seven
. . .
Present Day
My eyes shootopen to darkness. I’m in the void. Of course, I am.
I gather my hair in a big clump on top of my head before releasing it. I’ve reached a new low if I’m dreaming of being back at Blanc & Hartman. That job was the definition of soul-sucking.
I’d be content to keep wallowing in my despair, but I hear Kit using my voice, and the curiosity is too much to keep me away. I push myself to my feet and jog back to my window, muttering, “What is he up to now?”
The scene before me is bright—fluorescent overhead lights taking full control. The floors and walls are black and white, and the familiar space is filled with shelves upon shelves of makeup, hair tools, fragrances, and other beauty products.
Why the fuck are we in a Sephora?
My nose presses against the glass of my window. He’s heading over to the Fenty section, pausing in front of the foundation. This is the brand of foundation I use. I must ask again: What is he doing? He picks up the Pro Filt’r Soft Matte Longwear Liquid Foundation in color 160, and I can’t hold my mouth shut any longer.
“That’s not my shade. I use 150.”
Kit’s chuckle echoes through my void. “She speaks! Well, 150 is wrong.”
I huff. “What do you mean 150 is wrong? I use 150.”
“You should be using 160. You’re peachy, babe, not neutral.” He shakes the black, cardboard package in emphasis.
My teeth grit. “Do notcall me ‘babe.’ How would you know better than me? It’smyface.”
“Our face now. Observe.” He picks up the samples for both colors 150 and 160 and moves in front of the small mirror on the endcap of the shelf where I see myself staring back at me. I freeze, a coldness creeping over me. Sure, I’m always there when I look in a mirror, but up until now, I’ve always been the one looking back. My entire body tremors as I gape at the brown eyes staring back at me.I’mnowhere to be found. Those eyes are not mine. They’re Kit’s. It’s still my face, still physically my eyes, but the soul…thebeingbehind them, is not me. It’s him.
I try to look anywhere but his eyes, but find that impossible.
Ihatethis.The urge to cry nearly overcomes me, but crying won’t get me out of here. I doubt I even can cry.
He winks at me in the mirror. Then he puts a squeeze of the 150 on a cotton pad and dabs it on a small patch of my face.Once it’s blended, he glimpses in the mirror, like,See?
I don’t see. “It looks fine.”
His face falls flat. He then repeats the process with the 160. When it’s blended, he gives me that look again.
Oh. Well, shit. That does look better. My lips clench together.
I watch as I laugh—ashelaughs, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Kit’s voice says, “I told you. Now, what else do we think we need?” He puts the samples back in their place and keeps hold of the 160. “You were using the wrong foundation, but your blush is fine. Though the mascara you’re using is too cheap.”
Rude. My annoyance pushes my general panic to the side. “It’s Elf. I like Elf.”
He peruses the aisles slowly. “Cheap. Like I said. Let’s get some nicer stuff. A woman I possessed last year used Bobbi Brown mascara.”
“That’s like forty dollars, though.”
“Cost reflects quality.”
“Ilikemy mascara.”
He ignores me and goes to pluck some of the Bobbi Brown No Smudge Mascara. Then he stops by Anastasia Beverly Hills and snatches a brow pencil. I don’t fill in my eyebrows. I’m not a natural blonde, so my eyebrows are reflective of my real light-brown hair, and they’re naturally thick, so I’ve never thought they needed to be filled in. Kit, apparently, disagrees. The last thing he grabs is a Beauty Blender. A twenty-dollar sponge. Insanity.
“That should be all,” he mutters in my voice.
The next stop should be the checkout, because you know, that’s how normal people operate in stores, but instead, he drops all of the products into a tote bag and then strolls out the front door.
