pad his full lips.
I didn’t realize my hand was between my legs until I felt the warm liquid coating my finger. I squeezed my eyes shut like someone just caught me sneaking booze out of a water bottle. I peeked an eye open, feeling ridiculous. The only watchful stare was Baloo’s.
But it was too watchful. Like he knew I was doing something private. I’ve humanized these friends of mine way too much. Because I swear, he does know.
I scowled at him and removed my hand. It’s better that I don’t go down that path anyway.
Only, now that he described his face, I couldn’t stop myself from standing at the front of the path and peering down it. And then taking a small, tentative step onto it. And then digging my toe in the dirt, looking around over-innocently like I’m just hanging out on the path to pick a few berries or do a little bird-watching, no biggie.
I shook off the mix of feelings and busied myself with chores. The seeds I’ve been drying needed to be prepped for freezing. I was out of flea pills and Bagheera’s been scratching. I could use some new music. I’ve never raided Eastside Hills for their iPods.
But these chores only warded off the temptation temporarily. Three hours later, I was running down the path. I was sprinting. I had my underwear around my ankles, imagining his voice in my ear, his laughter tingling my spine, and his dark eyes locked onto mine as my hand rubbed furiously until I was yelling out incoherent praises to a god I don’t even worship.
Chapter 14
Her
I poked through the cosmetics aisle at the pharmacy. A rainbow of human colored powders was spread out before me. I chose one that looked like the tone on the back of my hand (that was the right way to choose foundation, right?) and took off the clear safety wrap. I swiped a streak down my cheek but the aisle was too dark to know if the streak left a line of improvement on my face. I threw it in my pack as well as two shades to the right and left of it as well.
I also grabbed mascara, eye liner, lip stick, and blush. Today I was going to experiment. On the way out, I walked down the hair products aisle and after a short muse I also grabbed a pair of cutting shears and some red hair dye.
Back at my cottage I studied the products warily. It had always been me and my dad so I never did much in the way of altering my looks. The few times I did get decked out, my friends had a hand in it. I played with the different powders until I ended up blending two of them together to match my color. They softened some of the rough lines on my face and added a glow to my complexion.
I tentatively swiped some mascara over my lashes. I didn’t see much difference so I grew a little bolder and applied more. I chose the darkest of the red lipsticks and stained my mouth a deep maroon color with brown undertones. The result was a dramatic look. A bit too much.
I blotted away some of the color and rubbed a towel over my cheeks.
Better.
My hair could not be saved. It was a cross between my father’s straight locks and my mother’s curls. It was wavy near the roots and frizzed out towards the ends where the moisture was lacking. I had long given up on it since attending to it took up too much time to waste on something no one would ever lay eyes on.
I took the red dye and chose a few sections to highlight, blocking some streaks and going thinner on other strands. After washing it out, I spent twenty minutes in the shower under a deep conditioning mask trying to revive the strands.
Even with my efforts, the ends were still knotted and no comb was going to break through. I took the shears and sliced them off. I cut all of them out, creating a haphazard short look. It appeared at though I pissed off Edward Scissorhands and he attacked my follicles.
With I sigh I went shorter and shorter until most of my wayward strands were cropped around my ears. Running my fingers through it, I decided I kind of liked the