Chapter 8
2150words
I curled up in the darkness, feeling like a skinned animal, every inch of exposed flesh stinging in the air.
My bedroom became my tomb, curtains drawn tightly shut, walling off the judgmental world outside.
The only light came from my phone screen, flickering persistently before my eyes like a malicious ghost, each illumination bringing a new wave of torture.
TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. My name had become fuel for an internet feeding frenzy.
Those who had once looked at me with admiration at the dance were now crafting the cruelest jokes about me.
They turned my old unflattering photos into memes and made my before-and-after makeup comparisons into "plastic surgery failure" case studies.
Savannah's video spread like a virus, each like, each share another nail hammered into my pillory of shame.
"Fraud."
"Disgusting."
"She should be banned from using makeup."
"Has anyone doxxed her address yet? I really want to see this monster in person."
My stomach churned violently as I rushed to the bathroom and dry heaved over the toilet. I couldn't vomit anything, only bitter bile burning my throat.
I looked at the pale, tear-stained face in the mirror, as Savannah's cruel words echoed in my mind.
"Beneath the painted skin, this is all there is."
I scrubbed my face vigorously, as if trying to tear off this layer of skin along with the bones underneath. But it was useless—those patchy acne scars, the uneven skin tone, all stubbornly reminded me that this was me, the unlovable, real Juliet Lim.
Two days now.
I locked myself in my room, neither eating nor drinking, like a walking corpse.
My mother's worried knock came from outside the door. "Jules? Honey, would you eat something?"
I buried my head in my pillow, pretending I was already dead.
Social death. I'd seen this term online before and thought it was just an exaggeration. Now I understand, it's real torture. Your physical body is still alive, but your social identity has been publicly executed.
Just when I thought I would completely rot away in this silent suffocation, the doorbell rang.
Once, then again, persistent and determined.
My mom went to open the door. I heard a deep, familiar voice that made my heart stop.
"I'm looking for Jules."
It was Leo.
I heard my mom's hesitant response, then footsteps coming upstairs.
Someone knocked on my bedroom door. "Jules?"
It was his voice.
Panic seized me instantly. I couldn't let him see me like this. I couldn't.
I scrambled off the bed, trying to lock the door, but it was too late.
The doorknob turned, and Leo walked in.
He stood against the light from the hallway, his tall figure completely enveloping me in shadow. He closed the door, and the room fell into dimness again, but I could feel his gaze, falling on me as precisely as a scanner.
"Get out." My voice was as hoarse as sandpaper.
He didn't move or speak, just quietly looked at me.
I curled up in the corner, hugging myself with both arms, as if doing so could block his scrutinizing gaze.
"Don't look at me." I was almost begging.
He finally walked toward me, step by step, steady as if traversing a minefield. He crouched down in front of me, keeping his gaze at the same level as mine.
"I see it," he said softly, without a trace of contempt or surprise, merely stating a fact.
My tears broke through without warning. "I told you... I'm just a fraud..."
"You're not," his voice was soft, yet carried an indisputable strength.
He reached out, his movement as gentle as if touching a fragile work of art, using his thumb to wipe away the tears on my cheek. "This," he pointed to the flaw on my face, "and this," he pointed to his own heart, "are both parts of us. Whether hidden or displayed, they shouldn't be judged by others."
I froze, looking at him through my sobs.
He didn't say those clichés like "you're beautiful." He just acknowledged my imperfections, and then told me that it was okay.
He pulled me up from the cold floor and embraced me. His hug was warm, carrying the faint smell of turpentine and paint. I buried my face in his chest and cried loudly, crying like a lost child who had finally found the way home.
He didn't say anything, just held me tightly, allowing my tears to soak his expensive shirt.
Just then, my phone started vibrating frantically again. My body stiffened, and that fear of being judged swept over me once more.
Leo took my phone, his brows furrowed.
"It's Ryder." There was a hint of complexity in his tone.
He handed the phone to me. The screen didn't show those malicious comments, but screenshots of messages sent by friends.
It was Ryder Kang's Instagram Story.
He used his account with hundreds of thousands of followers to directly post Savannah's TikTok video, with a line written in bright red text:
"So this is what the Queen Bee of Northgate does? Bullying a girl because she has acne? Pathetic."
Then, he posted a selfie with the camera extremely close to his face, where even his pores were clearly visible, with the caption:
"Real faces have texture. Accept reality, Savannah Pierce. Or maybe you should worry about your own terrible character instead of someone else's skin."
The storm began.
Ryder's fans, those young people who admired and followed him, like a well-trained army, instantly flooded Savannah's comment section.
The fire of war was directly ignited.
"Holy shit, Ryder's publicly calling her out!"
"What garbage is Savannah Pierce?"
"Supporting Jules! Who the fuck doesn't get acne during puberty?"
I looked at those screenshots, my hands trembling slightly. I never knew Ryder, why would he help me?
"That's just how he is." Leo's voice came from above my head. "He can't stand bullies who pick on the weak."
Leo's protection was a quiet harbor, while Ryder's protection was a magnificent counterattack. They were like knights of light and shadow, who cleaved two different paths of light for me in my darkest moment.
But the light was still too faint, not enough to dispel the darkness in my heart. I was still a coward hiding in my shell.
"This is useless..." I mumbled. "They've already seen me at my ugliest..."
