Jan. Week 3: A Long Weekend-Movies... Leah cleans up pretty well from the facial (Luck: -30, Suspicion: -15, Lust: -25).

She pawed at the chrome dispenser, grateful to find it fully stocked. The rolls were the cheap, off-brand kind that disintegrated if you looked at them wrong, but for her purposes—triage, not comfort—they worked. She yanked off yards at a time, wadding great clumps in her fist and attacking her face first, scrubbing at the sticky lines that trailed from nose to chin, eyelid to ear. The tissue shredded on impact, leaving behind a snowstorm of lint and bits that stuck to the wetness, but at least it was something. She dabbed at her eyes, careful not to grind Howard’s DNA into her lashes.

Her hair was a wreck, strands glued to her temple in ropes, the rest frizzed out like she’d just escaped a small fire. She blotted her neck and collarbone, then sized up the damage to her blouse: most of the mess had stayed above the neckline, but one ooze-trail was busy soaking its way through the polyester toward her bra. She lifted the fabric and blotted underneath, pinching and rolling the sticky patches between rough globs of paper, then went to work on her hands, scrubbing the smell off with a reckless, angry motion.

It wasn’t just about hygiene or dignity; it was tactical. If she missed a spot—if she walked out to Daniel with a splotch of jizz on her cheek or a streak across her throat—she’d be ruined in more than one way. She couldn’t count on the dark theater to hide her. She did her best and steeled herself before heading to the theater to join Daniel.