I pass by the mirror in my room and freeze; stop to look. Who the fuck is the girl who's staring back at me? She looks so normal, yet so different. There's definitely something unique about her. So, I decide to stick around, peer at her a bit. As I stare, I notice things that make her unique; things that obviously make up who she is.
I like her hair; it's a really pretty, dark brown color. But she has it thrown back in this careless ponytail like she doesn't care to bring out how pretty it really is, because she doesn't think that it's really all that pretty.
I like her skin; I can tell she's mixed races because it's a little darker than white skin. Super unique. But as I continue to study her, I notice some of the many scars on her wrist and arm, and it makes me sick. I wonder how the fuck she can do that to her own flawless skin.
Her clothes are okay, I guess. Don't really do her much good, to be perfectly honest. Seems like she's kinda...I don't know...hiding behind the plain t-shirt and jeans. I mean, I can tell that she's a tomboy, and she's still pretty, but she could be stunning if she had the right outfit on.
I really like her smile, too; it's killer. But as I stand there and look she rarely does. Smile, I mean. She grinned at me briefly when I stopped to gaze at her, but it seemed forced. Like she thought that maybe if she flashed me a bright one, I'd quit looking at her, cuz she doesn't want to feel my intense gaze. Doesn't want me to ask any questions.
Also, her laugh; well, right after she grinned at me, she looked away, but then when she looked back to see if I was gonna leave her alone, she saw the confused look on my face that was due to trying to figure out who the hell she was, and let loose for a second. Now that was a genuine laugh. Not all fake. She doesn't really care. Laughs from her belly, uses all the air in her lungs. And enjoys it, too. I can tell.
You want to know what I thought stood out most about this girl?
They're hella beautiful. Even as a girl, I can say that. They're this deep chocolate brown color, and they're so intense that I felt like they could see right into my soul.
She avoided my gaze for the longest time, but then looked up suddenly. Met my gaze head on. Stared straight into my eyes.
I drew in my breath, and actually stepped back. Her eyes were filled with so much hidden pain that I was surprised that she wasn't broken in half. Her eyes burned with so much hidden anger that I didn't know how she kept from punching everyone she saw. Her eyes showed such confusion that I almost wondered if she even had a brain. her eyes showed such fear that I almost looked around to make sure that there wasn't some insane chainsaw man coming after me. Her eyes showed such vulnerability that I made sure she wasn't naked for a second.
My heart began to pound as we stared at each other. She had a completely blank look on her face, yet I knew, I could tell from those eyes, that she was secretly screaming, begging me for help.
I couldn't look away; I stepped forward. I wanted to be closer to her, as if it might comfort her somehow. But as I got closer, it only made me feel worse. I continued to look into her eyes, and as I did, I soon was seeing everything that had caused all that I had seen in her eyes.
I saw her parents; parents who were strung out on drugs and crime. I saw her as a baby; a baby being taken away from those parents. Suddenly I saw her as a toddler; a toddler who was standing with her older sister. But suddenly, that older sister was ripped away, even though the toddler was hanging onto her as tight as she could. Then she grew into a young kid; a young kid who was playing with her older brother, so happy. But suddenly, he fell, then faded away; and a grave took his place. As I continued to watch, I saw the same young kid [her] get beaten in the corner of a bathroom by some psycho bitch who I assumed was her stepmom or something. Then she was getting punched out by some asshole who I figured was her stepdad. And then from there, she turned into a preteen; a preteen who valued friends above anything because she felt like they were her escape. I watched her as a preteen and could see how much she'd hated the sick people she was forced to call Mom and Dad. I saw the same preteen as she got herself into a huge old mess. I saw her leave her home for a group home. Then, as I watched, she suddenly turned into a young teenager; a young teenager who made some really great friends. I saw the same young teenager who was so confused about everything that she could hardly think straight. I watched as she hurt herself for the first time, something that would soon become her release. Saw her hop in and out of some psych ward, where she really didn't belong. I watched as she met this really stunning dude who she fell head over heels for right off the bat. Watched as she continued to make poor choices. Saw her go into foster care, which was a strange and scary place. Saw her continue to punish herself. Watched as it all just became too much and she ran away from her home, trying to escape everything. Then she evolved into a teenager; a teenager not sure of herself at all. Saw her fail the whole year of school and not care because she figured she wasn't smart enough to do the work anyways. Watched as she went through a whole year without any real friends. Watched her stay head over heels for that same guy she'd met when she was still a young teenager. Saw her take more pills than what was prescribed to have a little fun, but OD instead. Watched, as in the midst of all this, she found her real family, got reunited, and realized how special that was to her. I saw her barely make it through a lonely summer spent without any friends. Watched her start a new school, saw how nervous she was. Saw as she made her best friend, and others. I watched as she fell in love for the first time, in love with the same guy she'd met years previously. Saw how happy she was. Then watched as he hurt her, hurt her so deeply she felt that she would never be the same. Watched as she tested her limits, doing all sorts of crazy things. Saw as she considered suicide throughout this whole time of being a teenager a million times. Saw her get back together with her first love...despite everyone bitching at her about it. Watched as she did all these wrong things to cover up the pain, keep it away.
Then I was just staring at the strange girl again. There were tears running down her face like a waterfall; there had been tears running down the girl's face in the memories the whole time. I reached up and realized suddenly that I myself was crying, too; crying for her. For everything she'd gone through to make here this way. I was sure what I had seen was not everything. I felt her pain like it was my own.
I reached out to the reflective surface; she did too. I wanted to touch her, comfort her in some way, but all I touched was the smooth, cool surface of the glass; the only thing that was separating us.
Then the girl began to cry harder, started to say something. I couldn't hear her, but I read her lips; "What's wrong with me? It seems like everything is my fault, and no one cares. Like I'm left all alone up in this world to fend on my own. Why can't I just be normal? I hate myself!"
She was saying these things over and over, and at that point, I began to cry harder as well. I coundn't speak, couldn't do anything. I coundn't believe that I was witnessing such pain. It was so great that once again I felt it as my own, felt the weight she carried around on her shoulders; it was more than the world.
I just felt so helpless; all I could do was cry for her and keep my hand there on the glass, while simultaneously raising my other one to meet her other hand. The girl did too; but once again, the glass separated us. There wasn't anything that I could do except stand there and watch this beautiful soul bleed pain from the inside out, scream those words over and over again.
Suddenly, I wanted to kill every bastard who'd ever caused her pain, ever hurt her in any way. All the ones that I had seen in the memories spun around and around my head...until suddenly, I got an eery feeling that I knew them; had met all of them before.
Then, like a train, reality struck; I heard myself crying out those words that I thought the girl had been screaming, heard them escape my own mouth. I began to cry even harder as I looked at the girl in the mirror, the one who'd seemed like such a stranger before, then looked down and saw the own scars on my own skin, took in my own plain clothes, reached up to feel my own hair, which was thrown back in the careless ponytail.
I looked back at the girl in the mirror, realizing too late that I knew her all too well.
I stopped crying out those words long enough to whisper at her, "I'm sorry for making you who you are."
Her eyes, now red and puffy from the crying, looked sadder than ever for a moment, but then, just like that, her face went blank again, and I knew that she was pushing down all the pain. I wanted to stop her, but I couldn't.
So, taking my hands down from the mirror at the same time as the girl, I began to back away, because I knew she wanted to be alone.
Because I knew that I wanted to be alone after taking that painful journey into myself.