Page 31 of Golden Burn

But in the end, Odin reminded me of his true nature. He discarded me as quickly as he had protected me and went back to ignoring my existence, ultimately pushing me back once again into the cage fortified by my hatred toward him.

As the first hour ticks over and my fingers turn soggy from being in my mouth, I revert to a different method of distraction. In my backpack,there’s a small makeup bag and Dom’s iPad. “Do you have YouTube?” I ask him.

“Yes. Just don’t subscribe to any channels,” he says with a small smile. The plush chair no longer suits my needs, so I slip onto the floor opposite Dom and Ford. It takes me a few minutes to find a video I want to watch and then another minute to set myself up. The only mirror I have is one of the eyeshadow palettes. It’s grainy, but it will have to do.

My mom never went a day without anything on her skin. She wore the same foundation for twenty years—Estee Lauder Double Wear in shade Cool Bone. I bought several bottles for her birthdays and Christmases, and she was always just as happy to receive it the tenth time as she was the first. The day she caught me trying some on my own skin, she burst into a smile and ordered me to stay home from school so we could go shopping. I was only young, maybe fourteen, but Mom didn’t chastise me and remind me of my youthful skin. She was just glad to get to share in the moment, to be able to explore my new curiosity together.

I worked at a local diner for a few years before I went to college. Every paycheck I got, I would go to the nearest Sephora and buy one makeup item. A mascara, lipstick, a single eyeshadow, and it didn’t take long before the desk in my bedroom was stained and patchy, overflowing with half open palettes and dripping foundation bottles.

I would spend an hour watching makeup tutorials before going to parties, experimenting with a bold lip, or a winged eyeliner, or cheeks so sharp they made me look sick. Now my makeup routine has whittled down to a measly ten minutes, and some days I barely have enough time to look in the mirror before I race out the door. Now, all my products are drenched in dust in the draws under my bathroom sink. Neglected and out of date, evidence of the things I could do before I was swallowed up by adulthood.

I often think about whether putting on the mask of my choosing—fierce or soft or romantic—was just a phase. A youthful exploration of my identity. Since I gave up on it so quickly, it must have been, right?

Shrugging to myself, I use the time I have on the plane to remember the techniques and skills, and even learn some new ones.

Ford’s eyes are on me as I take stock of all my supplies—foundation, concealer, a contour stick, mascara, eyeliner, a small eyeshadow quad with four different hues of brown and a double blush palette. I didn’t specify anything on the list when I gave it to Dom, but I’m impressed with how well he did.

The YouTuber I’m watching casually intersperses her tutorial with snapshots of a crime documentary she recently watched. I snort when she makes a comment about Stockholm Syndrome being hard to avoid if the kidnappers are hot.

Dom puts his laptop away and stands to go to the back of the plane, probably to speak to Odin, the crybaby. When my cheeks feel hot from Ford’s attention so focused on me, I take advantage of him being alone. “Can I share a room with you?”

Ford does a double take. “Come again?”

The eyeshadow brush in my hand wobbles as some turbulence bumps the plane. “Wherever we are going this time, can I stay with you? I can sleep on the floor.”

“No way,” Ford snorts and crosses his arms. In my periphery, I can see the tattoos enveloping his wrist like octopus tentacles. They scared me the first time I saw them, now I find them comforting. Ford’s outward expression is tough, huge, but it’s clear he has a soft center. I feel the safest with him.

“Why not?” I say, offended. “I don’t snore.”

“Because I stay with Dom.”

I lean closer to the mirror and apply the eyeshadow in short, precise strokes. “But surely he won’t mind.”

Dom approaches us again, slowing his long strides as he nears his seat. Under his breath, Ford mutters. “He will when his husband doesn’t fuck him to sleep like he normally does.”

The eyeshadow palette tumbles from my hand as I jerk upright. “Husband?”

Dom sighs. “Ford. Could you not be so brazen?”

“She’d have figured it out, eventually.” He shrugs. “And, anyway, she’s part of the family now.”

I look at the two of them more closely. “You’re… married?” Dom returns his attention to his laptop, while Ford runs his eyes over him.

“Yup,” Ford announces proudly. Dom simply nods.

Dropping my voice to a whisper, I ask, “Does Odin know?”

Ford chuckles. “Yes, Etta. He knows.”

“He officiated the ceremony himself,” Dom says.

I lean back against the chair. Stunned. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Ford says with a lopsided grin.

Makes sense. The two of them seem close, able to read each quickly and proactively. They are constantly sharing secretive looks and, while in Scotland, spent the whole day hidden within the confines of their little house while Odin and I circled each other like sharks on our own.

Ford reaches across the gap between them and squeezes Dom’s thigh playfully. Dom swats him away with a hiss. Yep, definitely married.

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