I drop the towel and pull on underwear first. Black lace, not red, just to keep Kir on his toes. I step into the dress and zip up the side, then turn to check the back in the mirror. The open panel shows the knobs of my spine, the two dimples at the base of my back, and, worst of all, a fading bite mark just below my left shoulder blade that I forgot was still there. I touch it with my fingertips. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It just exists, a little souvenir from the man in the mask.
I sit at the vanity and start on my face. Foundation first, then concealer under my eyes to keep these bags out of the public view, because ain’t nobody needs that. Blush, just enough to look alive. For eyeliner, I go heavier than usual, a thick wing that makes my green eyes sharper. Mascara next. Lipstick: a de
