Sometimes, her mirror lied.
She knew that much and even though she could prove it, she was forced to live with the lies the mirror told, but only for a few days.
It was as easy as ABC, you look in the mirror, it takes your image from you distorts it a little bit and flings its own concept of what you should look like back at you. Now, it was your choice to take it or leave it, and she chose most of the time, to leave it.
It didn't matter, the deep purple rings around her eyes - those could be hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, matter of fact, she had done so several times in the past before, the mirror could keep its opinion. The scar right across her forehead she masked with a generous layer of MAC and its companions. Loyal confidantes to the secrets that lay beneath, co conspirators in the plot to keep the tale hidden for as long as possible.
The lips were the easiest parts. When they blistered and flowered, it was easy to slap on some lipstick, her penchant for a deep ruby hue ensuring that her lips were always perfect.
Take that mirror!
See, it was easy to whip the mirror back in line whenever it took matters a little bit too far... make up is a girl's best friend.
She wanted to be free again, to walk out of the house with a face that was not hidden under a thick layer of make up. To pick up chocolates and her favorite bagel sandwich at the corner shop.
To sink her teeth into a decadently delicious triple chocolate chip muffin, no guilts. Her favorite used to be blueberry, but she soon weaned herself off them when they reminded her too much of the fading welts on her face.
Now, her friends avoided her and she was no longer invited to the intimate girls' nite out at the pub she had always cherished. Lots of cocktails and mocktails, ogling the pretty boys, gossiping, getting drunk and staggering back home in the dead of the night, attempting to get past the creaky step on the stairs, failing and having to stand, attempting a mortified look while the parental units scolded.
Soon as she could, she had moved out and into her own apartment, getting by. Cherishing her increased freedom and friday nights at the pub which could go on forever, but she had stopped getting invites. Well, maybe because she was the one doing the avoiding.
Her friends had become increasingly nosy in recent times, hiding under the facade of caring for her, they asked too many questions and offered too many solutions. She felt it was none of their business and found an easy way to stop them. She removed herself from their company.
There was so much "girls' nite out" a girl could do anyway, besides she considered herself a full grown woman now, not a girl.
Make up done, she dragged herself wearily to the window and stood there gazing out. She watched two women at the street corner walk up to each other, embrace and kiss before walking down the street arm in arm. As they passed underneath her window, she could see that though one looked younger with her hair down to her shoulder blades, and the other wore hers in a fashionable short bob, they could easily be mistaken for twins, excepting the fact that the one with the shorter hair had greying temples, and was a little bit pudgier than the other.
Mother and daughter... She missed her mommie!
The last time they had met, she had walked into her mommie's arms determined to spill it all out but when the overflow of concern rushed out at her, threatening to knock her over like a tidal wave and she had recoiled in horror. She had cringed and held back.
"What's wrong with your face?"
"I walked into the bus on my way home yesterday."
"You walked into...", her mother's voice trailed off in disbelief. "Come on honey, how does that even begin to happen?"
As her mum reached out to trace the faint bruises that had escaped her elaborate make up, she flinched and drew back and before she could restrain herself, all the resentment she felt came bubbling up, and out... They had had a shouting match and with fleeting ghosts of similar shouting matches in her childhood pursuing her, she had fled the house. Back to her sanctuary of sorts...
She let the curtains fall, walked over to the dining table and set herself gingerly on the edge.
Eyes on the clock.
Any minute now... She hoped today would be a good day.
She heard his key in the lock downstairs... She hoped she would not have a confrontation with her mirror tomorrow morning.
The heavy tread of his boots on the wooden floor rang through out the house.
She hated those boots.
So many times, she had had close encounters with the boots to not loathe and detest them like crazy.
His key in their apartment door, she stood up and nervously smoothed down the creases in her dress.
She was prettily made up the way he liked her to be, the house was neat and tidy, his meal was waiting on the table.
She looked around nervously as she heard the door handle click, her tongue slicking out and nervously licking her glossy lips.
She prayed tonight would be a night of love and not war.
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