She has gotten pretty good at applying her makeup, never can leave the house without it on. She feels naked without it, ugly at that. It is an automatic action: pluck eyebrows, primer, BB crème, foundation, eye lid primer, eye shadow, eye liner (black of course) on her water line only, mascara (top and bottom lashes), blush, highlighter filled with glitter, translucent setting powder, and finally plum lipstick to accentuate her already dark, full lips. She’s comfortable now. She feels like a normal human being. No one can truly see her depression behind her flawless makeup and fake smile. She has to put it on alone though. It breaks the façade if someone watches. She only let one person watch her. That was after he watched her break right in front of him. It’s funny how a bag full of face paint can transform a puffy eyed, depressed girl into a beautiful, charismatic young woman. It’s funny how it makes boys look at them differently. She puts away her makeup and sighs. She looks in the mirror and catches a glimpse, no a replay of a memory, of the last time someone saw her break then fix herself with the contents of that little bag. “Never again,” she thought, “He is the only person who will ever see that.”