"Jules," Leo held my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes. His gaze was deep and sharp, as if seeing through my soul. "Your greatest weapon isn't concealer, it isn't foundation."
He paused, then said word by word: "It's yourself."
I looked at him in confusion.
"Savannah said you're a fraud because you 'deceived' everyone with makeup." The corner of his mouth curved into a cold smile. "So tell them just how powerful your so-called 'deception' really is."
My heart began to race as I seemed to understand his meaning.
Fear and a strange excitement battled in my veins.
"Take out your toolkit," Leo commanded, with an undeniable authority in his tone. "Show them how an artist works."
He wants me to... livestream?
To show my "ugly" face in front of everyone who mocked me, and then transform it into something else?
The thought was so crazy it made me tremble.
"I can't do it..."
"You can." Leo's gaze was intense. "You're not a coward, Jules. You're a warrior, just that your battlefield is on your skin. Now, go fight."
His words were like a key, inserted into the deepest lock of my heart, then suddenly turned.
That dream of becoming a Hollywood special effects makeup artist, that ambition I had wrapped in layers of insecurity, suddenly let out a deafening roar.
Yes.
What Savannah attacked was not just my appearance, but my art, my faith.
If I were to fall now, it would be like admitting she was right. That my skills were nothing but a shameful trick.
No.
I took a deep breath, stood up from the ground, and walked toward my makeup table.
That corner I had regarded as sacred ground had now become my arsenal.
I turned on the ring light, mounted my phone in the center, and pressed the Instagram live button.
I wasn't wearing makeup.
I let the camera, with its most merciless clarity, focus on my face that was just crying, swollen, and full of flaws.
The number of viewers in the livestream instantly began to soar. Dozens, hundreds, thousands.
The comment section was immediately flooded with mockery.
"Oh my god, she really dared to show up bare-faced."
"Warning: High energy content ahead!"
"Is this a horror movie livestream?"
I didn't look at those comments, I just stared at the disheveled version of myself in the camera, then opened my mouth, my voice slightly trembling from nervousness.
"Hello everyone," I said, "I am Juliet Lim, the one you've been calling a 'fraud'."
My eyes scanned across the bottles and containers on the table, and there I found strength.
"Many people say I deceived everyone with makeup. They think beneath this face, I am nothing."
I picked up a bottle of makeup remover, soaked a cotton pad, and vigorously wiped my face, as if performing a sacred ritual.
"I used to think so too." My voice choked up. "Ever since I got my first pimple at twelve, I've lived in fear of mirrors. I hated my face, hated myself. Those mockeries and malicious nicknames followed me like shadows."
Tears slid down my cheeks, mixing with the makeup remover.
"So I started to learn makeup. At first, I just wanted to cover up my acne. Later, I discovered that I could paint on my own face. I could change the shape of my eyebrows, enhance my contours, and create any look I wanted to become."
Facing the camera, I showed my most severe acne scar. "This is ugly, right? It made me suffer, made me feel inferior. But it also taught me how to blend colors, how to recreate skin texture, how to perform magic with light and shadow."
The direction of the comments began to change imperceptibly.
The mockery decreased, replaced by confusion and silence.
"Then," I picked up my special effects makeup cream and tools, "I discovered that I could do much more than just this."
My hands became steady. In my professional field, I was the king.
Facing the camera, I began my most skilled work. I didn't make myself into a beautiful woman, quite the opposite.
Using skin wax, paint, and gel, I started to create a grotesque scar on my face.
I demonstrated to them how to create the effect of rolled-back skin with alcohol gel, how to mix different shades of red and purple paint to achieve realistic bruising, and how to use fake blood to create various textures of coagulated and flowing blood.
My movements became faster and more confident. I was no longer the crying victim, but a focused artist, putting on a magnificent performance on my own canvas.
The number of viewers in the livestream exceeded ten thousand, then twenty thousand.
The comment section went completely wild.
"What the FUCK?! She's a special effects makeup artist?!"
"This technique must be movie-level!"
"My god, I apologize for what I said earlier."
"This isn't fucking deception, this is art!"
When I finished the final stroke, half of my face was my original, flawed bare skin, while the other half featured a horrifyingly realistic fake scar that could easily fool anyone.
I raised my head, looking directly at the camera, that small, cold glass hole.
"This is me." My voice was calm and powerful. "A girl who loves to dream, a monster with appearance anxiety, a future special effects makeup artist."
"My face is my canvas, not my evidence of guilt. My skill is my weapon, not a tool to deceive people."
"If you think pursuing beauty and creating art is a form of deception," I moved closer to the camera, letting that realistic scar occupy the entire screen, "then let me show you just how far I can 'deceive'."
I turned off the livestream.
The room was dead silent.
I looked at my face on the phone screen, half bare-faced and half "disfigured," watched as the viewer count finally froze at an astonishing fifty-three thousand, saw the comment section completely reversed, flooded with "RESPECT" and "QUEEN," my body trembling slightly from exhaustion.
Leo had been standing behind me the whole time, like a silent mountain.
I turned around and looked at him.
He didn't say anything, just walked over and gently touched the fake scar on my face with his fingertip.
Then, he took out his phone and showed me a news notification:
"The president of the Hollywood Special Effects Makeup Artists Guild shared a high school student's livestream, saying 'this is the most talented young artist I have ever seen'."
My livestream had blown up the entire internet.
