Hollow

Eyes too large.

Maybe too big for your face, one slightly crooked, the other a shade lighter than the first.

Dark, falsely colored lashes framing the honey brown orbs, a thick, smudged shadow recklessly applied around your eyes, like paint even.

You look at your cheeks, experimentally sucking them in for a second, a disgusted expression crossing that face seconds after.

“Fat,” you murmur to yourself, a pale finger poking at the skin disparagingly, a feeling of self loathing accompanying the soft give that your skin has.

Aimlessly, your hand comes up to play with the ring in your lip,ckincking it from side to side slowly, careful not to catch it on your nail.

Eyes catch sight of the thin wrist, leading down to a pale, contorted arm, covered in the permanent reminders of your life. Things of beauty, they are.

A knocking rattles the door, but you ignore it, the face in the mirror still mocking you mercilessly. It rattles again, the person outside becoming impatient, meanwhile you still stare. Not blinking. Not breathing.

That dimple there, this freckle here… All hideous. All you.

You sigh, fingers gliding over the icy glass, seemingly lost in thought, or at least that’s what they remind you of. Someone trying to take in every detail with their hands before losing the ability to feel.

The glass laughs shrilly, the muted, drag of flesh on the damp reflective surface echoing around the room, bouncing off the walls.

“Hurry up! We gotta go!” He calls, the barely contained rage reverberating through the thin, double ply chipboard door. A second voice, much quieter, lower, says something, to quiet for your ears and there are footsteps leaving.

With a quiet jiggle, the door creaks open painfully slow. He smiles sardonically at you, pity, loathing and concern laced together to make an oddly confusing cocktail.

You stare for a moment, then look at the mirror again, your fingers tracing over a nose and up over a cheekbone.

Dejectedly, you frown. “I don’t know if I like this anymore.” You say, so quiet it’s almost a whisper.

He walks over, bracelets clinking quietly. His signature sound. Somewhat comforting.

“Like what? The mirror?”

You shake your head slowly, tapping the glass gently, afraid it’ll break. “No.. what’s in it.”

A worried, almost scared look glint on his eye before he hides it from you, hiallealler hand resting on your arm, moving you away from the mirror.

“Come on, Mikey.. Let’s go.”

You follow wordlessly, throwing a look back over your shoulder at the reflection in the glass.. Hollow now. Achingly hollow.