#detectivenigma

Trying to take up as little room on the couch as possible, she nibbles at her popcorn as the movie flickers on. Detective had tried to ply her with various other foods, mini quiches, tartlets, pate alongside cheese and crackers. She’d taken a bite of each to be polite but found herself more comfortable with the bowl of sweet popcorn to pick at.

Beside her Detective goes through his various make up bags, hunting out just the right tools to bring out her eyes and that matches her skin tone. Honestly it’s slightly worrying to her, the way he’s going about it makes it feel like this is an important experiment rather than just helping her get some confidence. It had taken some persuading, Detective had been so kind, not pushing but guiding her to give make up a shot.

Make up is a strange world for her. One of brushes, tips, and being unsure of the fine line between accentuating your features and painting yourself as a whore. Her father had made it quite clear that any and all make up was banned and that using it made her a whore. She remembers when she’d come home from school wearing eye shadow, it was not a happy memory. One of the girls had gotten a free sample from a magazine and discarded it easily as ‘cheap’. She’d just been curious, wanted to see what all the fuss was about, a tiny part of her wondering if the tiny pot of powder would make her pretty, let her fit in for once.

No amount of eye shadow could have hidden the black eye she’d had the next day.

Now it’s different though, her father’s not here, no one else but Detective would see and he had been so kind and lovely to her. Besides, the curiosity she’d felt all those years ago had come flooding back and looking at all of Detectives tools and equipment just gave her more unanswered questions as to what they were all used for. Would it hurt at all? Why did he need so many brushes? What colour palette would best compliment her skin tone? Would it work?

Detective’s fingers are soft, light across her skin as his calming voice hushes for her to close her eyes and relax. She tries, God she tries to just relax, to focus on his voice and not panic. What if it doesn’t work? What if she’s just not made for makeup? Maybe she’s just not meant to be girly or feminine and her father was trying to protect her from that disappointment when she was younger.

Sponges are smeared over her face, powder puffs pamper her cheeks, brushes dance over her eyelids and she has to hold back a wince as despite not being able to see, she senses something near her eyes. It takes a few minutes, just a few minutes and Detective is tapping at her hand, letting her open her eyes. He’s smiling as always, but it’s softer around the edges and his eyes glance over her face in observation.

Swallowing down the trepidation she takes up the handheld mirror, bracing herself for the disappointment, the humiliation and the knowledge that she is completely and utterly broken.

It’s her. It’s definitely her staring back at herself. She doesn’t look painted or silly; she just looks more defined. It’s as if he’s managed to smooth away the blotchy skin, cover it up into one smooth area with highlights of pink on her cheeks. Around her eyes dances a shimmer of light green, highlighting the colour of her eyes and making them look brighter. Her eyelashes are not the pale brown they usually are, but rather black and defined. She can see them outlining her eyes and making them clearer with more definition.

“I…I look pretty.” It’s shocking. She can be female, it works. All those years of being so scared of looking like a whore, of wanting to fit in but not wanting to lead anyone on were all for nothing. It worked on her. She looked nice, pretty and just like a normal woman.

Detective chuckles behind her, peering in so she can see his reflection beside her own. “Silly thing.” He reaches out with his gentle fingers, stroking over her hair and tucking it behind her ears for her. “You’ve always been pretty.”