With two long presses of her lips to my cheeks, they leave.

My makeup is flawless. Outfit, perfection. I remind myself of these details over and over but still cannot manage to walk out of my bathroom. I don’t care about how I look. I mean, what does it even matter? But still, before the shooting, looking great was important to me.

After a long discussion with myself after my parents left, I decided that I should at least try to get myself back on track. After all, I don’t want to make any rash decisions because of a traumatizing event. If I really want to change my life, I need to figure it out while levelheaded and calm.

I open my medicine cabinet, pulling out the Xanax prescription. Pushing down the cap and twisting it off, I pour the pills down the toilet and flush, like they do with drugs in the movies. Wait, is that just for powder? Whatever. I’m definitely having a hard time, but I’m not going to take drugs to fix it.

In my small black BMW, I drive to my favorite coffee shop, a few blocks from my office. After pulling into the parking lot, I drop the visor above my seat and stare at myself in the small mirror for a long while. Large brown eyes look back at me, blinking and filled with anxiety, pupils dilated.

“Everything is fine,” I repeat out loud for the hundredth time. “Whatever happened is over now. It’s done. I’m fine.”

With a firm nod, I step out of the car like I’ve done millions of times before. I press the lock button on my key, and the car beeps.

Standing in line, I do what everyone else is doing and pull out my phone. I haven’t checked any news or my social media accounts since Vegas. I’m about to scroll through my news feed when Leigh, my usual barista, asks how I’ve been.

“I’m okay. Just super busy. You know how it is.” I chuckle awkwardly. “I’ll have the usual—green tea with no sweetener. Large.” I’m putting on a performance as the old Lauren, even smiling at the end. If I pretend long enough, it’s bound to level me.

Leigh calls out my order to the guy behind her, who is hustling to make drinks.

“I still can’t believe you work for Jonathan. What a shithead,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper, making me laugh.

My boss is known to be a complete asshole. Unfortunately for me, his reputation is completely warranted.

“I know. I ask myself why every freakin’ day.” My eyes roll playfully as I hand her my card to swipe.

After taking it, she points to the TV in the corner above a small stand selling artisanal coffees. “Can you believe that shooting in Vegas over the weekend? Is this the new normal? I mean, who knows what’s next?” She lets out a visible shudder before adjusting the black visor on her head.