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Leo stood in front of a bathroom mirror, rubbing a cleansing gel onto his face.
He should have thought about it sooner, before he put the makeup on. Now that he desperately needed to take it off, he had no proper way of doing it.
It started innocently enough. He just wanted to feel pretty for a while. He had all this makeup just sitting in his drawer after that one phase of falling into the MUA rabbit hole on YouTube, and it seemed like a lazy Saturday was the perfect day to finally make use of it. Summer was starting, and that always made Leo long for bright colors and fun looks. He had a certain vibe in mind, and he was so sure that he would finally look into the mirror to find something worth looking at.
But no. If anything, the makeup made it worse.
Lipstick on a pig, Leo thought to himself as he caught his somewhat foreign face in the reflection.
He started rubbing harder, foam getting into his eyes. He needed to get the glitter out somehow.
It was so dumb of him. Why did he even need to feel pretty for? It’s not like there was anyone who would look at him, even. Not with everything else he was. Some pretty colors slapped on his face wouldn’t change a thing.
It’s not like something as superficial as looks was important. He knew that. It was vain and egotistical to try to make himself attractive. He had no one to be pretty for. No one to impress, because no one gave a fuck. Leo could exist or not, and it wouldn’t make a difference to anyone. He was just… there. Nothing good about him.
Maybe that was it? Maybe, since he couldn’t be good, he wanted to at least try for pretty.
He rinsed his face off and wiped it with a small towel. There was still some eyeliner stubbornly clinging to his lower eyelid, but most of the product was off, swirling down the drain in a colorful spiral. At least the physical evidence of another one of his failures was gone naw, and only the sticky residue of gel on his cheeks remained. The sensation made him uneasy, like his whole skin was wrong.
Leo had no reason to concern himself with being pretty. There was no one in his life to be pretty for. All compliments were strictly pleasantries, and no one meant anything by them. It was just a thing people did, calling each other hot and good-looking. It was like talking about the weather. Not actually genuine.
Besides, there was no point in being nice to look at. It was of no value to anyone. If they wanted pretty, they could look at paintings, or clothing, or an old building. No one looking for beauty in the world would ever look at Leonardo.
It was stupid. Wasteful, both in terms of good product and time. Pointless.
He was doomed from the start. Sure, he was excited. It wasn’t something he did often, putting on makeup and a nice outfit. Once a year, tops, and every time he ended up crying about feeling disgusted with himself. It was better to hide away, to stick to the shadows and the training clothes. Then, at least, he wasn’t paying attention to it.
Leo wanted to be pretty. But this was not a Make-A-Wish fundraiser.
He opened a portal straight into his bedroom. He didn’t need anyone finding him with eyes red from crying and cleansing gel that got into them.
Again, why was he concerned with being pretty? It was not important in life. It was not going to make him a better person, and it was not going to make anyone want him.
Maybe that was what it was about, being wanted.
Truth be told, he just missed the people in his life. Even if they were right there, even if he talked to them on a daily basis. They were just there, and they assumed he would be too, and no one tried anymore. And Leo so desperately wanted someone to try for him, to reach out. He wanted April to text him back more often than once every two weeks. He wanted his brothers to invite him to go do something, like play basketball or go to the skatepark. Just a little bit of initiative, so that he didn’t feel like he had to fight to get any sort of affection.
They weren’t bad people. When he was in a crisis, he could always count on them.
But sometimes it felt like that was the only time anyone was interested in him, like he was some twisted kind of depression porn. Like people only cared for their entertainment, and as soon as he told them everything, the moment he bared his soul in front of someone else, they would get bored with him.
Would they stay by his side if he were pretty?
He shook his head. No need to concern himself with such scenarios, it’s not like he could be pretty. His face just wasn’t cooperating, no matter how much makeup he put on.
He could not escape himself. It was always his own eyes looking at him in the reflection, no matter how much of the rest of his face he didn’t recognize. There was no escaping who he was, and everyone around him knew it. They knew who Leo was. All of his faults.
Being pretty wouldn’t change that.
Who was he even doing it for? No one in his life would ever feel attracted to him. He was just not the kind of person people were attracted to. Maybe when he was younger, but not anymore. Pretty was a privilege, and Leo gave it up a long time ago.
Now in bed, he wrapped himself up in a blanket, almost like a barrier from the world that didn’t want him.
He let go of love a long time ago. He knew himself, and at his core, he was unlovable. Even if people said otherwise, if they reassured him over and over again, they would drift away and leave him alone. Always, always alone. In the end, it was just Leo and the darkness of his brain, and it was all-consuming. But maybe someone could still want him, even if it was for a short amount of time.
And if Leo just succeeded at making himself pretty enough, someone could want him. Maybe it wouldn’t be anyone Leo would want back, but would it matter? How much would he be willing to sacrifice for that short, fleeting feeling of being desired?
A person would have to be an absolute, disgusting freak, and desperate at that, to want someone like Leo. No matter how much makeup he put on, no matter what kind of outfit, Leo would always be rotten at his core, and somehow, everyone could see that.
There was no point in concerning himself with something as stupid as being pretty when there were so many traits of his that made him fundamentally undesirable.
Leo sobbed into his pillow. He wanted so little. A few kind words, a lingering touch on his shoulder, an honest smile. Someone to be there for him, someone to treat him like he was more than just stale air in the rarely visited room. Even for a moment.
So what if he had to kill a piece of his soul to get that? So what if he had to perform what felt like a humiliation ritual on himself? So what if putting all that on didn’t make him feel pretty, but like he was an object?
There was no point. He was too grossed out with himself to even attempt showing someone. No one would want him, no one would find him pretty, and no one would give him the kind of love he so desperately wanted.
Leo was aware of how broken he was. Painfully so. If he ever wanted to feel wanted again, he would have to lie, to hide the worst part of himself, because sharing them with people made them see who he really was, and that was someone unworthy. Of time, of attention, of love. This was fine. He made his peace with it. It was only sometimes, late at night, or when he woke up, or when he looked in the mirror, or when he was watching a movie, or any random moment, that he felt like his soul was getting ripped apart by the pain of being so fundamentally unwanted.
Okay, so maybe more often than sometimes.
But he was alright. He was. It didn’t matter, just as much as being pretty didn’t matter. He could settle for useful. Or for docile and agreeable. Hell, he would settle for being entertainment. He would tell everyone of his faults, of all the things that made him, just to keep their attention for a little while. Just so he could feel like they wanted to keep listening.
They all stopped, eventually. Listening. Responding. Giving a fuck.
Leo wouldn’t give a fuck about himself either if he were in their shoes. It was fine. It was a natural consequence of what Leo was.
He could try. He could make himself useful, he could perform tasks, he could make jokes, he could put on makeup and a nice outfit, hw could try to learn new things to become a more interesting person, he could give away the shirt on his back and his last sip of water, and it would never be enough.
For one day, he wanted to feel like he could be more. He wanted to feel confident. Like he was worth something. Like he had a place in this world.
Well. Lipstick on a pig, the saying went.
There was only one option for people like Leo. He would have to just cry it out. Of course, a normal person would just get over it, but Leo was damaged goods, so he had to sob himself to sleep because of something as dumb as not feeling pretty.
He would wake up the next morning, and nothing would change. April still wouldn’t text him back, busy with her own life. His brothers would make plans among themselves, leaving him out, because he didn’t belong with them. That was alright. All natural consequences of what Leo was.
But, if he could have one wish right now? If he found a magical lamp, or if he threw a coin into the well, or if he had a birthday candle to blow out?
Leo would wish to be pretty.