I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the opposite wall. I absently run...

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the opposite wall. I absently run my fingers through my hair. "You're always doin' that."
"Doing what?"
"Fixin' your hair or makeup."
"So, what's wrong with trying to look good?"
"Nothin', unless it becomes an obsession."
I put my hands down, wishing I could superglue them to my sides. "I'm not obsessed."
He shrugs. "Is it so important that people think you're beautiful?"
"I don't care what people think," I lie.
"'Cause you are…beautiful, I mean. But it shouldn't matter so much.