And neither are his fucking fantasies.
He edges in, looking like he has less of a fucking clue what he’s doing than I do, and my only sexual experiences involve a clown ignoring all my pleas while I cried my fucking eyes out for him to stop touching methere.
Maybe it’s his position behind her, maybe it’s ignorance, or maybe he just doesn’t know her the way I do, but she’s not enjoying what he’s doing. I can see it in her eyes, in that faraway look, as I take a few steps closer to the window, preventing her from escaping to thoughts of darkness.
Her eyes land on my shirt and follow the trail of blood up to my tilted face.
A stabbing pain twinges in my heart as I get a front-row seat to the worst thing I’ve seen in my adult life.
His slimy cock is somewhere inside her now. I can tell by the expression on his ugly face. His closed eyes and open mouth make my eyes widen, and my lips press into a thin line, taking more of this image.
A trance takes hold, molding Dollie to me, her eyes fixed on my image and mine on the man behind her.
It all stops with a loud bang and her falling back. A scream leaves her, and hysterics begin before I realize I caused this.
My bloody handprint stains the glass. A crack sits below. Through it, I watch for a moment until Dollie crawls under the table with tears on her face. It’s enough for me to decide on the front door.
Around twenty minutes later, I’m still shaking as I step out of the shower. The bright light above hurts my eyes as I grab for a towel, but it makes it easy to catch my reflection in the mirrored cabinet above the sink. My stomach rolls over my disgusting image. Moving wet strands of hair from my forehead reveals a huge purple bruise. A prominent gash sits in the center, still dripping blood.
It probably needs checking, but I can’t risk getting questioned by the police. Nurses would likely report my injuries, and the gash isn’t half the issue that the burn around my throat is. Good thing, I’m not due to see my shrink or probation officer for close to a week.
I finger the sensitive area, wincing with the pain.
Another glance at my face has emotions rising inside me. The bathroom becomes a blur as my eyes water. And I wonder what I’d look like without all Colin’s abuse permanently plastered on my face.
I’ll never fucking know.
I’ll never know what it’s like not to have a permanent smile cut into my skin. The choker to match, thick and pinkish silver against my skin. I’ll never know how it feels to look in the mirror and not be repulsed by the hundreds of scars and the cunt who put them there.
It’s too much, all these emotions.
My body shakes, and I almost feel like I don’t have control of my hand as it rises, closes into a fist, and slams into the mirror repeatedly until shards clang in the sink.
Without worrying who will see the results, I pick up a pointed one, take it to my flesh, and trace the lines on my face. Blood drips to the sink as my skin parts, staining the perfect white. I don’t stop, panting through the pain until each scar is made new… but I still see the same version of me.
The broken soul in stained skin.
Hiscreation.
And I hate myself for it.
My fingers draw a thicker smile on my face, using my blood.
Staring at my broken reflection, I spot the patch of oil on my forehead, hiding amongst longer strands of hair. It’s from the bike chain, and I’d somehow missed it in all the extreme washing.
Unbelievable.
With the black smudge on my fingers, I take it to my eyes and paint a diamond around each one.
I look like a clown now, too.
Does it make you feel better about them?
The question is for myself, but my only answer is the tears in my eyes finally falling. I drop the shard to join them and close my eyes.
Fifteen years back, on my thirteenth birthday, after letting Dollie know it had to be my last because I couldn’t do this anymore, we lay in her window dome—a space occupied by so many pillows and a dozen teddy bears who she felt bad for because none lived up to Duggan. He’s there, too, tightly clutched in her arm. Her other hand is on me, tracing the scars that make me ugly.
“You can’t leave me. You were silly to think I’d let you go anywhere without me. You’re my best friend. Should I cast a self-love spell on you?”
