Made-Up Mess

“Clean yourself up before anyone of importance sees you!” you hiss at me before shoving me back down the hallway to my room. The door shuts behind me and your heels click along the wood, fading as you head down to your soirée. I look to the mirror and wonder how you expect me to clean up. Mascara has been smudged down my cheeks by tears and my eyes are puffy and bloodshot. I am a mess, one that you pretty up for your friends, but no amount of make-up can hide my internal pain from them tonight. They will finally see the beast inside of you.