I hate what I see in the mirror.
I hate it.
Because it's a lie.
I look and I see a normal girl. A human girl.
Pale skin, full lips, big brown eyes.
And I hate it.
Because no one will ever touch that skin without pain.
No one will ever kiss those lips.
No one will ever look into those eye and whisper, "I love you."
My hair marks me as different even if the gloves don't.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
Shards of silver spill across the floor.
You ever realize how important mirrors are in out lives? They begin and end our day. They give us a measure of safety when we drive or shop. They let us not only see ourselves, but see what goes on behind us.
Vampires can't see themselves in mirrors. They don't have souls. Sometimes I think I'm a vampire, but I suck energy and thought and memory. Not blood.
I can't even do Vampire right.
I think I got the soul part right though. I don't have one. At least not one of my own anymore. David. Logan. Eric. I stole their souls. And the body or the face in the mirror.... some days it isn't mine.
I'm morbid. That goes without saying. Eric and Logan have seen more death and misery than anyone should in ten lifetimes.
And I get them both. Goody.
Ms. Monroe commented on my natural beauty and how great I looked without makeup this morning.
I didn't have the heart to tell her I broke the mirror again.
This time I picked up a shard. Staring at it twisting it in the light
So thin. So translucent. Almost invisible from the right angle.
Like me.
That's when I started using the mirror again. Not for my hair or my makeup, but on my skin, drawing long lines.
One for every flinch.
There were nine that first day.
They think I chose this seat overlooking the drive so I could see Logan return. Truth is I chose it because there's a mirror next to it. So I can watch them: touching, laughing, living. Things I don't do anymore.
In some movie, I remember this guy asking his friend who was facing some sort of major ethical decision, "Can you look at yourself in the mirror in the morning?"
I can't
Haven't been able to in weeks.
They noticed. Took three weeks. And it was all because Bobby sneezed and iced Kitty's arm.
They raced into med bay to defrost Kitty as I was standing there, gloves off, blood on my arms.
I turned and walked out.
They flinched as I brushed past them, but didn't follow.
I got a new roommate today. Dr Grey made getting a roommate sound like a treat, but the message was clear. I would not be left alone anymore. What she doesn't realize is that I'm alone even in a room full of people.
The only place I'm not alone is in my mind.
And they don't like me very much in there.
Dr. Grey made me go to the mall with all the other girls today. I'm smiling and buying new clothes as if every thing is perfectly fine. I'm a nice normal teenage mutant on a shopping spree.
Leather. Vinyl. Lace. Silk. All black.
Vampires always wear black don't they? And Vampires and mutants have a lot in common. The Undead. The Forsaken. Rejected by God. Rejected by man.
Living in the shadows, on the fringes of humanity. Invisible in the mirror.
No heart. No Soul.
Like me.
And then Remy came. And he didn't know I was supposed to be invisible. Undead. In his eyes, I was a woman like any other. And he wasn't afraid of my skin. Or my tantrums or the flashes of people that were not me that cropped up.
And I didn't need to cut myself anymore, because Remy touched me and never flinched.
I bought a new mirror.
I used to think not having a soul, a heart, was bad.
It wasn't.
Opening your heart and soul to another, only to have it ripped out is worse.
I thought he was being a gentleman. Going slow. Giving me time to adjust. I thought he was noble and good and kind. But he wasn't. He was getting it someplace else. Carol. My roommate of all people.
I broke another mirror.
Because I was foolish enough to believe I was touchable.
Because I had been stupid enough to believe someone could love me.
Because when we fought, she grabbed me and I killed her.
I made myself bleed again because I wouldn't cry.
One slash for every person that was supposed to love me but didn't. Momma. Daddy. Grandma.
And one slice for those that said they did, but then didn't. Remy. Logan.
The cut for Logan was deepest because, while he hadn't said the words, he had bled for me and then walked away.
And what was left of Carol in my head laughed and said "cut deeper."
And I did.
They bandaged me up and locked me in the isolation room.
Bare little room with its one-way glass. As if I didn't know they were watching me. The worst part wasn't Carol screaming in my head; the worst part was that every time I looked up, I could see myself in that mirrored glass.
And every time I did, Carol screamed "die", Logan growled "escape", and Eric whispered "live."
I listened to Eric, and to Logan, because they'd been there longest and I trusted them. Escape was easy. Carol's powers made it so. Living was harder, but I did it because every day I lived meant torturing myself a little more for believing I could be normal. That I was worthy of being loved.
I came back a month later. I'd like to say that it was Xavier's calm words and promises that no one was angry with me that brought me back, but I can't lie to myself.
I came back because I needed to be punished. And having them all stare at me, having all conversation stop when I enter a room is part of that punishment.
But my Jealous Murder - Attempted Suicide has had a strange effect: there are fewer flinches now.
They don't let me get that close.
And then Logan came back.
Just swaggered in, winked at me and vanished into the Professor's office. Not a word. Not a hug. Not even a chance to return his tags.
That's what I was to him. Nothing. That's what his promise meant. That's what everyone's promises meant.
I was in my room, the mirror shard in my hand when he burst through the door. I guess he smelled the fresh coppery tang of my blood as it welled on my arms.
He stared at the blood and the old scars. And I stared too.
He yelled. And I stood there.
He asked why. And I couldn't answer.
He cried. But I had no tears to give.
He touched me. And healed my wounds.
And the silver shard dropped to the ground.
Because I didn't need it anymore.
Logan, broken and wandering soul that he was, returned mine. Because in that brief moment of touch all that he was, all that he wanted to be, all that he needed poured into me.
And I was it.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Every once in a while one of my students gets to me. Something they say in group lodges in my brain and eats at me. This came out of one of those.
WARNING: Self- mutilation
WARNING: Self- mutilation