"Come on makeup, don't fail me now." I was alone in my bathroom, talking to myself. My concealer had concealed the blue and brown bruises as much as they could, but it was hardly enough. I could still see every mark from the night before.
If the bruises weren't already enough, my eyes were also red and puffy from the crying. There was a pounding in my head; I couldn't stand it. I was pretty sure if someone spoke even one word to me my head would explode right then and there.
I lathered foundation over the concealer, and powdered my face to set it all in. The color of my face seemed slightly off but it was as good as I could get it. I wandered out to my car so I could get to school and away from home. Besides, I still needed to talk to Liam. I hadn't called him last night like he told me to.
First hour started and I slightly whispered over to Liam while Mrs. George taught. "Hi Liam." I looked straight ahead.
"You alright?" he asked me back, also looking straight ahead as if we were paying attention.
"Yeah I'm fine." I lied. The pain wasn't there, but the feelings were. The feelings of unwantedness and hatred. Hurt. There were too many to list, actually. He turned his head at me completely and a small smile sprouted on his lips. His face was so soft and kind.
"I'm sorry I left." he sighed.
"Why are you always sorry?" I mocked his smile.
"I don't know, I guess I just don't want to let any possible thing I do hurt you."
"I'm fragile to you, aren't I?" My smile faded a bit.
"Kind of. But don't take that the wrong way, I'm sorry." he frowned at me, sitting up more as he spoke.
"Dannica. Liam." Mrs. George scolded.
"Hey Dani." Harry called from behind me. I turned around without taking a second thought. "Are you sick?" he asked me with a raised eyebrow.
"No." I shook my head and turned around towards the front again.
"Your face doesn't always look that witchly green." I could almost hear the smirk in his words. Hesitantly I just pushed the thought out of my mind, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of getting under my skin. I shook my head to shrug it off, giving my full attention to the teacher.
"Or was it because your daddy hit you?" he playfully added on. I bit my lip but his random attack of the words was too much for my to handle. I felt one tear leak down my cheek, but as soon as I wiped it away I had to bury my face into my sweater.
"What the fuck is your problem man?" Liam shouted at him causing, I presume, everyone to turn around and give all their attention towards them. I looked up and used my hand closer to the classroom to shield my face and look at Mrs. George.
"Can I use the bathroom?" I barely spoke and she quickly obliged. Keeping my head turned forward I grabbed the pass and hurried out the door. The bathroom was only a hallway away from me, so I didn't have to face anyone passing me as I cried. I stopped in front of a mirror and examined myself.
A year and a half ago, I looked in this mirror. I saw a smiling face with her best friend attatched to her hip. And if you compared the times I've looked at myself in this mirror, you could see the slow change. The transition into a tear stained face; a bruised and broken girl with her best friend attatched to the hip of the boy who has bullied her over that year.
I started the faucet and ran my hands under it to cool me down. Without thinking I cupped water in my palms and washed my face. It was so refreshing to water down my face. I lifted up my sweater and used the inside to pat my face dry. My fingers came up to wipe away at any smeared mascara, but I stopped.
I didn't bring my backpack into the bathroom with me, which meant that I didn't have my makeup. I had literally just wiped up all of my concealer and foundation on my face. I punched the wall that peeked through between each separate mirror and began to cry again. Today was not going my way.
The girl in the mirror was so ugly. Messy brown hair. Dull blue eyes. I looked so lifeless, it was like I was staring at a poster. I could never wrap my finger around how he still thought I was fat. Why did he have to bring up something like that? Does Harry Styles have no morals?
When I had calmed down, I decided to go back into the room. If I waited for the bell to ring, I'd have to face even more people passing me in the halls then I'd have to if I walked into my first hour. My head stuck outside of the door to see if there was anyone roaming the hall; coast clear.
I opened the door and looked away as far as I could. The sleeve of my sweater was pulled out past my hand to cover my face. My hands and legs trembled as I stepped foot in the room. I could feel all of the eyes on me. Didn't their parents teach them that it's not nice to stare?
