Page 29 of The Tattered Gloves
Some, I swore, looked like torture devices.
“I like my boots,” I answered.
She applied another coat of mascara to her already black lashes. “I have a pair of heels you could borrow.” She tried one more time.
“You do not want to see me in heels. I’d end up falling face-first onto the pavement.”
She laughed, a small snort escaping her newly painted lips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do your makeup? Not even a little?”
She stretched her hand toward me, holding a tube of mascara along with blush. As much as I trusted her, my heart sped up at the idea of having someone’s hands on me, and I immediately shook my head. She seemed a little disappointed at my dismissal, and her eyes fell to my covered hands.
I could sense the hesitation as she worked up the courage to ask the question I was sure would follow. But, for once, I wasn’t scared to answer.
For once, I actually felt like telling someone.
Maybe this was the outlet my aunt had told me I needed.
“Why do you wear them?” Allison asked softly, her eyes round with warmth and compassion.
“I don’t like to be touched,” I answered, matching her tone.
She nodded, as if this confirmed something she’d already worked out for herself.
“Did someone… I mean, was it because of something that happened to you? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added quickly.
“Yes,” I said quietly. The open and honest feelings I had swiftly began to crumble as the events of the past came rushing back to the surface… the dark room, the sound ofhisboots.
She seemed to pick up on my growing nerves and changed direction. “Megan Bell has been telling everyone you have a fake hand.”
That made me laugh out loud, the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach abating instantly. “That’s horrifying.”
She laughed, too. “Right? I also heard someone in gym say that you had a skin condition and were covering it up to keep it from spreading.”
“Gross,” I replied, shaking my head. “People suck.”
She agreed, “They really do.”
Looking down at the makeup in front of her, I picked up a collection of eye shadows and opened it. “Do you think you could teach me?”
Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!”
By the time my aunt came in to call us into her salon to do our hair, my head was nearly spinning from the information Allison had thrown at me. I told her she should host her own YouTube channel — helping poor, unfortunate people like me who were clueless when it came to proper eyeliner application.
She rolled her eyes at the idea, but I could see she was pleased.
My aunt did a simple hairstyle on Allison, curling her long blonde mane, while I tried my best to copy her motions. I knew Addy was a little disappointed I wouldn’t take a turn in the chair, too, but she didn’t say a word as I scurried off to find my shoes and grab my purse.
Stopping by the bathroom, I took a quick peek in the mirror. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.
She was happy and radiant.
Nothing like the emptiness that still lurked beneath the surface.
I REALLY HADN’T thought this whole thing through.
I’d been so concerned with showing up to the dance, looking like a nun, that I hadn’t thought about the actual dance.
As Allison and I arrived at the school, I suddenly remembered all those prom scenes in movies.
