Abditory [H.S]

84.

Hi babes, just wanted to let u know that the reason chaps are 6,000+ words is bc my anxious ass is scared everything i have planned for the rest of huella's journy wont fit to 90, and i dont want more than 90 chaps bc that doesnt look right to me, like even 91, i might lose my shit. So yeah, sorry if u dont like long-ish chaps.

This one is 10,500+ words LOL

Luella Jones

I look like a mess.

Correction: I feel like a mess.

Everything I seem to do with my face doesn't work. I first put mascara on because that's what I usually do, and then I added lip gloss. But I look so plain in both; I decided to do some action.

I tried putting on a thin eyeliner, but I looked like some child who was highlighting their drawing and it didn't feel right. Then, my brain told me to put on eyeshadow 'cause that might help. Jokes on it, I looked like a clown with pink powder all around my eye. After that, I painted a bit of blush, but it just looked like I had an allergic reaction to tomatoes. My frustration made me bite on my lips' skin and then I bled through them and ruined the lip gloss, and now I feel like my mascara doesn't even look that great anymore.

It's 6pm and I haven't done anything to impress anyone. I know I shouldn't; but I feel so insecure. Everyone will probably have an amazing make-up look and I'll look so boring without one, too. I already did my hair in wavy locks; but I still feel me. I want something to like, I don't know, hype me up.

The thing is, I don't know how. I never learnt how. Fiona would just put the products on my face and tell me it'll look 'nice'. I never really questioned it 'cause I loved the way I looked afterwards, but thinking about it now; I should've asked her.

Sometimes I really miss her; she was that one friend who'd always push me to do risky shit without me doubting it. Despite her being a 'bad' influence; she was still one of the few people who tolerated me and my behaviour.

Or maybe I just wish someone was here to do my own makeup for me instead.

I sigh, shutting my eyes tiredly and putting the brush down on the bathroom counter. I'm sick of feeling terrible about myself; I'm an 18 year old woman who can't even do some colors on her face. How pathetic can I get?

A knock on the door startles me, making me stand straight up as I hear Harry's voice travel through it.

"Luella? You okay? You've been in there for the past hour."

I open the door, seeing he's standing there with furrowed eyebrows, looking around the bathroom. He eyes the make-up items layed out differently on the counter, looks back at my face, then down at them, only to catch my eyes once more.

"I don't see any make-up on your face." He states, walking in.

"That's because this is the ninth time I've wiped it off." I huff and sit on the closed toilet seat. I press my hands to my eyelids, rubbing them.

"I think you look beautiful like this, why put powder all over your face?" He bends down to my view, circling his thumb against both my knees.

"Because..." I trail off, not sure how to explain it to him. He literally looks like a greek god; he wouldn't understand the difficulty of trying to look decent.

Harry chuckles, standing back up. "Why don't you ask Hala? Hartley? They always put those stuff on." He shrugs.

"They'll probably make fun of me for not knowing how to do it." I cross my arms over my chest.

"I thought every girl was born with the ability to put some make-up on." He questions.

"Yeah, well, apparently I was not blessed with that super-power."