She sits in front of me. “Tina.”

As she takes off my nail polish with white cotton balls dipped in remover, we chat about what I’m doing here in Nevada. I spill about the shooting in Vegas. How Slade saved me and cleaned me and then held me all night. I also mention how amazing he’s been, lightly dropping in the fact that he’s had a few random outbursts, which terrified me. But, overall, it’s been dreamlike.

She places my left hand in the warm water as she begins pushing back the cuticles on my right. “You need to be careful, Lauren.” Her face darkens in warning.

“W-what do you mean?”

She holds my free hand in hers like a mother would.

“Some men go off to war and come back and can adjust. Others, they can’t manage life back at home. Don’t you think that maybe he’s pushing you away for your own safety? Or possibly acting in a way he can’t control?”

I shake my head. “No. No way. I don’t think it’s as serious as you’re saying.” I smile, but somehow, it all feels rehearsed. “Yes, he has been through hard times. But I think he’s just a man who likes things a certain way, and he doesn’t want commitment. Okay, so he doesn’t want a woman in his bed. But maybe that’s his thing. I know he can get aggressive, but maybe that’s just how these types of men are. Right?” My voice is jovial, but my chest tightens. The truth circles around my insides, but my heart won’t let it enter. No! That’s not him. “Anyway, in Vegas, he hurt others for me. But he’d never hurt me.”

She looks at me, face tight but eyes slightly narrowing. There is more she wants to say, but she doesn’t. With a hard swallow, she lifts my left hand from the water, dries it off with a plush white towel, and places my right inside the water bowl.

When she’s finished, I’m happy to realize that I don’t need to sit under a dryer for twenty minutes. With clean nails, I exchange phone numbers with her and promise to get lunch while I’m here.

“Lauren, please be careful, okay? You’re a great girl. But I’m not so sure you understand the gravity of—”

“I’ll be careful,” I exclaim with a smile, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Back in the room, I plop on the bed, feeling absolute relief. How long has it been since I’ve just gone natural without all the fuss of makeup? In LA, there’s so much emphasis on my looks and attractiveness. Sitting at the front of the real estate department, a client walks in, wanting to see the girl so that he can feel like the man.

I lift my gigantic silver makeup bag, emptying it all out on the beige bedspread. Highlighters and bronzers to show off my cheekbones. Coal and liquid liners for eyes and creamy nude liners for lips. Seven separate brushes, all for different parts of my face. I turn from the pile of makeup, frustrated at what I have to do to maintain my womanhood. Always, I plaster makeup on myself, but tonight, I’m going to say, Fuck it. No one on earth cares what a man looks like. All he needs is some swagger, and the world swoons.