Chapter 4: The Vanishing Act
The harsh overhead bulb in Amy’s dorm room reflected off the vanity mirror, a rectangle of unforgiving light. Amy sat rigidly on the tufted pink stool, staring at her own face. Her reflection looked back – pale, blank, the familiar constellation of freckles stark across her nose and cheeks. Mark’s voice echoed faintly in the foggy recesses of her mind: ‘Like tiny stars…’ His fingertip tracing them one late night over Kirchhoff’s circuit diagrams. She blinked. The memory dissolved like smoke.
Her hand moved without conscious thought. Picked up the tube of thick, beige foundation. Squeezed a dollop onto the back of her other hand. Dabbed the sponge. Began to paint.
Methodical strokes. Swiping, blending, covering. The sponge rasped softly against her skin. Each freckle vanished beneath the opaque layer. Her skin became a smooth, featureless plane. Unreal. The scent of chemicals – talc and wax – filled her nostrils, sharp and artificial. She leaned closer to the mirror, tilting her head slightly. Checking for gaps. Ensuring total coverage. The blankness in her eyes deepened.
A soft ping shattered the silence. Her phone, face-up beside a spilled pot of glittery highlighter, lit up. A text notification. Chad’s name flashed.
Her hand froze mid-stroke. The sponge hovered near her temple. She stared at the glowing screen. Slowly, mechanically, she set the sponge down. Wiped foundation residue onto a crumpled tissue already stained coral-pink. Picked up the phone. Her thumbprint unlocked it.
The message was stark: ‘Ditch the glasses today, babe.’
No greeting. No explanation. Just the command.
Amy’s gaze flicked to her reflection. To the thick, black-framed glasses perched on top of her unnaturally sleek, dark hair. She’d pushed them up there absentmindedly while applying concealer. They were hers. Comfortable. Familiar. A shield. She reached up. Touched the cool plastic frame. Hesitated.
Chad’s voice, low and compelling from the lab yesterday, slithered into her thoughts: ‘Relax, princess… We’ll clean it up together.’ The warmth that followed his command, the blissful silencing of the anxious hum in her head… it surged back, a phantom sensation.
Her fingers closed around the glasses. Lifted them off her head. She stared at them lying in her palm. The lenses seemed to warp the light, distorting the frilly pink bedspread behind them. Mark’s earnest face swam briefly in her mind’s eye, replaced instantly by Chad’s smirking satisfaction.
She placed the glasses deliberately on the vanity. Pushed them away, towards the clutter of lipsticks and mascara wands. Out of easy reach.
Turning back to the mirror, she blinked rapidly. Her vision was slightly blurred at the edges without correction. Distant objects softened. She picked up the tube of glossy lipstick – a shade Chad had once called ‘hot’. Uncapped it. The waxy, fruity scent mingled with the foundation smell. She leaned in again.
Her reflection tilted its head. Just a fraction. Eyes widened slightly. Lips pursed softly. She applied the lipstick with more care than the foundation. Following the natural curve, exaggerating the cupid’s bow just a touch. The glossy finish caught the light, making her lips look fuller, softer. She pressed them together. Blotted lightly with a tissue.
"Hi," she murmured to the mirror. Her voice sounded softer. Higher. Deliberately light. "Hey there." She practiced a small, closed-mouth smile. Head tilted again. Eyes holding the reflection’s gaze. It felt… performative. Empty. But the shape of it was different. Less guarded. More open. Appealing.
She picked up a fluffy powder brush. Dusted it lightly over her nose, her forehead. Smoothed the foundation’s finish. Brushed a stray, perfectly straightened strand of hair behind her ear. The movement was fluid. Unhurried. Feminine.
The girl in the mirror stared back. Flawless foundation. Glossy lips. Hair sleek and dark, framing a face devoid of its familiar constellations. Eyes slightly unfocused but wide, framed by meticulously darkened lashes. The tilt of the head. The practiced softness around the mouth. She looked… curated. Polished. Like a doll arranged just so.
A doll Chad had instructed.
The blankness behind her eyes remained. But the surface was very slightly softer. Rounder. More conventionally cute. Pleasing. Designed to elicit the desired reaction.
She stood up. Smoothing the tight, baby-blue sweater she’d chosen over her usual band t-shirt. Adjusted the waistband of the short, flared skirt. Glanced once more at the abandoned glasses lying on the vanity amidst the chaos of her transformation. They looked like artifacts from another life.
She picked up her small, glittery purse. Didn’t look back. The door clicked shut softly behind her as she stepped out into the hallway, ready to meet the expectation hanging in the air like Chad’s chemical mist.
Women nerd in light blue tight sweater and flared black mini skirt, standing in dorm room. Straightened brown hair and pale skin, heavy feminine makeup, blue eyes, shoes