The Face in the Mirror

Chapter Six: Something That Will Never be

Edited

There’s something wrong with me,

I know, I can feel it, see [it].

It doesn’t make sense

Why would you be here?

Don’t you fear

What I am?

Everybody else does, you should too.

There are only a few

Things, but they are large

They can charge

A whole torrent of bad things

They’ll just run rings

Around you, mess with your brain.

It’ll bring down a pour of rain

Soaking you from head to toe

And then, you’ll become my biggest foe.

Biggest, because you tried to like

Me, try to psych

Me into believing that you care.

That’s not fair,

Because you’ll be gone

Soon enough. Don’t let me fawn

Over something that will never be.

“What did you say!?”

“That- that boy…He knows something is up. He knows about us. I think he wants to convince her to not do this. The new kid…”

“Well…We will not let Alex come near him, will we M?”

Charlotte is the only person I talk to nowadays. She’s the only person who I really can talk to. She’s the only person who won’t judge me for being who I am, will understand my differences without telling me I’m nothing. Instead, she has helped me fix all that is wrong.

But why was that note meant for me? It would not have meant anything to Charlotte; and she never would have shown it to me. She would not need to, probably think it unimportant.

And yet it still will not leave me alone. It’s rattling in my skull; just when I think I’ve forgotten about it the thought bounces back into my head. I wish I could control what I think about, but that’s just one of the many skills I have yet to master.

Why would he write a little note to me? Granted, it was a very small note, but I know and he knows that it means something huge. So he wouldn’t have wrote it unless it was something that he really wanted to do. Which brings me back to the question: Why me? It has been unanimously agreed on by all parts of me that I am not important enough for something like that. It’s why Charlotte showed up in the first place.

The first time I ran to the bathroom upset was the first day that I saw Charlotte. She made me feel better about myself, though she didn’t have much to work with. Even I know that one to be true; it still is and probably always will be.

But why else would Charlotte have been there, waiting for me to finally see her?

She had to have known that there was one day when it would all finally become too much. Was she waiting for that day to come? Is she still waiting for the day to come when it all becomes hers? Because I feel like that day might be coming very soon. Does she know that? Is that the only reason that she’s still staying with me, helping me get through every day?

Was she planning on taking control from the day she saw how shattered I truly am?

“No,” I breathed aloud. Charlotte would never do that to anybody- especially not me. I mean to much to her.

But there were some things that she did say that I did not understand at all that day. They were muttered under her breath, and I’ve never really known what she had said. I do not think that they were very important at all, but they must have been to her, otherwise I don’t think she would have said them. They have to mean something to her, otherwise I would know what she said as well.

In all honestly, I do not know all that much about Charlotte. I have never known anything about her. I don’t know what makes her tick, what makes her smile, anything. Should I?

“It’s not unimportant. I’m sorry Char. But at least she’s not reading into it.”

~*~

“Who-Who are you?” My voice is shaky, trembling, no matter how much I wish that it weren’t. For a long moment, we lock eyes with each other. I am shocked with the resemblance that is between the two of us. She isn’t; I can see it in her eyes.

“Don’t you know?” Her voice is sickly sweet, and I rack my memory to see if I can remember her face.

Wait; I stop thinking for a moment. She is a reflection. She should not be able to talk. I should not be talking to her.

“I-I-I-I’m not crazy,” I stutter, talking more to myself that, if there is anybody else in the room. There isn’t.

“No, you’re not.” Her voice is gentle, calm, like she’s trying to talk to a three year old.

“Don’t talk down to me!” I snap at her. “Leave me alone!” I whisper harshly at her.

“No. I don’t leave those who need me,” She responds quietly, yet firmly. Her words bring out a warm feeling in my heart.

But still, I don’t respond to her. I turn around and walk out of the bathroom, not bothering to rub the tears off of my face, or fix the smudges. I don’t want to be around her anymore, don’t think I can handle it.

I stalk back to my room. Thankfully, I meet no one on the way there. I don’t want to talk to anybody. I don’t want to see anybody. I don’t want anybody to see me, especially not our guests, especially not like this.

There are few mirrors in my room. I’ve never liked looking at myself. I lock the door once I step inside. Against my better judgment, I step towards the mirror closest to me.

A few minutes later, I’m still standing there wondering if I imagined the whole thing before, or not. I’m still wondering whether or not I imagined that beautiful face in the mirror. Wonder whether or not that person, that face, really truly exists.

If it does, why did I see it? Why did she choose to show herself to me? Has she been hovering there the whole time? I don’t matter to anyone, yet she chose me.

But most importantly, who is she?

“Just a better version of me…”I whisper out loud, barely hearable, and walk over to my bed. I nestle myself in the pillows, the blanket, and try to calm my racing thoughts. It doesn’t work.