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The boy in the Mirror

By: BabB02

Page 1, A mix of truth and fiction that I joted down one morning.

She studied her face in the mirror. It was a daily ritual to remove as many pimples and black heads from her face as she could. I gazed in at her from across the hall. I could tell she wouldn’t be here for much longer. I stayed there while she fiddled with the blemishes on her face, simply observing. Her phone was face down, so as to hide from view who she was texting. Safeguarding her phone. One might compare her and her phone to a leprechaun and his treasure. She had sweat pants and a hoody on. Her favorite things to wear. She always looked adorable in hoodies. As she finishes up her face preparation, she walks out of the bathroom. Passing me she gives me a disgusted look complimented with the rolling of her eyes. Oh how lovely she is after a night of fighting. As she walks back into our bedroom I can hear the sound of the wheels on her dresser draw quickly rolling open, followed by a thump to drive home the fact that it is fully open. The zip of a bag. More accurately. The un-zipping of a bag. She is planning to leave again. She is going to tell me how she can’t stand to live here with me anymore. How I am awful to her. I put on a face to say “I agree, it’s best she leave.” My heart pleads with my brain to change the look to “I need you.” But my stubborn mind doesn’t flinch and neither does my expression. I think to myself, if only she remembered… if only she knew. I debate telling her things I have kept from her. Things that if she knew might change her mind. I decide it’s not the time. The bag zips again. The dresser draw is slammed shut. Back to the Bathroom she goes. One last look to make sure she is presentable for wherever she is going. She looks beautiful as always. She says she is going to stay at a friend’s house. The word “okay” gently finds its way to my lips. My heart sinks again. She walks down the hall to get her shoes. I slowly follow at a distance. Hands dug into my pockets. I watch as she slips on her sandals and throws another pair of shoes into her bag. Words rushing to my mouth, only to be swallowed by acceptance of the situation. She opens the door, and looks back. It’s another disgusted look followed by those rolling eyes. My heart tries to spit back up all those swallowed truths and words. I grit my teeth and hold them all back. The door closes. I go back to my bedroom and stand In front of the mirror. There is a young boy starring back at me. It occurs to him that he is all alone now, and he begins to weep for himself.

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