PG-13

I pressed the turn off button and lay there for a moment. Then, at ridiculous speed I sat up and swung my legs out of bed, deliberating to take a breath, then looking at myself in the mirror. Usual baggy cotton pyjamas. Hair looked okay. Honey brown and layered, ending just about my shoulder. In certain lights, there was an auburn tinge to my hair. I took a close look at my eyes. Not too red, but still rather swollen. I sighed, and went to my on suite bathroom and found my usual washcloth, and ran a sink full of cold water. I soaked the cloth in the water and pressed it under my eyes one at a time, looking closely in the mirror. Slowly, the swelling went down, and my eyes looked fine again. Like my late night of reading, followed my powerful crying never happened. A cold washcloth and all visible evidence was gone. Reaching for a separate washcloth, I washed my face with a bar of Dove soap, paying attention to the slight sprinkle of blackheads on my nose. Most cleared up, and I pulled back, looking at the sprinkle of freckles across my nose. They could have been dusted there by hand. I smiled slightly. I liked my freckles. Had no reason not to. They didn’t show that I had ginger hair because I didn’t. I was naturally an ash blonde. I liked them. They were me and they fitted me. I brushed my teeth quickly, and rinsed, then made my way back to my bedroom. Pulling open my underwear draw, I pulled out a pair of white cotton bikini pants, with different coloured polka dots on. Swapping my current ones for the new ones, I then peeled my top off and slipped on a bright blue bra, hooking it swiftly. I found my black jeans lying on the floor and picked them up, pulling them up my legs and fastening the belt. I’d always been small, and was average height. My legs had always been thin, and my friends had always complained that I looked great in skinny jeans.
I opened my wardrobe and pulled out a tight black tank top, then a plain white shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and rolling the sleeves up to my elbows. On my dressing table I found my wristbands- one with a white Japanese snake on, and another with a red electric guitar on. Then I sat down and pulled a brush through my hair, sorting my parting so that it was on the right, the left side hanging in my face. Hiding me.
Picking up my remote control for my CD player, I pressed “Operate” then play, and waited to see what CD was in the player. After hearing the disc go round a couple of times, the room went silent, and then the opening of The Holloways’ Two Left Feet filled the room. I didn’t care that it’s a happy song, I still loved it. As surprising as it sounds, I had a best friend, and that was how I owned a reasonable bit of happy music. The thing about my best friend was that he was a gay guy, and was a generally happy person, but he’d moved away a few years back. I missed Charlie a lot, although we’d still e-mailed most days. As I’d deteriorated over the years he’d begun to phone more, even offering to move back, although I told him I had my sister. I’d always regretted telling him that. He was one of the only people who could make me smile.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I listened to my favourite lyrics in the song.
Well I can’t really dance but baby will you dance with me? And if you wanna take a chance then baby take a chance on me.
I looked down at my dressing table and picked up my big black disc earrings, putting them in my second piercing. They were too big to be able to put another pair in my first piercing. My big rings were lying on the table and I slipped them on, before pulling my make up bag towards me and getting out my black eye liner. Within seconds I had thick black eye liner beneath each eye. Satisfied, I brushed a medium layer of grey-silver eye shadow across my eyelids, and then reached for my finer eye shadow brush. It was longer and thinner, and I used it to put a line of the eye shadow beneath my eyeliner. Finally I picked up my Rimmel London Lash Maxx mascara, and put a coat on my eyelashes. I took a moment to inspect my reflection in the mirror. The same as always, I looked perfectly fine, and individual. No one could have ever guessed how awful I felt inside by just looking at me. I smoothed down my shirt, running my hands over my stomach and then remembered I had to put in a belly button bar, so I opened my jewellery box and fished around. Finding what I was looking for, I unscrewed the top of my silver belly button bar, and pushed it through my belly, making sure that the black jewelled heart at the bottom faced outwards. As I looked at it, I decided to change my black tank top for another identical one, which ended just above my belly. This was perfectly acceptable as I worked at a piercing and tattoo parlour, hence the long, tribal tattoo across my lower back, the black bleeding heard on my shoulder, and the phoenix on the top half of my forearm. When someone asked my name, I just showed them my tattoo. Even though Phoenix was only my second name, I preferred to be called by it. I hated my first name, Faith.
My white shirt was just about transparent enough to show that I had a tattoo beneath it, so all my piercings and tattoos were on show.
I stood up from my dressing table, turning off my CD player, and grabbed my over the shoulder rainbow bag and made my way downstairs. Heading towards the kitchen, I dumped my bag on the breakfast bar and got out the milk, a bowl, a spoon, and the box of Weetabix Chocolate Minis. I only had a small bowl, and then put everything in the sink. Once I’d cleared up I pulled on my tatty black converses and black denim jacket as I left the house, checking I had my keys on me.