More concealer.
She proceeded to pick up the tube, and apply more of it, all while keeping track of her appearance in the mirror. Her eyes had sunken beyond rescue, and on addition to that, there were dark circles, to just bring about the fact that how much sunken they were.
Damn.
Much more of that under-eye cream.
After five more minutes of struggling with multiple tubes of creams and lotions, the area under her eyes didn't look that black. They were, by then, faint darkish splotches, circling the lower border. But the sinking, that was beyond help.
And, I look like I just had a marathon orgy.
Valerie stared at the mirror for sometime. She had substantially lost some more weight, more than she would have preferred. Her high cheekbones would look better, if there was some flesh in her cheeks. Her nose seemed more pointy than ever, now completely devoid of the well rounded, oval shape that her face used to behold. It was just….skin on bones. A live skeleton. And, then there were her eyes, large, a little bit too large, and so utterly green. Scary green.
Not even today. I don't look pretty not even today.
She stared some more. And then, suddenly, as if seized by an impulse, picked up the kohl and fiercely blackened her eyes. Her entire bottle of rage, and frustration, it seemed that the small kohl pencil was not enough to vent out through. She pressed the kohl on her eyes so hard, that when she put it down, there was a small cut at the corner of her left eye, with a tiny drop of blood trickling down her cheek.
Great. There goes my foundation.
She wiped it off her cheek, using the sleeve of her trench coat as an wipe. It was vintage, but she did not mind. It did not matter to her anymore. Strangely, when she wiped off the blood, she found that her hands were trembling.
What happened, darling? Are you afraid?
Straightening her sleek black hair in its perfect, immaculate bob, she turned away from the mirror. Walking away from the bathroom, she gave her apartment one last look. Some thousands of pizza boxes and cola cans were lying everywhere, upside down, under the couch, over the TV, on the couch…it was chaos. Her blanket was hanging from the ceiling, one of its ends dangling rather awkwardly in the mild breeze that was coming through the open window. A revolting smell of decaying food was prevalent in the air. It was hardly relevant to her, at that moment.
She kicked aside one box, and made straight for the door. She picked up her umbrella from the umbrella stand, took out her key, and went out, slamming the door quite loudly behind her.
It was not raining when she got out, but in London, an umbrella is a necessary companion to a walk. London can be a moody bitch. Valerie swung the umbrella mildly as she walked, a soft hum forcibly brought on her lips. People walked on, past her, too busy with their chats, and their night-time plans. A Friday evening, a bright, lively summer evening, and there was a general pleasantry in the environment. The warmth of the evening was a fresh respite to her, a relief from the stench of pizza boxes and cola cans. The alight pubs, restaurants on both sides were a treat for the eye, again, a relief from the boring, monochromatic ivory of her own walls. It was delightful, the relief, and the morbidity that had been eating up her head, previously, started to disappear now. She felt free.
Free to choose.
The familiar bright signboard of the pub was visible, as Valerie turned a corner. She stared at it, the board, for a little while. Yellow LED adorned the border, while the word 'Beatrice', was scrawled in an elaborate cursive, pretty red lights making the contrast perfect. It was eye-catching.
Easy conversations, chats and casual banters greeted her, as she stepped inside. People were seated, occupying all the fifteen tables and the sixty chairs, scattered in a random neatness, all around the large, spacious room. The long, oak table in front of the counter, furnished with high stools, was also occupied in its most parts. Across the room, a group of men, hoisted a game of darts, loud cheering, and friendly slang accompanying the event. The smoking room, on the left, was occupied, meaning more people. A stair led right to upstairs, the pub's 'solid food' section, and there were noises, cheers, and the sound of pool being played, coming from there. A delicious, yearning smell of malt was lulling everyone that walked in. The large glass window on one side, overlooked the busy street, and beyond that, Thames. Lovely.
"Look who it is!" Claire Carter, a perky, twenty two year old greeted her. Her long blonde hair was neatly tied in a braid, and her loamy brown eyes shone with delight as Valerie occupied the corner most stool at the counter. "The rarest of 'em all, aren't ye now?" her pretty, Scot accent made her voice sound like a sweet song.
"One Ginger Ale for ye, Valerie?" she asked, turning back for the pump.
"Yeah. Hit me."
She sipped the delicious drink quietly, savouring the bitterness it produced in the tongue. Her eyes constantly scanned the customers, so happy, so careless, and for a moment, pondered on what might be the reason to their unexplained silly delights. Then, giving it up as another lost cause, she finished her drink, and got up. Claire peered at her in surprise.
"Leaving this soon?"
"Life's too short."
She was startled at her own voice. Or rather, her own tone. She always had this bland, monotone when she addressed others, not letting one drop of emotion trickle out. But this time, when she spoke, her voice sounded different. She sounded tired. She was tired.
"You okay?" Claire asked. "You sound funny."
"Yeah. Yeah. Just a little off."
"Have a good day."
"You too."
Her pace was fast. She didn't spare the occupants of the room another glance, as she sped out of the room, so cramped and noisy, and chaotic. For a fleeting moment, she had the compulsive urge to blast through the room, and kill all those pesky creatures. She shook her head in utter disdain, and reached for the door.
"Miss Goldstein?"
She looked up at the speaker. Valerie had always been one on the tall side, her head reaching precisely the five feet nine mark, but the man that greeted her, was much taller. He was wearing a classy, black suit, completed with shiny, buckled shoes, and a black scarf. His dark black hair was slicked back neatly, and his green eyes shone brightly, engraved in his pale, pointed face. Classy face.
"Good evening." he said.
Valerie eyes the man with the least amount of interest. "Can I help you?" she asked, not really bothered about the possible reply. One of her hand had already unlatched the knob, and was holding the door open, just waiting for someone to get out. Or go in.
"I have some possible business prospects, that I would like to discuss with you, as I believe that it will be beneficiary for both of us." he said, his accent sounding a lot like those from the Upper side of London.
Valerie sighed, and looked up to the man. "Not tonight." she said. "Not tonight."
And she walked out, leaving the man to be.