Tara blanc liked to be in control. She liked to keep a schedule and calm politeness. It was all part of maintaining the mask she wore in public—a nice average act, a person who didn't stand out. Tara was a high-functioning Autistic. A part of herself that she hated at this moment in time. 

“Are you alright?” A slightly bored but still concerned voice asked Tara from the other side of the bathroom stall. 

“Y-Yes, I’m F-f-f-Fine,” Tara stuttered out, then huffed in frustration; she hatted when she stuttered. It meant she wasn't even in control of her mouth. 

“Well, if you say so,” the bathroom door opened and closed a few moments later. Tara sighed and rubbed her eyes behind her glasses. She was sitting on a gross bathroom toilet in the tiny bathroom of the Starbucks cafe she had wandered into on her way home after class. 

“Honestly,” She mumbled and took out her phone—1 missed text from her mom.

I have to pick up your sister from school she threw up. So I'm not going to be at home when you get there.

Tara groaned and leaned back slightly. She stood up and grabbed her old blue purse from the hook she had placed it on with a long sigh. With a deep breath and opened the stall and stepped out. 

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The bathroom was still empty, but she still walked over to the sinks to wash her hands. It was a habit and a rule of society to wash your hands after going to the bathroom. Tara might have only sat on the toilet and not used it, but to an outside viewer, they wouldn't know that, and as such, she must wash her hands even if there was no one in the bathroom but her. 

After washing her hands and throwing away the towel, Tara carefully examined herself in the mirror. 

Her face was slightly flushed from panic, so she quickly wet her hands and cooled her cheeks. Tara Leaned in close to the mirror and examined her eyes behind her glasses. Tara never wore makeup, it felt weird on her skin, but that's not why she was so carefully looking at her eyes.  Tara had cried a little during her panic attack and needed to ensure that it wasn't apparent to the average viewer. 

Next to be put under scrutiny was her hair. Tara stood straight and turned her head this way and that, checking that her brown curly hair hadn't found its way out of its tight ponytail. Noticing a few flyaways, she used her still slightly wet hands to smooth her hair down against her scalp. 

Finally satisfied with her appearance, Tara prepared herself to face the Starbucks crowd. Of course, it wasn't really a crowd, and if anything, it was probably just a few college students working on their homework. At least that's all that Tara saw in her panicked rush threw the cafe. 

Before opening the door, Tara silently wished that the rude man who had yelled at her and the barista earlier was gone. Tara opened the door with a sharp nod and stepped out into chaos.