A Prose With No Direction

the prettiest makeup is a smile

The sky is an awfully bright and innocent color for this awfully dark and violated day.  

I want to fucking ruin it. 

Keira's house is on the other side of town, a thirty minute drive from my home. Twenty minutes into the drive, Hugh and I remain silent, the only sound audible to my ear was the faint Don't Stop Me Now song by Queen that hummed from the car's speakers. 

Ben used to love Queen. 

I gaze longingly at the sky, wondering if he's up in a better place.

What am I kidding?

He's in hell of course. 

After all, he killed himself. 

I clench my fist, angry at myself for no apparent reason. Rage possesses every inch of me, a slight gesture or noise could make me explode into a fit. I don't understand why or what made fucking Ben kill himself. 

I guess that's what makes me angry. 

Not knowing why things have to happen as they do. 

I close my eyes, feeling drowsy as I always do when a change I never wanted or asked for happens. The burden of change tires me, making my lethargic self fatigued. 

I wish I can just drift away into eternal sleep. 

One that keeps me stuck in my nightmares. 

Because at this point, reality is scarier. 

Not even a minute has passed when a shy and cautious nudge on my shoulder awakens me, my body jumping at the sudden touch. I awake to the stillness of the car, the hushing of the engine, and Hugh's ocean-eye stare. He lowers his mask to speak, full, pink lips beginning to make noise I really don't have the energy to listen to. 

"We're here." His voice is sore, but I don't question it. His finger points out the window beside me. "7865..." 

I turn my head to the beige, one-story house.

It's the same house since we were younger. 

I guess Keira still stays with her homophobic, ignorant-ass parents. 

"Thank you," I mumble, though barely audible through my mask. I lower it a little, exposing my grey, lifeless, chapped lips. "Thank you, Hugh." I hope it's loud enough. 

"Of course," he replies, clearing his throat. "Would you like me to accompany you to the door?"

I look towards the house, shaking my head. "It's a private matter..." I whisper, turning back to him. "I'm fine."

He nods. "I'll be out here." He smiles. 

I exit out the door, white sneakers stepping out onto asphalt for the first time in months. I haven't really been out since the incident, except the time at the hospital or out in the yard or porch. This is the first time I've seen the world in person.

And to be honest, it's way darker than what I remember. 

Closing the door to Hugh's car, I notice his expression to be curious-looking, mouth wanting to ask many questions such as to why am I here. But his politeness holds him back, his self constraint and consideration to boundaries appalling me. 

But to be honest, I am truly grateful for him.

I flash him a smile, wide as the sky, showcasing my big teeth. 

I hope they're still white.

I haven't smiled like that since the incident. 

I don't think I can ever smile like that again.

But they say the prettiest makeup a girl can wear is a smile on her face.

Because like makeup, a smile masks things a girl wants to hide.

And in this moment, the last thing I want is for Hugh to find out who I am and why I'm here.

The last thing I want is for him to ask about my past.

So as a thanks and as a concealer, I wear my award-winning smile. 

Hoping it's enough to keep prying eyes and curious hands from opening Pandora's box.