The Dream Crashers ✓

01 - Makeup

There was a knock on the door.

I froze, with the concealer brush still hovering over my cheekbone. As the knob started to turn, I quickly dropped it onto the countertop and threw my weight against the door, slamming it shut and causing my mom to gasp in surprise from the other side.

 I can't believe I forgot to lock it.

"Aurora? Are you okay in there? Why are you still in the bathroom?" she asked, rapping on the door with her knuckles. "Open up."

I cleared my throat, trying my best to sound casual as I said, "Nothing. I'm just getting ready for school."

"Will you open the door for a second?"

I thought about the blood caked all over my arm under my sleeve. "Uh, sorry, I just got out of the shower. I'm not dressed."

"It just seems like you're being so secretive. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine." Which was a lie. Things were far from fine. "I'll be out soon."

A moment passed, like she was debating whether or not she should keep pushing, but then she gave in and said, "Okay, but don't take too long or your breakfast will get cold."

I listened for her receding footsteps before exhaling a sigh of relief.

I turned back towards the mirror.

At first glance, the bruise on my cheekbone was hardly visible, but a closer inspection revealed a faint blue mark beneath the thick layer of concealer. Reaching for the powder for extra coverage, I was disappointed to find the container was empty.

"Great," I mumbled, tossing it in the trash bin. It landed with a soft thud. Touching my cheek gently, I re-examined my reflection. "I guess this'll have to do."

God knows how much makeup I'd gone through these past few weeks, concealing bruises and scars on my face. It was draining all of my babysitting money and it would only be a matter of time before Mom found out. I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be able to hide it from her.

How much longer I could keep her from knowing that her daughter was totally losing it.

Carefully, I rolled up the sleeve of my cardigan, cringing when my wrist accidentally bumped against the newest laceration on my forearm. When the unbearable pain woke me up early this morning, the blood had still been wet. I had spent a good half hour washing and tending to it. Trying not to grimace, I ran my arm under the sink.

The warm water did little to soothe the pain. It stung the wound as it washed away the crusted, dried blood.

I still vividly remember when this started happening to me.

I had woken up early one morning with a throbbing ache in my side. After turning on the lights, I almost cried out in surprise. Dirt coated my hands and was wedged deep under my fingernails. Lifting my shirt up with shaking hands, I saw that my stomach was covered in purple bruises.

Catching my reflection in the floor length mirror next to my closet, I saw that I looked like someone who'd just crawled out of the forest. There was a smudge of dirt on my cheek. My hair was a tangled mess.

I remember running out into the hallway, toward my mom's room, but something made me stop in my tracks. I heard her muffled sobs through the thin wood.

My hand, which had already been reaching for the knob, dropped to my side.

I could feel my heart breaking. The pain from my stomach was nothing compared to how I felt as I listened to her cry.