The speech is almost over, but her hands are still shaking. She takes a deep breath, which she disguises as a hearty laugh. All she had to do was finish. Why was this so difficult? She thinks back to what happened backstage; her manager, Erin, had coached her as she got her makeup done.

“Remember, whatever you do, Cori, don’t talk about these issues as if you’ve personally experienced them. You’re here to support this organization, and that’s it.”

“Why can’t I again?” She wondered as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror in front of her.

To her, her makeup looked finished, but her makeup artist was a perfectionist. Her gloss had to be extra glossy, and her beauty had to be youthful. In front of this world, she was a mannequin, something only to be admired. And admired things were only required to look beautiful and to be expressive, but not too expressive. Yes, she was a mannequin, but tonight the sadness she tried to hide is glistening in her eyes.

“Are you forgetting what happened when you admitted you struggle with anxiety?” Her manager said, causing her to blanch.

She remembered all right. She remembered all of the mocking comments she had received online. The public's scrutiny said that if she could do anything, it clearly meant she was faking her condition for attention. One time, she posted a picture of herself outside enjoying a day at the park and received a slew of comments mocking her supposed anxiety. As if it wasn’t something she tried to overcome every day. The worst of those comments was one stating that she probably said she had anxiety to cover up her secret drug addiction. You would think one comment like that wouldn’t gain traction. The source was some random user on a website who had never met her, but no, people ran with it. She couldn’t even pick up her meds without someone mocking her for being an addict.

“You wanted this job, Cori,” her mother had reminded her years ago while she was doing press for her second movie. “With fame comes public scrutiny, you just have to gain thicker skin.”

She sighed as she thought of her mother’s words.

“Yes, I remember, but…won’t this be different. We’re talking about a—“ Her manager interrupted her before she could finish.

“If you think they thought you were an attention-whore for having anxiety…they’ll be even worse if you say you were abused,” Erin informed her, then placed a comforting hand over hers. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

“I know,” she replied, downtrodden.

Now, here she was, almost done and almost free. Yet, as she comes even closer to an end, her eyes linger over the organization’s name, Eleanor Wadlow’s Foundation for Abused Women. A pained feeling hits her heart, and suddenly words slip out of her mouth before she can stop.

“I was abused by a partner and places like this are true sanctuaries,” her eyes widened, and her mouth falls open as she realizes what she said

She starts to stutter, but there is nothing she can do, as her words are already said. And her truth was already revealed. Reporters covering the event threw questions at her, flocking together with eyes full of thrill for the hunt. As usual, she is the prey. Always the prey, but no, she will no longer be the victim, not anymore. Yet, even with that train of thought, her anxiety is twisting up inside of her. She mutters out nonsensical words and feels herself being pulled away. Before she realizes it, she’s back behind the stage, and her manager is looking at her with saddened eyes.

“Cori, we are going to have to do so much damage control. I’ll call your PR team and—“

“No,” she says, her tone surprisingly stern.

“This could ruin you!” Erin exclaims.

Cori’s hands finally stopped shaking. She takes deep breaths, starting to steady herself. She looks at the mirror once again, and she doesn’t see a mannequin any longer. After so long of pushing herself aside, she finally sees herself in the mirror. She has sad eyes but they are full of wisdom from what she has learned. Her youth is still intact, but she has blossomed into a woman who knows what she wants. Her anxiety sticks, but there’s a fight in her that hasn’t been there in so long.

“Let it.”