of dolls and scars

I’m waiting for my tram.
My red painted lips help disguise my bed hair as a deliberate kitten do and give me something to hide behind, a person more confident and ready to fight than is true.
The raspberry muffin I’m eating lets me forget for a short while how tired I am and how terrified.
It’s just another day that started with a hangover headache and a man’s body beside me. I climbed on top of him before he quite woke up. His hands gripped my hips and I let him wrestle me onto my back. We lazily ground against each other for a while and the gentleness rocked me steadily into the morning sun streaming through the windows. Sex always makes it better, lets you feel close, if but for a moment. I felt warm towards him while I watched him in the shower, swaying back and forth under the hot water and I resisted the urge to jump in with him. Though I was keen to have him leave fairly early, I felt instantly lonely the second the door closed behind him. I could have confided in him, asked for help, but nowadays it's hard to trust anyone.
The tram door closes behind me, like a hiss and sends a chill down my neck. I take a seat next to an elderly woman clutching her groceries. Nerves gather in the pit of my stomach and argue back and forth with my thoughts which gather speed as the tram accelerates. I bite down hard on my lip and by the time I reach my stop and tread down from the steps with shaky knees, the red has vanished from my lips and there is nothing left to protect me from what is standing right before me.