her way to the mirror near the entrance, giving herself one final once-over. Her hair was passable. Her face didn’t look as dull as before, at least now that she’d showered. Her clothes were put together enough for work, though the idea of sitting at a desk again made her shoulders drop a little.
Day two.
She could do this.
At least, that’s what she told herself as she took a breath and stared at her reflection. Her expression wasn’t confident, but it wasn’t defeated either. Somewhere in between. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel on her second day, maybe determination, maybe certainty, maybe something that meant she belonged where she was heading. But all she felt was the weight of expectation, the pressure of everyone watching and waiting to see whether she would sink or manage to swim.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and opened the door. Her mother was standing there, already tapping her foot, already ready with a comment that Camille had no energy to hear. But Camille stepped out anyway, letting the door close behind her as she tried to convince herself she was prepared.
Day two.
She could do this.
Right?