His heart thudded in his chest as he lifted a shaky hand to his lips, staring into his own eyes through the mirror. They had tears brimming in the corners, but he still put the tube of lipstick across his lips, highlighting them in bright red. It was applied perfectly, after years of forced practice. He hated that he was so good at this when he’d prefer to be chipping his nails and getting bruised up playing paintball. He wouldn't allow the tears to fall, though. He wouldn’t give his mother the satisfaction of seeing him break down.
Stepping from the bathroom into the family room, he stood before his mother in a plain, conservative dress and perfectly applied makeup. She smiled and he died.
“You look beautiful, Anna.” His mother used the name that made him feel inadequate. Then, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed against him, his own developed chest unbound and crushed against hers.
“Tha…” He couldn’t finish saying that; it hurt his throat too much.
“Let’s go get some dinner. Come now, smile! It’s your birthday.”
It was a day he least felt like smiling.
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