She stares at herself in the mirror with analytical eyes. The foundation is seamless. The powder is flawless. The blush on the apples of her cheeks an impeccable highlight to her beautifully sculpted features. The eyeliner, the eyeshadow, the mascara—all done. She is a vision of ivory skin and smoky eyes.
It’s the lips that cause her to hesitate.
Pink or red? Gloss or matte? It seems such a simple choice, but it’s not.
Pink says young and innocent, red says sultry and seductive. Gloss says flashy and ostentatious, matte says sensible and practical. And the combinations are only a further complication. Does she want to be innocently flashy? Seductively sensible?
She sighs, checking her watch and realizing that she doesn’t have time to be indecisive. She’s supposed to meet him in five minutes, actually, though making it by ten is physically impossible at this point. But that’s all according to plan.
She always keeps them waiting.
Red, she decides. Red and glossy.
She applies a liberal amount, puckering a few times at her reflection. A tissue, she needs a tissue… She searches the surface of her vanity for one, but finds a napkin, instead…a napkin with some scribbling on it…
Ah. From last night. From that guy with the strange tattoos and the dark hair. He wouldn’t let her leave without it, wouldn’t let her walk away without giving her his number. Some guys are just so pushy.
She picks it up, only just now bothering to read the message he scribbled underneath.
‘Call me after it happens, and I’ll explain everything… Don’t lose this.’
Huh. Well if that wasn’t the most cryptic fucking way to try and get a girl to call you. She shook her head, exasperated. He’d seemed sober enough at the time, but obviously he wasn’t. Some people really shouldn’t drink, she thought.
Shrugging, she used the edge of the napkin to pucker her lips over. Once, twice—there. Beautiful. She dropped the paper to the vanity, deciding at the last minute to give her hair another healthy dose of hairspray for good measure. Can’t have her curls falling flat halfway through the night.
Perfect, she thinks. I look perfect.
With a smile on her face and a swagger in her step, she turns on her heel and leaves. The napkin sits crumpled on a pile of makeup and hair products, the words ‘Don’t lose this’ barely visible through the crimson of her imprinted kiss.