Charming's Star

By @L-R-Battista
Charming's Star

This is the story of Delilah Letters, a nineteen-year-old college student. She aspires to be a screenwriter or director and dive into her imaginary worlds. However, life has other plans. After all, nothing really goes as planned. This is a short story right now, but it might become a long story. I know the description is vague but give it a chance. Hope you enjoy, L-R-Battista Side Note: I do not own the cover, it belongs to its rightful owner whom, I thank for creating such beautiful art.

Chapter 18

Makeup Enhances Beauty

 Becca grabs my arm and plops me on my desk chair.

         “You took a thousand years. What held you up?” she asked, pulling out a bottle of foundation.

         “My brother. He was concerned about my clothing choice,” I replied.

        “Wait? Seriously?” Sarah screeched and I flinched.

       “Don’t move,” Becca demanded.

       “Sorry, Sarah broke my eardrums,” I groaned.

       “Sarah, don’t break Lia’s eardrums,” Becca commanded, sponging my face with foundation.

       “But she didn’t answer the question,” she whined.

       “I don’t care. If you mess me up while I am doing her make-up, YOU WILL DIE.” She snapped.

      “That’s a little extreme,” I mumbled.

      “Stop moving,” Becca snapped and I shut my mouth.

      “Sorry,” I grumbled, crossing my arms.

       “Since Lia can’t talk. I’ll do the talking,”

      I stifled a groan at that. I love Sarah dearly but boy, can she talk. Her mom told me one time that she talked to her dog Lucy for over two hours before finally shutting up, if that says anything, I don’t what does.

      “I wanted to let you know, Dereck is coming as well and is picking us up around 9ish,” she informed me.

    “Of course Dereck is coming. Do you think he would let you go to a party of ***** lax guys alone?” Becca snapped, putting down the foundation.

    “What? You don’t think he trusts me?” Sarah squawked, an incredulous look on her face.

   “I don’t think he trusts the guys, Sarah,” I interjected.

   “Shut up Lia and close your eyes,” Becca ordered and I obeyed, closing my eyes.

   “That was my fault beck’s,” Sarah sighed.

    “Stop it then,” Becca responded, brushing some eyeshadow on my eyelids.

We sat in silence for a while. Becca continued transforming my face. Coating my eyelids with the eyeshadow. Tracing my eyes with the eyeliner. Covering my eyelashes in mascara. Contouring my face, coloring my lips. 

Changing me, piece by piece. Until I looked more like a Victoria secret angel than myself. Not that’s bad but, it made me feel…empty. That the natural face that reflected back every day wasn’t good enough. I know that makeup was just meant to enhance your natural beauty so maybe if you look like an angel, make somewhere, naturally, you did.

   “Open your eyes, Lia,” Becca commanded.

I fluttered my eyes and slowly opened them. First I noticed my lips they were as red as my skirt. As if someone had stained them red. My eyes were winged with black eyeliner and covered in a shimmery silver powder. All of my blemishes were covered with layers of foundation and cheeks looked defined rather than little chipmunk cheeks. I was a different person. A sultry and Sexy look that never would’ve fit me before. It was breathtaking.

   “Wow,” I breathed, shifting my head side to side.

  “Do you like it?” Becca inquired, picking up a red curling iron.

  “Love it, I hardly look like myself,” I chuckled, puckering my lips and then smiling.

  “Trust me, you look like you,” Becca smirked, looping a strand of my hair around the iron.

  “I don’t think so,” I snorted.

  “Makeup only enhances beauty, it doesn’t create beauty,” Becca stated, releasing a loose curl.

  I shrugged, “Whatever floats your boat,”

  “You’re just saying that to shut me up,” Becca declared, looping another strand of my hair around the curling iron.

  “You got me,” I giggled.

Becca shook her head but continued curling my hair.

 “Are you going to have enough time to get ready?” I asked.

 “We’re already ready,” Sarah answered.

 “How come I didn’t get to help you get ready?” I pouted.

  “1. Because you take too long in the God- **** shower and 2. you have no sense of style,” Becca listed off on her fingers.

  “True, true,” I conceded

I did have the style of a grandma after all.

 “What exactly are you doing to my hair?” I asked, changing the subject.

 “Curling your hair,” she answered, twining around the piece of hair around the rod.

 I rolled my eyes at my reflection, “Obviously, what’s your ultimate plan?”

 “Like I’m gonna tell you! What’s the fun in that!” Becca proclaimed, almost burning with the iron.

 “Watch it with that thing. I kind of do not want to be burned to death!” I hissed, jolting my head away.

 “Sorry, I’m almost done,” she apologized.

Twenty-minutes later my hair was loosely curled with a fish-tail looking braid circling my head. It was quite unique yet I loved it. I laced up my converse and gave myself one once over in the mirror. I looked…beautiful. 

I smiled at my reflection and turned to my friends. Sarah was wearing a glittery black romper paired with red pumps and a simple black choker with a small ruby heart hanging from it. I think it was a gift from Dereck on their four-year anniversary last month.

Becca was wearing a skin-tight red number with a pair of black pumps. Sarah’s hair lay straight and shiny, at her waist and Becca’s hair was natural in wild curls. They were stunning truly, and I told them so. They returned the compliment of course, but seriously, they could be rich and famous models and leave me here in the dust. Dereck arrived ten minutes early and honked the horn of his black Nissan Altima.

Sarah called him and scolded him, telling him he needed to be a gentleman and come to the door. Becca and I just laughed at her antics and grabbed our clutches and jackets (and keeping my promise to my brother, wore my bulky leather jacket, despite Becca’s protests). 

The doorbell sounded through the hallway and my brother answered the door, threatening Dereck’s life if anything happened to me as a greeting. Dereck swore on his life but my brother, still not satisfied, made sure I had a small can of pepper spray and a rape whistle. I took them to settle his nerves and we walked out and piled into Dereck’s car. 

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