Mirrors | Malum

2

Calum

There was a boy in front of me, his hair was a mix of different colours, looked as if he was a canvas and his coiffure had been freshly painted by an experimenting artist. It was unique, I liked it. He was slightly taller than me by a few centimeters, but it may have been those black boots he was wearing that made him seem taller than he actually was.

His voice seemed calming, it reminded me of those sunny days where I could sit in a meadow of flowers and breathe in the fresh air surrounding me. But I haven't done that in a long time.

"Are you talking to me?" I asked softly, trying to give him the hint that I wanted him to go away.

"Well I mean, I'm fine as hell, but you're cute. So yes, I'm talking to you."

I didn't like how cocky he seemed. He had a toothy grin displayed on his face, one that was partially adorable but could annoy anybody. He was trying too hard to look intimidating, with his leather jacket covering the work uniform he was wearing underneath. He may have been attractive with that eyebrow piercing of his that looked great on him, but his personality turned me off.

"Okay."

He started to frown. I didn't mean to make him do that. I guess I have a  negative effect on people, which is why nobody really likes me. I've gotten use to it though so it isn't much of a big deal anymore.

"Did you come from heaven, because I'm looking at an angel."

I just shook my head sadly and gripped a hold of my peppermint coffee before walking away. The last thing I needed was a distraction. Besides, he's just like the rest. He's one of those guys who wants to hurt you, Calum.

That's all I have to remember.

-

Hot stuff.

Angel.

Heaven.

All of those things were wrong. Completely opposite of what I really was.

After all of the things I've been told, I've started to believe them. Someone must have sent him, even though I briefly remember seeing him at the subway before. Approximately two months ago that is, before my sister stopped taking dance classes at her college and decided to work for a bachelors degree somewhere else. Now she's back at that same place and I get stuck waiting for her everyday.

Usually I don't mind, but I didn't have my journal with me this time, so I couldn't block out all of the terrible things around me. Such as that boy, even if he was attractive.

"Hey Mali?"

"Yes Cal?"

"How does this look on me?"

Mali glimpsed at her brother then smiled sadly.

"Why don't you ask yourself that?"

That's the thing. She never knew why I would ask her how I looked every single day, or why she had to help me style my hair every once in a while. It never made any sense to her. And the last thing she would guess, if anything, is that I'm insecure. Which isn't wrong, I just don't want to look at myself as I am a disgusting piece of filth. The last time I looked in the mirror was three years ago, when I was happy, when I wasn't getting bullied for my appearance. I have no idea how I look now, but I know that I'm gross and can't bare to look and see just how ugly I am.

"I don't like mirrors, Mali."

"Right. Sorry."

I used that explanation on her many times, but she still never understood. As much as I wanted to tell her I hated myself, I couldn't. She seemed too happy. She was off pursuing her dreams, getting a bachelors degree in mathematics because she was always so smart. I was never smart, I was never anything but talentless. Mali claims that I'm good at playing the bass and singing, but I hate the way my voice sounds. The way I sing and the way I talk is terrible. It's no wonder people find me unattractive. And my mother, she always loved my artwork. But even I think I'm bad at that too, compared to most people.

"I just wish you would look at yourself for once, Calum. See the handsome young man you're growing up to be."

"Handsome? That's hilarious."

"Anyways, you look fine. Maybe we should buy you a new sweater tho-"

"No," I was quick to interrupt. I've worn the same sweater for three years, everyday, washing it on the weekends when nobody was around. It was loose and big on me, warm even. It covers up how fat I truly am and I love it.

This sweater does wonders for me.

"But its-"

"No."

"Okay."

She walked off after tossing me my section of the mail and left me in my room to be alone. To think about what that guy said and how he thinks I'm hot and an angel from heaven.

As if.

He made me uncomfortable, yet I couldn't stop thinking about him. I needed something to take my mind off of the boy, so I grabbed my journal that I accidentally left under my pillow and I began to draw.

Slow movements, starting with an outline. I wasn't sure what art I was making today, until his face popped into my mind and that was the only thing I wanted to draw.

Him.

-

A/N: I like this. A lot. Even though it's depressing. I like it.

925 words. :)