The reflection she sees is someone else’s. Nope. It isn't her. Can't be, this woman looking back at her in the glass. Her cheeks are swollen, her eyes sunken, streaks of yellow shows through where she had taken such care to make herself up earlier that evening.
She had looked so pretty just two hours ago. She so needed to feel pretty again, to be desired. “Wow...what a fucking great idea this was, Nat!” she says to the girl in the mirror.
It's been three weeks since Natasha’s arrival in Tacoma, three weeks of treatments that are making her horribly sick. But days like today, one of the better ones, the loneliness seems worse than the radiation piercing her skin and organs.
Of course, she hadn’t told any of this to Chuck or Bob or whatever his name is. She had needed to feel normal again, if only for a few hours. But then, Chuck or Bob or whatever his name is, didn’t think much of the clump of hair he’d been left holding during the adventurous exploration of Nat.
The spewing that started then? A combination of meds and booze she figures, was the final hurrah for pretty boy. Natasha wouldn't be seeing him anytime soon. That is really the only thing she feels any certainty about, when she lays her head down on the pillow that night.