Wicked Things by Yolanda Olson
Hollis
Each timethe makeup sponge touched the bruise on my cheek, I cringed.
I wanted to go out again tonight; to try and have a normal evening for once, and maybe be able to enjoy myself.
Since I had no intention of going back to the proverbial scene of the crime, I figured I might actually be able to experience a good might for the first time since I ran away from home.
And for that to happen, I’d have to hide all visible signs of what had happened to me.
No one would want to sit and talk to me for a couple of hours, not if they saw what I looked like beneath the layers of makeup I had so dutifully caked on, all in an attempt to look as beautiful as I always wanted to be.
Once I had blended it all and smoothed out any little flakes, I reached for a tube of my favorite red lipstick and quickly applied it to my lips.
I stepped back and looked at myself in the mirror, smiling slightly at the pretty young woman that looked back at me.
She was confident when I wasn’t.
She was fearless when I couldn’t be.
She wanted to be loved when I wanted no part of it.
I followed her dutifully, hoping for once that we’d feel like the same person instead of her being a reflection looking back at a shell of a human being.
I pressed a hand to my aching side, and inhaled a painful breath, bending slightly, hoping for the throbbing sensation to go away.
After a few successful inhales and exhales, I was ready.
The pretty young woman in the mirror who was trying her best to smile back at me was going to have a good night, or die trying.
