Girl in the Mirror

     I don’t need to look outside to know that it’s raining because I can hear the raindrops pounding against my window. I think it’s late in the evening, I’m not sure exactly but I think it’s late because there’s no light coming through the gap in my closed curtains. Other than that, I have no idea of the exact time, the exact date or the exact day of the week. I’d get up and look at the clock, the calendar or even outside, but I don’t think I’ve got the physical capability.
     Besides, it’s really soothing, sitting here in the dark on the edge of my bed. I’ve been sitting here for, I think, days on end, without sleep. I’ve been sitting here with my knees clutched to my chest for so long that I think my muscles might have seized up a bit. Sitting this way; it feels good, it feels safe. It feels like I’m holding everything in, stopping anything including any pain from escaping and sitting like this feels like it’s stopping reality hitting me and sinking in.
   All I’ve been doing is staring. In fact, I’ve been staring at my ornate mirror for so long that the dragons that I had locked my eyes onto have gone blurry. To try and focus, I shake my head a little and blink a few times. My eyes are drawn to the glass instead of the frame. There’s a girl in the glass of my mirror.
     Despite the fact that I can see her deathly pale skin and her unkempt, dirty blonde hair, I don’t recognise her. I look closer. She looks really unhealthy, like she hasn’t eaten a thing or slept at all in the last few days. My eyes move to study her face. From the dark kohl on her cheeks I can tell that she’s been crying, a lot. I’m going to assume that because the kohl looks almost crusty, that she hasn’t washed for the same amount of time that she hasn’t slept or eaten. I look up a little more and my eyes meet with hers. Her eyes are a dull shade of blue, make to look even darker by the black circles underneath her eyes. I may be relatively young but I even I can tell that her eyes tell a story.
   I blink and look away from the girl, feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable for looking at her eyes for too long, and I focus on the ottoman at the foot of my bed, by my feet instead. Even though it’s dark, I can make out the silhouette of a plate of food. I don’t know when it was put there but judging from the lack of stench, I’d say that it hasn’t been there for very long. I stare at it for a little longer until the possibilities of what it may be make me feel sick. To stop myself from heaving, I look back at my mirror, and time passes. I’m still unaware of how long. To me it feels like hours but it’s probably just mere minutes.
     A creek breaks the silence as my bedroom door is opened and a single ray of light illuminates the floor. This action reminds me that my floor is laminated wood instead of carpet. I wait. Nothing happens, but the ray of light stays there, telling me that my door stays open too. I stay in my position, almost locked like that, still holding the pain in. I look at my mirror again and note that the girl is still there. She begins to go blurry, almost as if she’s pixelating. There’s another creek as the door closes and the ray of light vanishes.
   After a little while, there’s a faint muttering. I bet that they think I can’t hear them. They’re wrong; I’ve been sitting in silence for so long that everything, even the quietest little noise sounds really loud to me.
     “I’m so worried about her.”
     “Yes, I know.”
     She sounds upset. “It seems like you don’t care.”
     “I said it from the beginning; he was no good for her.”
     An aggravated sigh before she sounds annoyed. “Can you please just for one tiny second forget about all that and concentrate on the fact that our sixteen year old daughter is in there. She hasn’t slept, she’s not eating… For gods’ sake Alexander she won’t even move.”
     Her answer is an in coherent mutter.
     I blink again to stop my vision becoming blurry and notice that the girl in my mirror is still there. She’s look at me now. I know she’s not me. I know that I don’t look like that and there’s enough photographs around the house to prove that. I shake my head and lapse into silence for awhile. This silence is broken shortly after it begins by a screech of tyres outside and my head jerks to the window.
     Blinding lights, a screech of tyres, a shove, a scream, a cry of pain, silence.
    Even thought the curtains are still drawn, something tells me that despite the noise, everything outside is okay. I look back to the girl in the mirror and I’m surprised to see fresh tears falling down her face. She’s shaking and she looks afraid. I think she’s just witnessed something terrible. I put my forehead on my knees and close my eyes.
     More time passes and a flash for blue light speeds across my room for a matter of seconds, the shriek of a siren accompanying it.
     Constantly flashing light, I’m helped into the back of a van, a siren as the driver speeds off.
    I look up to the mirror again. My eyes feel like they’re burning. The blonde in the glass is copying my position. There’s a faint noise of commotion coming from downstairs. I think it’s the television.
     Everyone around me is rushing about, saying things in a language I don’t understand. I’m moved, taken to a bed and sat down. Everything is white.
     I hear myself sigh and hear the sound of my mother, even though I don’t catch her words.
    People in white coats are talking to each other. Someone, I think perhaps my mother, approaches one of them. “Just a few bruises, suffering from shock mostly.”
     The girl in the mirror is smiling softly, yet weakly at me now. She nods slightly as I catch her eye.
    Sitting next to another bed, holding hands and smiling weakly. Suddenly a beep begins to falter and then elongates. There’s panic. I’m moved out of the room. Waiting for what feels like forever.
    I sigh. The blonde is watching me I think.
