Under My Skin

Shades Of Warmth

I must've spent four hours on my appearance that day. My shower, combined with the ironing of my clothes, the combing and perfecting of my hair, the shave so close I nearly slit my own throat with it. The three separate face washings and moisturizers, the twenty straight minutes of trying to roll my cuffs perfectly evenly. Shining my shoes, trying to rapidly heal and disguise the cut on my face from my intensely particular shaving. The hour and a half I spent picking at it every time the blood dried, as if it wouldn't bleed again.

Every time I try to make myself look good, I screw it up. And while the rest of me looked fantastic, I couldn't look away from that one red spot on my cheek, irritated from the relentless picking.

Once it starts bleeding again, I vow I won't pick at my face anymore. But then once it stops and I see dried blood on my face, I can't help it, I have to pick it, it shouldn't be there. I just want to look good for him, I can't look good with a bloody scab on my cheek.

In an attempt to distract from the spot on my face, I took a page out of his book. I unbuttoned my shirt. The top three buttons were undone, showing off my chest. It looked nothing like when Connor does it. I think it's the chest hair. He doesn't have it. It looks much nicer on him. Should I shave my chest, too? He says he likes my chest hair, but I don't know, it looks silly with the shirt. I should shave.

I grabbed my razor from the hook, running it under the water for a moment and shaving a two inch section of hair off my chest, before it stopped taking any off. Shoot.

Eyeing the clock, I realized I was quickly running out of time to finish. I held the razor under the faucet, tapping it on the edge of the sink to dislodge the excess hair, but it was stuck, by all measures.

"Shoot.. shoot shoot shoot" I mumbled aloud, tapping the razor harder against the sink

'Tapping' is too generous a term. I was banging it on the edge of the sink, trying to remove the hair, until the force dislodged the head of the razor entirely, sending it bouncing down into the sink

"Oh- god...."

Before I could even take the time for a deep breath, Connor knocked on my door. Shoot.

I looked at myself in the mirror, a red and irritated scab on my cheek, a small patch on my chest where I'd shaved. I look horrible. Gosh, maybe I should just pretend I'm not home. I don't know where else I'd be, but I can't be here.

Maybe I should reschedule, altogether. I wanted tonight to be like the night we first kissed, not some freak show. Though, it's not like I can help it; I'm a freak show. God.

He knocked again. Taking a big deep breath and trying to ignore my laughable appearance as I re-buttoned my shirt, I forced myself down to the kitchen and opened the door for him.

"Hey.."

"Hey there! I brought groceries" he smiled, walking through and setting the bags down on the counter

"Thank you.... y-you look handsome.."

"You're sweet." He turned and finally greeted me with a kiss, cupping my cheek. "You look handsome, too.. should I get started?"

"Sure.. music..?"

"Anything you'd like"

"Cool... Cool." I nodded, shaking both hands up and down by my sides as I excused myself to the living room to put on a record.

Christ, Kevin, calm down. He's your boyfriend. You can relax.

As exciting as dates with him are for me, it's still nerve-wracking. I still want to look handsome for him.