Little Boy Blue

43

She looked in the mirror and saw darkness staring back.

It wasn’t the scratches on her arms or the faint shadow of bruising on her face. It was what she saw in her eyes that shocked her. Something dying, an emptiness taking hold. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting here, drinking herself in, but somehow she couldn’t find it in herself to move. The last couple of days had taken so much out of her.

Draining the last drops of her vodka, she reached for her mascara and resumed her preparations. For most of her life she had been friendless, but if there was a staple in her life – apart from self-abuse, drugs and the dolls of course – it was this. Her war paint had been part of her for as long as she could remember and she never felt whole without it. There was something soothing, exciting and empowering about the ritual of self-improvement and she loved the feeling of the brushes against her skin. She had always been into this kind of thing – her mother had once said she was very intuitive about ‘texture’. It was one of the few kind things she had ever said to her.

Putting the brushes down, she pulled the tub of hair gel towards her. Scooping up a large handful, she smeared it over her hair and scalp. She often wore her hair up – in a riotous, peacocking display – but not today. Running her hands over her crown, she worked hard to flatten her hair. She liked the severe, asexual look it gave her – she was determined that there would not be a hair out of place.

Satisfied, she rose and walked over to the wardrobe. This was the most painful part and best done quickly. Pulling the whalebone corset from the wardrobe, she stepped into it and raised it up and over her chest. Grasping the strings, she pulled as hard as she could. The corset gripped her ribcage, punching the air from her lungs. She gasped but didn’t relent, pulling still harder. She loved the feeling of breathlessness, of constriction, of pain. After thirty seconds, she finally relented, loosening the strings a notch and tying them in a neat bow. Surveying herself in the mirror, she was pleased by what she saw. She looked sleek, smooth, in control.

Time was pressing now, so she slid into her jumpsuit, reaching over her shoulder to zip herself up. Then marching into the bathroom, she applied the final touches. Coloured contact lenses, changing her irises from light blue to a deep chocolate brown. Her hair looked dark and slick, her face uncharacteristically pale and the eyes that stared back at her were those of a stranger. She didn’t recognize herself. She hoped others wouldn’t either.

Her preparations were complete now, so there was no point hesitating. Switching off the light, she walked quickly towards the front door. It was time to do battle again.