Exotic

~ i'm a phoenix bitch ~

"End of the line, bud."

I jolted upright from my sitting foetal position, hidden in the back seat. The bus conductor was watching me with a dash of concern, but it was watered down by frustration. He had probably been calling out at me for a while.

"Sorry," I managed around the bubble in my throat. "Where are we?"

He let out a heavy, I don't get paid enough for this sigh. "Lakeview Shopping Centre. Do you know where you're going from here?"

I wiped my eyes and lied. "Yeah. Thanks."

With the wig still cradled to my chest and Caleb's phone in one fist, I shuffled across the seat and stumbled my way to the door. The second I was off, the door hissed shut behind me and the bus trundled off and veered off onto the street. I was left in front of a metal bench, stationed in the middle of a mostly empty carpark. An elderly woman with a cheetah print trolley at her side stared at me openly behind yellowed reading glasses. I remembered my school uniform and wondered vaguely what the time was. Then I remembered the wig and thought that was probably the reason for her open gawking.

I stuffed it self-consciously under one arm and buried my chin in my collar, shuffling in the direction of the shopping centre. It was a somewhat depressing time to be during school hours; deserted save some pensioners and school kids who looked way more obvious about skipping school than me, constantly checking over their shoulders and hissing at each other behind cupped hands as they skuttled between stores. I walked without purpose until I reached a MECCA store, and after a moment of hesitation, my legs forced me through the door. As soon as I was inside, surrounded by colour and light and the faint chemical smell of palettes upon palettes of makeup stored in a single location, I felt a wave of relief. My shoulders loosened and my confidence blossomed, as I propelled myself to a stand of lipsticks. The woman on the poster above them was wearing all red, legs splayed, and mascara smeared down her cheeks. Her lipstick was thick and mauve across her mouth, not even smudged despite her dishevelled state.

The caption read; JUCE: FOR WHATEVER LIFE THROWS AT YOU.

I picked up the tester for the colour SEX BEETLE and wiped the end with a provided tissue before dragging a line across my bottom lip. I pressed my lips together and rubbed them, staining my mouth violent red. A mirror off to the side of the display showed me how my face lifted around that single blossom of colour; my eyes widened and red returned to my cheeks. The right side of my mouth lifted ever so slightly into a Sephora-esque smirk.

"Uhm... excuse me, you're supposed to swatch on your arm."

I turned smoothly to face the shop assistant, tall and hunched over and clearly uncomfortable having to confront me. My first instinct was to stammer an apology and run out, but when I recognised her hesitance as the sort that came when someone was intimidated, I stood my ground.

"Oh, my god," I gasped, and then laughed effortlessly, dismissing the faux pas as easily as tossing my hair. "I didn't see you there. I get a little in the zone sometimes. Sorry."

The girl seemed to shrink even more, thick brown hair cloaking her face. I wanted to tell her to stand up straight. She was at least six feet and owning exactly zero inches of that. "That's okay. It's a... nice colour on you?"

I couldn't believe that after being kicked off a bus with the tears still fresh on my collar, and blatantly breaking the rules of the store, I was the more self-assured one in this exchange. "You think? I'd usually go for something more garish."

The girl's mouth opened and closed, visibly at a loss of what could be more garish than a bright red lipstick called SEX BEETLE. "We have... uhm... other colours."