(no subject)
Her sharp gaze lingered longer than a moment. She blinked her mascaraed eyes hard. Once, twice, three times. An unruly lock of dark hair fell loose of her bobby pins and tumbled forward over her temple as she leaned closer. I could feel her calm breath. She rubbed at my skin firmly with her thumb. Everything was moving in slow motion. I writhed a little under the fluorescent lighting, my stretched wrist a yellowy alabaster, wide veins bulging blue and white. I felt like a dissected frog, my secrets on display. Fuck, the lights were warm. My heartbeat was out of control. I couldn't swallow. My eyes were dry, but I couldn't force myself to blink.
She opened the tester bottle and dabbed a cold little blot of the concealer onto my wrist.
Nope. Too pink.
"Jesus, your skin tone is ridiculous. You're like a goddamn vampire! We're never going to find your shade."
As she flagged down an associate, I grabbed a tissue from the make-up display. I rubbed furiously until my wrist was as red as my face. I just wanted to go home. I didn't need make-up, I didn't need to look pretty. Fuck all of those bottles. It's all just pink shit.