muted rays of light filtered through the bedroom blinds, the full moon watching as gwen sat, staring, at the stars outside. shadows cascaded down her cheeks, whiskers of eyelashes forming spikes down her porcelain skin.
the moon was a beauty in the darkness. the shining light in the path of night. a reminder that even in the darkest of hours, there will always be a way for one to see. a glimmer of hope at the end of a long, twisted tunnel.
the moon was gwen's light. every night, when breathing would slow and the world would stop, she would take a moment to stare our into the sky and remind herself the night was never truly dark.
her reflection stared back at her, mascara flowing down her curved, plump cheeks. it mixed with her concealer, forming ugly blobs of product at the cliff of her chin.
it wasn't good to sleep in makeup, gwen reminded herself. carefully, she stood, movements slow and precise to prevent any noises.
the bathroom wasn't far. as soon as the bedroom door was shut behind her, she did not bother to conceal the creaking floor beneath her feet as she made her way down the hallway.
blindly, she stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the light. she faced the mirror, staring at herself.
right, the makeup.
the counter was covered in heather's makeup supplies, foundation and colorful eyeshadow and blush. remover sat in the back, and gwen grabbed the near empty bottle with a square of toilet paper.
it stung as she wiped, the imperfect spots and tones of her natural skin revealed as the foundation was swept away. gwen didn't like taking off her makeup. she didn't like looking at her thin lips, or uneven eyebrows, or near invisible eyelashes. were her eyebags always this dark?
she placed the bottle down and threw the toilet paper in the trashcan, exiting the room.
soft snoring gradually grew louder as gwen neared the bed again, heather sleeping peacefully under the covers. her chest rose and fell with each huff of her breath, whisps of silver hair plastered across the pillows.
gwen hated that sound. she hated the way the bed shifted whenever heather moved. she hated how heather took an hour to get ready in the morning. how she always took all the hot water before gwen could take her shower.
she walked towards heathers side of the bed, staring down at her neck. hickeys stained that perfect skin of hers. gwen recalled how they trailed down her chest and stopped at her lower stomach.
how she wished she could plant her hands around it and squeeze until her eyes would pop, like choking out a goose or maybe a swan. a swan with its movements so graceful, and its feathers so full and pretty. a swan would be perfect. like a snake, but pretty enough to pass.
gwens hands stopped shaking and she brought them back to her side. she circled the permiter of the mattress, climbing onto her side and pulling herself under the blankets.
there was just something about heather that would make her lower her hands every night, and make her wait until the next time the sun set and heather's guard was no longer present.
it could be how flustered she became when complimented. her face always turned a deep, dark red at the cheeks, and she would fight back a smile, and she would tumble over her words and have to leave the room. gwen would laugh and follow her, teasing playfully and calling her smile the prettiest thing she'd ever seen. that would only make heather break even more, until they were kissing against the wall and maybe heather was screaming gwen's name, or maybe gwen was screaming heather's.
gwen sighed to herself, sliding her hand around heather's slim waist and pulling herself closer. heather fidgeted against her chest, an incoherent, unconscious response.
the scent of heather's shampoo flooded the air and drowned her senses, and in this mess of chaos and emotions, gwen found herself drifting into a comforting place of peace.
gwen and heather first met in middle school. heather rallied her group of 'friends' together and humiliated the black sheep of the school for laughs and a good time. they were the reason gwen didn't attend half of her classes until senior year, or stayed in the library during lunch. they made her life miserable.
infact, gwen didn't remember heather ever apologizing. all she remembered was when they met again, years later, in college. who knew they would both share a major in psychology? gwen wanted to become a therapist, to help children depressed and anxious like she once was, and forever will be. heather wanted to become a nurse. or, her parents wanted her to.
then followed a series of hookups, complete with inbetween stages of ignoring, avoidance, and crippling loneliness only an artificial attraction could solve. heather was courting frat douche alejandro at the time, whereas gwen craved any sort of validation anywhere from anyone.
a series of horrible decisions led to the two becoming official, and the poor money management skills they both shared led to moving in with one another to afford rent. a desperate, yet at the time, necessary call.
and, for the record, people don't change. mean girls always stay mean girls. heather's psychology degree never made her any less of the bully she was in middle school, it only made her smarter. it only let her break gwen down in the cleverest of ways, chipping away carefully with a chisel instead of taking a hammer and going full swing.
gwen never changed either. from when she pour pigs blood over heathers junior prom dress, to the night before when she buried heather's expensive clothes in the garden. she would continue to play the victim and blame, in love with her own sadness and tragedy.
the moon continued to stare, as heather turned and kissed gwen on her cheek and gwen ran her fingers through the hair she was pulling yesterday. the light in the darkness, the beauty in the ugly.
there is no light at the end of the tunnel. mascara will flow every night. the moon cycles and the darkness pursues.
light will always shine its face, yet night will follow suite evermore.
