The Public Were Disgusted by My Face

Their eyes said it all

Claire Franky
4 min readFeb 15, 2024


Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

I dipped two of my fingers into the smooth, creamy substance and brought them to my face. The smell was sublime — vanilla, my favorite scent.

It matches my personality.

With soft circular motions, I massaged the cream into my cheeks. My skin tingled with pleasure.

Once a thin layer rested upon my flesh, I gently tugged at the hard tubes nestled within my hair. As the rollers came away, my hair bounced freely and fell to my shoulders. I teased each strand with smoothing serum.

(Hair lube.)

I glided two long, black clips into the waves, pinning my hair back from my drizzled face. Then, I worked floss between my teeth.

A strange sensation filled me as I squirted a scented liquid onto my neck. I ignored it. But then the sensation intensified, almost to a burning.

It’s college all over again.

My face flushed with heat and I looked up into the mirror as flames erupted on my skin.

My face was red. Angry red.

I gasped and twisted the faucet before slinging cold water onto my face. I repeated the movement over and over, splashing everywhere until there was nothing left.

After patting my face dry with a towel, I stared into the mirror at my poor beetroot face.

I guess my mother was right — if I was allergic to the face mask last week, I would probably be allergic to it this week.

She’s so negative.

Two hours later, I pulled open the heavy door to the restaurant and strode through it, stopping short of the hostess’s desk. She held a phone to her ear and tapped on her computer.

As I waited, my phone buzzed with a message from my friend. “I’m late.”

Is it another illegitimate child or traffic?

The hostess slapped the phone down on the counter and asked, “Do you have a res…”

She trailed off as her eyes met my face. They bulged slightly which she tried to cover with a smile and then finished her question.