My eyes are red and bloodshot, with low-lying eyelids.
I widen them; it stings a little.
So I squeeze them shut, and open them again
- very slowly.
I've been sobbing on my pillow; it's smudged with my mascara.
Why didn't I take my makeup off before I went to bed?
What was the point of that question?
I sigh, I know exactly why there's no room in my mind
for thoughts about skincare.
I turn back to the mirror on my bedside, and trail my gaze down from my pathetic eyes
toward a purple gash running diagonally from my cupids bow
to the left side of my cheek.
My lip is split, so it hurts to talk now.
"If I slice your mouth sweetie, you'll remember that you mustn't talk." That's what was said.
My body jolts, I turn the mirror away. I don't want to look at my face anymore.
I shut my eyes - gingerly, to save myself pain -
and I tried my very best
to go to sleep.