All Around Me Are Worn Out Faces Novels & Stories

That's the only place where I can see genuinely smiling faces in this city. When I came here, I thought there would be cafes and roads full of joy and laughter, but instead, I saw faces that were totally restless and full of tension, and smiling or laughing is a far cry. Here, people don't even look at your face. The whole sky was turning orange due to the sun setting. I was enjoying the wind touching my face and hearing my favourite song, "I Found You," with my earphones in my ears. I was walking on the turning point of the road, which was dead silent; not a single person was there.

I repeated it three times, washing my face vigorously. Then I stared into the reflection. Nothing. The same face stared right back at me with the only difference being that I'd washed off some blood crust on my face, gotten a bit of life, just a tiny bit. Her sunken eyes and swollen eyes stayed right back at me, my bruised jaw too. I still looked hollow and broken, like I'd handled my entire life worth of problems in one day. I sat back on my heels, breathing hard, still unable to believe this.

Her face was— I squeezed my eyes shut. Her face was destroyed. Blood everywhere. Across her cheekbone, her jaw, her temple, matted dark into her blonde hair that was spread across the marble around her head like a halo. Her breathing was audible from across the room — shallow, wet, labored. Every inhale sounded like it cost her something she couldn't afford to keep spending. Her eyes had been open when they brought her in, finding mine immediately with an expression that gutted me — not fear, not even pain, just a terrible exhausted apology.

I couldn't look at the car next to me, so I just chose to look out the window. I just noticed the reflection of my face because I ignore the shape of my face when I'm at work. My hair is a mess, and my lipstick has worn off. The foundation I put on my face is also disappearing. The bruise on my cheek is still healing. It's not noticeable anymore, but if you look closely at my cheek, you will still notice it.

Strands of gray have infiltrated the once youthful mane, a testament to the countless hours spent in the dimly lit basement. The lines etched upon my face tell a story of exhaustion and determination, each crease a mark of the battles fought and won in that confined space. As I step into the light, my eyes squint against the sudden brightness, unaccustomed to the world beyond the basement's gloom. The dust that clings to my body dances in the air, creating a hazy aura around me. It is as if I have emerged from a forgotten era, a relic of a time long past.

The fluorescent glow accentuated the weariness etched on my face, the lines of fatigue that seemed to deepen with each passing night. As I bid farewell to the other girls who shared this grueling shift with me, their tired smiles mirrored my own weariness. We understood the unspoken camaraderie that developed amidst the chaos and demands of this establishment. These girls, like me, were fighting battles of their own, seeking escape from the clutches of this unforgiving world.

The faint traces of their recent departure lingered, leaving behind an unsettling silence that enveloped me like a heavy shroud. In an attempt to break the monotony of the room, I cast a glance at the mirror. What stared back at me was a reflection that mirrored the desolation of my surroundings. I looked no better than a beggar, the weariness etched into every contour of my face. The remnants of yesterday's fight clung to my clothes—dirty, torn, and a stark testament to the turmoil that had unfolded. The disarray of my attire mirrored the chaos that simmered beneath the surface, a chaos mirrored in the strained relationship between Clyde and me.

"I can't go out there, Hanna," I rasped, the sound tearing through my throat like jagged glass. My limbs felt heavy, anchored to the mattress by an exhaustion that transcended physical injury. "They look at me like I’m a disease. I can’t face them again."

I needed a clear mind. I needed to remember every face. Every word. Every insult. Every humiliation. Because one day I would return all of it. With interest. "Jenny!" A cheerful female voice called out. I turned. A group of women were approaching. All dressed in designer gowns. All smiling. The kind of smiles that never reached their eyes. Vanessa's friends. Wonderful. "How are you?" one of them asked. "I'm fine." "You look thinner." Another one laughed. "Of course she's thinner. Stress does that to people."

Our gaze bore deep into each other, understanding the fact that we were by ourselves. "Did he just leave us?" Jay asked. It felt surreal. I had to look around just to be sure we weren't just imagining stuff. "Seems so!" It felt so awkward standing in an unknown place with weird beings passing by. The people seemed normal but with rough scars on their faces. Like they had undergone so much abuse that disfigured their faces. "Jay, what's this?" I ask, squeezing his hand tightly. "I don't know!" He gasps, holding on to me tightly like If he let me go, I did disappear or go missing.