✓ Chaos Theory | Diego Hargreeves [1]

【CHAPTER TWENTY】

—chapter twenty.

  ❛ and I fall apart. ❜  

ELODIE'S HANDS WERE SHAKING AS THEY held up the concealer, swiping it across her face in rushed, messy motions. The colour was a shade too light, but she hardly noticed; pressed into the puffy dark circles that decorated her under-eyes, everything was a little too light. She'd just make do.

"Fuck," she swore, lunging down for the bottle dropped for the third time in a row. Smears of creamy product stained her bedroom carpet; she had long since abandoned cleaning up her mess, knowing full well it wouldn't be the last time she did it. "Just work, you stupid fucking things!"

Her own reflection sneered back at her as she worked. It was ugly and drawn with exhaustion, painting a dour look to the normally quite plain face. The makeup wasn't doing as much as she thought it would. Nothing was covering up the discolouration or the angry flush that kept creeping up her face no matter how she fought it -- and at that point in the morning, she wasn't sure if anything would.

"Just relax," Elodie muttered to herself, like those words would make a difference. She used both hands to hold her mascara wand and yet still, flecks of black scattered all over her half-done-up face, leaving her freckled and even worser off.

She wanted to scream. Maybe break a few more things, like she hadn't already destroyed half of her apartment.

"Come on, Elodie. Get over yourself."

Those words hung over her head as she worked, pressing into her wrinkles and her aching limbs. The small room was covered in similar, empty phrases of encouragement; they coated the walls and floors in ink, waiting for her to pick one up and finally heed by their warnings. She never would, not in her state of disarray, but they waited anyways.

None of it felt fair. She was supposed to have weeks more to prepare herself. She had so much more to do, ways to help her brother if he did get out, or find a way to get him stuck in a hole forever where she never had to see him again. Not four days of complete misery, trying to figure out a solution to a problem that had already been decided. He wasn't supposed to cheat his way out -- that just was not fair.

Then again, Elodie mused bitterly, when had Archibald Morticelli ever played fair?

She straightened her back for the umpteenth time and swiped the product across her lips. Her bitten wounds stung, but she ignored it for the sake of a professional appearance. That was all that mattered, after all. She just had to get through the trial and wait for the chance to worm her way free of his forked-tongued ways, and prove that he was the snake all along. The court wouldn't believe a foul-tempered girl with burning hands, but they might believe someone who looked like they had their shit together.