Kristy's Shorts

Obsession

Prompt: Write no more then 1500 words about a character's obsession with something.

Her fingers fumbled with the gold plated latch on the drawer, tugging at it. Her teeth were clomped down on her bottom lip, tearing pieces of flesh and swiping off the cherry lipgloss (though it tasted nothing like cherries) onto her snaggle tooth. Her eyebrows, neatly plucked just the day before and still a little raw red from it, were drawn together in frustration.

Her hands trembled, making that much more difficult to try and pry the stupid lock open. Twisting it, she jiggled it again, and finally threw the lock at the drawer, wincing as the metal collided with wood. Her hand slammed down on the wooden surface of the bedside table, tears pricking in her eyes as her palm seared with pain from the impact.

A string of cuss words, unladylike according to her father if he were home, hissed from her mouth as she cradled her throbbing hand. Drawing in a sharp breath, she reached forward once more and yanked at the lock. The key broke free and clattered to the ground, unlatching the blockage to what she wanted, what she needed.

Pulling off the lock, she tugged the drawer open, the contents within rattling as they were jarred, and let out a shaky breath of relief. With shaking fingers, she picked up a silver tube still coated in the wrapper it had been in since she'd bought it two months previously. Examining it, twirling it between her fingers, she squinted her eyes to look through the plastic binding to see the shade of lipstick.

Coral.

Perfect. But a little too perfect. Gingerly replacing the lipstick back in its designated spot, she cautiously closed the drawer once more, the stacked tubes of lipstick quivering in the movement inside of their confinement, and retrieved both lock and key to set on top of the bedside table.

She was content. For now. She could breathe normally, not the shaking rattle that jolted her lungs when the drawer had been unable to open. She could breathe now, even the trembling in her hands was beginning to lessen up, and the knot in her stomach was loosening as the ties that bound it together were pulled free.

She would have to buy a new lock, this one just wouldn't do anymore.

Sauntering over to her mirror, she plucked open her pink makeup case, the cover molting from age of usage, and picked out a delicate eyeliner pencil. Black, the only color she'd wear around her eyes. It was the only color that could always match her moods and outfits, no matter the color or style she chose for the day. With even strokes, she carefully applied the makeup, her eyes never leaving her face.

Carefully she applied the façade of what had become her face. It was the mask she so gently welded everyday, she had to weld everyday. No one understood, how could they? They always told her she was pretty without the makeup, but it wasn't the truth. She always saw it in their eyes, the truth that lay behind the words they spoke.

Her complexion was that of pasty pale, nearly ghost white. She always looked sickly without her makeup and her black hair didn't help much, it made it that much worse. It didn't help matters that her clothes didn't always fit, that she always saw herself as fat. But others saw her as 'pretty'.

A snort left her nose. Pretty, how could she only be pretty? Was she not beautiful like those girls in the magazines? Sure she didn't have the massive bra sizes they did or all the money in the world to buy the skin tight clothes. She couldn't get surgery to have the perfect nose. Hers was just to slanted and usually unsettled her when looked at it. But it didn't mean she wasn't beautiful, right?

Digging through her makeup case, she pushed aside the various brushes, some of which were still coated in plastic. They even dated back to over a year ago of being bought. Picking out a well used brush, paint having long ago peeled from the handle, she took out a compartment of blush, one that was nearly out of makeup. She would have to open up one soon, perhaps that sparkly blush she'd bought around Christmas time.

Applying the light coat of pink that would give her pale skin some color so she didn't look like a walking corpse, she rummaged through the pile of mascara tubes, searching through them for the one she'd used the day before, and the week before. It had to be empty before she'd open one of the ones she'd bought just last week.

It was impulsive, she wasn't always able to stop herself. Buying makeup, even if her bedside table and makeup case were already full, always made her feel better. She didn't have money for all of this, her dad always told her no. She had to buy clothes, school supplies, grocery shopping, but if the makeup was there, she wanted it.

No, needed it.

Her dad called it a problem, she called it feeling better. He argued, she stole just so she wouldn't have to hear it again. It wouldn't come up on the receipt if it was hidden in her pockets, and there were no identifying tags to set the alarms off. One swipe with her hand was all it took for the makeup to land in her pocket. One swipe and she wouldn't be badgered by her father about the constant money pile up just on her makeup.

He didn't understand, no one understood.

They felt fine with their bodies, they were content with their looks. But she was fat, she was ugly. Her nose was to large, the crevasse made it weird, her breasts weren't big enough, and she wasn't skinny enough. She wasn't like any of those women in the celebrity magazines, on television, or even the perfect Barbie doll girls that ran her school with a flip of their hair. Her own hair was flimsy, flat at most times, and frizzed with the slightest condensation applied. She was pretty, never beautiful. Oh no, never beautiful.

There's terror in her eyes.

It made her feel better, even if only for a little while. Clenching the mascara tube tightly, fingers trembling once again, she took a shaky breath to steady herself.

The makeup she wears...

She didn't want to steal, she didn't want to waste her money on the silly little tubes she knew she had to much of, but she couldn't help it. She hated fighting with her father, but he just couldn't understand. No one could, not even those pathetic doctors she'd been forced to see. They'd only doped her up on pills, numbed the need for her items. When they wore off, it was a greater desire to have more, always amped up from being frozen for so long. After awhile, she just quit them. She hated being numb.

Behind her glossy lips...

They said they knew, they said they understood, but they always looked at her funny. They always questioned her. Still, her fingers slid to take those tubes. Still, she used the last few dollars to her name to buy the bigger cases of makeup. She was running out of room, out of drawers, and most usually stayed in their wrappers. She had to finish one before starting another and it would only get replaced shortly after.

She thinks no one cares.

Turning from her reflection, she crossed back to her bedside table and reopened the drawer, nitpicking through the tubes of lipstick once more.

It hides the cracks breaking her down.

Most were still brand new, yet to be opened. But a little part in the back of her mind was pushing buttons, nagging her, telling her the one thing she didn't want to hear, but always did. She knew she didn't need more, it was just impulse. She couldn't help it. Sometimes, she didn't even remember taking it or buying it. Half the time, it was a black hole in her mind when she went out and came back with brand new makeup.

The makeup she wears
The mask she hides behind

Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes as she picked up a lipstick tube, peeling the plastic wrapper off.

Coral.

Wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her pajamas, she popped open the lipstick, twisting the bottom to have the magic crayon within rise.

Even at night, when she's all alone...

Her fingers tugged at her sleeve of her pajama top before planting herself back in front of the reflection glass, puckering her lips to apply the lipstick.

Even then she doesn't take it off.

No one understood her need for makeup. She was pretty, not beautiful. And half the time, she couldn't even remember taking the makeup.

There's terror in her eyes

(W/C: 1487)