    Sorrowful because I know deep down that this will be the last time. I’m told that things will be fine, that I shouldn’t worry. I’m crying as I argue, not wanting to accept nor to let go. His voice is calming, soothing as he softly urges me to accept it and calm down. He tells me that his parents have already been in; he tells me that it’s my turn and that he wants to be with me when…
   The image in the mirror, she’s sobbing. I move for the first time in days and stand in front of her, reaching out to touch her shoulder, desperately wanting to comfort her and to let her know that things will be okay. My warm fingertips touch cool glass instead of the soft fabric of her clothes. I blink, confused, and sink to the floor where I resume my usual sitting position.
     I apologise endless times. I’m told to forget about it, that it’s not my fault. I argue that it is. I’m told again, to drop it, that time is slowly running out. I drop it. We talk, we conform love with words. I vow not to forget, I vow not to take it off. He laughs weakly but smiles. I clamber onto the bed next to him and cuddle with him. We remember the day we met; we recount the best days, and a few of the worst, reminding each other how we pulled though. I’m told that I’ll pull through this too.
   I shake my head slowly and put the palms of my hands against my eyes. My chest and throat ache.
     As he gets weaker we switch positions so I’m holding him. I hold him closely, talking softly to him. Time passes. He gets weaker still. More time passes in a comfortable, nervous silence. He whispers that he loves me, I whisper it back and kiss his lips, just the once but for the last time. His breathing gets slower. I bite my lip so hard it bleeds as I try to hold back the forthcoming tears. He whispers five, barely audible words, one last time. He passes away. A heart shatters.
    I don’t know if the girl in the mirror is still there, she’s far too blurry. I rub my eyes and find that my fingers are wet, with tears I think. They begin to slowly fall down my face. I let them fall and they pick up speed; flowing faster and thicker, soon taking over. They’re uncontrollable, falling faster and faster, thicker and thicker until I’m completely overcome.
   I realise that I’m not holding my knees anymore, I realise that reality has hit and the pain I was holding in has escaped. I can’t stand this pain, it hurts so badly. It’s breaking into the shield that I put up to protect my numb body. My defences have fallen and I never planned on ever letting that happen. I can’t believe I let my knees go. I can’t believe someone’s holding me. I think it’s my mama, I can hear her voice whispering soothing words, her fingers stroking my hair.
     I don’t know exactly how long we sat there for but it must have been a long time because my tears subsided. I rested my head against my mama’s chest to hear her comforting heartbeat, to calm me down. I look at the mirror and blink once, twice, three times. The girl in the mirror looks different somehow. I blink three times again, my last few tears almost gone and look into the mirror again. The image of the girl I’ve been seeing…
     “She’s me. The girl in the mirror is me.”

   It takes every single ounce of what’s left of my being to stop myself crying as I stand outside in the cold in my best clothes. My eyes hurt from where they feel so dry and my heart aches; it feels shattered and heavy as I watch my best friend’s coffin being lowered into the ground.
     I don’t want to cry again, not in front of all these people. I’m not sure that I have any tears left. It doesn’t feel like I have. It feels like I cried all my tears at the ceremony earlier and as I was getting ready this morning.
     I’m dimly aware of the Vicar’s voice stopping, although I hadn’t realised that he had been talking. I wasn’t following at all; too lost in my own mind. I look up to see Zack’s parents stepping forward, his dad holding Zack’s mother tightly against his side as he starts speaking. I find myself registering his words better than I did the words of the Vicar. I move my eyes from his father’s face to his mother. She’s sobbing her heart out and I want to go over and hug her, tell her that I know how much it hurts and that I want him back too. I’m not sure which one of us this is harder for though; me for losing the guy I love or her for losing her only child, her son. It is absolutely heart wrenching for a parent to bury their child though.
   A noise makes me jump. I blink and notice that both parents are scattering dirt on the coffin lid. I swallow, knowing that it’s my turn now. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to say goodbye and I don’t want to.
   My mother puts her hand on my shoulder and I sigh a little, turning to look at her. My father refused to come with us today, which, to be honest, I can’t say I’m that bothered about because he didn’t approve of us anyway, for reasons that he never bothered to explain, or reasons that he explained and I never heard. It does bother me, hurts me, to think that he doesn’t want to be here to support me right now though.
     Mama nods a little and smiles softly to me in encouragement. She knows how difficult this is for me, just like I know that I have no choice; I have to say goodbye now, this moment, because I won’t get this chance again.
     I’m thankful that I’m not expected nor required to make a speech because I know that I would never be able to get through one without bursting into tears again. Actually I don’t think that I’d be able to write one.
     I spend a few moments looking at the coffin before taking a small breath as I hold the locket around my neck, hoping to draw some strength and courage from it. I see all the best memories flash through my mind and close my eyes as I feel tears beginning to prickle at the corers. I know my willpower is breaking and that I won’t be able to hold on for much longer. I need to do this. I open my eyes and feel the tears slowly trickle down my cheeks as I drop the red rose and scatter the dirt.
     “Goodbye Zack.”