Hollows In Time (✔️) | 'Hollows' Book Ⅱ

Chapter Forty-Five

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H o l l o w s I n
T I M E
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When I woke up the next morning, I wished that I hadn't. As I rolled away from the sunlight streaming in, I accidentally rolled onto the wounded side of my face. I groaned and shifted so that I was lying on my back. I stared up at my ceiling, pondering on whether to get up and wash or get up and jump out of the window. Prepare for school, or prepare for death?They both blur into one these days.

I didn't want to get up. But I knew that Jameson would make me. No matter what he'd done to my face. And so, after few more groans, I slipped out of bed. I was earlier than usual—somehow—so I took advantage of the time I had; taking a towel, and hopping into the shower.

The shower was brief, but it gave me a little more confidence for today—maybe my glossy blonde locks could distract from my disfigured face? I slipped out of the shower, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around my body. I pattered over to the bathroom mirror and sink, picking up my toothbrush.

Once I was fully cleansed—teeth, hair and body—I stared at my reflection. I sighed, I threw my hair up into a towel to get a closer look at my face. The swelling had gone down slightly, so it wouldn't hurt too much to dab on some concealer.

Whilst my hair dried in the towel, I rifled through cupboards, laying out everything I would need to fix my face. Moisturiser, concealer, foundation, more concealer, more foundation, powder, more powder. I aspire to look like a blank canvas—apparently.

I sighed at my cosmetics. This would have to work. It has to. It's not like this is anything I haven't dealt with before; it's only recently that I have stopped using the concealer on my old bruises and cuts—because they were either gone or were hardly there. I can do this—it will work.

With that, I took the towel off my head and shook out my hair. I exchanged my towel for my dressing gown before stepping out of my bathroom and in the direction of my wardrobe. Clothes. You wear them.

Recently, it's gotten easier and easier to wear the clothes that I like. Firstly, because the seasons are changing, so I need more clothes, therefore less skin is exposed. But there was another reason—an accomplishment. I now weighed just under seven stone. That alone makes me extremely happy. I've done it. I'm still not healthy, but at least I'm not a walking loaf of bread, right? Always look on the buttered side.

I chose a simple outfit. A salmon pink knitted jumper, denim jeans with white converse. Simple. I slipped everything but the shoes on, though was wary that the door between mine and Jameson's room was ajar. Once dressed, I tossed my dressing gown onto my bed, grabbed my hair dryer and straighteners from my vanity, and fled to the bathroom again.

Afraid that I would somehow mess up my makeup otherwise, I dried my hair first. I wasn't sure, but I think halfway through, Jameson started saying something to me through the door. But I couldn't hear. So I finished drying my hair, brushed it out, spritzed it with heat protectant, then I went in with the straighteners.

Once done, I couldn't stop staring at my hair. It had been a long time since I'd done this—do my hair up nice. It's been a long time since I've straightened my hair too. I smiled. Now to tackle my face.

Three coats of concealer and—thankfully—only one coat of foundation later, I was done. I had gone simple—kind of. I left out the lips, but everything else was coloured in by makeup. I grinned, placing my brush down and running my hands over my jeans, then my hair, then I lightly ran my index finger across where my bruise used to be. It had worked.