That was what Felicia had wanted to see – in a way.
Her arm reached – her hamburger was repossessed. Her mouth bit into another pulping mass of bread, lettuce and meat, and Felicia sighed when her teeth tore the sliced gherkin from between the patty and the layer of mixed ketchup and mayonnaise. Even when she was little, she’d liked the taste of sour things, and the junk-food crunched together between her jaws as she watched the progress Elisabet was making in dressing herself. “Now see, can’t you feel difference!” she gushed, then placed her food back on the shelf when Elisabet’s awkward tugging caused an understated shock of panic to burst down her back.
“Elisabet – easy, easy,” she then hissed, skirted forward and pulling firmly on the hand that controlled the zipper, “This is a Rose Hemming dress, you’ll FUCKING break it if you’re too rough, alright? Let me do it.” A hand landing on Elisabet’s shoulder guided her around, turning her so that Felicia was able to have access to her back, and with a far more gentle and expert grip, she started to flatten the folds on either sides of the zipper, making it easier for her to eventually begin pulling it up. “My mother used to say that a woman should always see her clothes as an extension of herself – and as a costume. And sometimes, even armor, because people always judge with their eyes, it's human nature. People will say horrible things about her because she’s not a pleasant person, but one thing she’s certainly not is stupid. And I think it’s true. If you don’t feel very good, you put something else on, and no one would ever know – and if no one ever knows, then you’re fine.” It was a snugger fit than Felicia was expecting, but she had a good eye for getting a gage on people’s dress sizes by sight, and her judgement hadn’t failed her too much. When she’d secured the zipper at the back of Elisabet’s collar, upon the nap of her neck, she let out a satisfied sigh and snatched at her room-mate’s wrist.
“Come look at it in the mirror,” Felicia said, leading Elisabet toward her mirror; pausing only once to pick up her bag from the floor. She stood beside her as her stare surveyed Elisabet’s reflection, Elisabet seeing one thing that Felicia couldn’t guess, and Felicia seeing a project half-finished. She’d picked on Elisabet often for her looks, and for her oddities, and for her strange doings, but Felicia wasn't completely cruel; she could tell the girl, despite the roughness around the corners, wasn’t altogether tragic. At least, not in appearance.
“See?” she asked, propping her hands on her hips, canting her head to the side. “Not half-bad, is it? You read poetry, right? Then you read all the shit people write about beauty, right? So why would you want to run away from looking pretty? It’s absurd.” Her tongue took a feline trek around her lower lip as she hung her bag’s strap up on Elisabet’s wall, then unzipped it; a small make-up box was taken out, placed on the corner of her desk, and opened. “Do you want me to fix your face?”