Painted Lies and Demon Eyes (SVTFOE Fan Fic)

Fraud in the Mirror

"This should help with the swelling." He said, rubbing in the lotion around the area of my wings until the medication stung. It began burning so much, in fact, that I had to repeatedly pound my fist into the kitchen island to compose myself until the pain subsided. 

"Stop moving them." Tom's slightly agitated voice grumbled from behind me. 

"I can't. They do what they want." I retorted back. I sighed heavily and when I finally turned to face him, I saw it - the familiar look of pity overcoming his face, studying me heavily.

For the past few days, Tom had been acting... strange...

It started with the nightmares. The more frequent and worse the nightmares became, the more some sort of shift became of him. He seemed more... distant somehow, more drawn into himself. 

There were times when I would catch him staring blankly out in front of him for hours on end, as still and silent as stone itself. 

Something was waning on him, making him restless and irritable. Unfortunately for me, I became his target of unfathomable anger and passive-aggressivensss lately. 

Yet, quite frankly, he was a wild card of emotions. I could never really predict which emotion would prevail, nor did I ever understand Tom in general. 

Our talk just last night feels so surreal, considering I hadn't shared a laugh with Tom in a long time, an echo of an eternity ago. 

"Are you done?" I asked, impatience noted in my tone. He didn't answer. He just stood there, staring at me with that same look. "Hey. Underworld to Tom?"

"What?" He blankly responded, blinking his eyes as if to awaken from a daydream. 

"Are you done?" I repeated, more impatient than the last time. 

He put the bottle of lotion down and dropped his stare. "Uh... yeah. I-I'm done."

"You okay?" 

"I'm fine. Really... I am." He smiled yet something of it appeared forceful and fake rather than genuine.  

Tom went off into the corridors of lit torches that lead to our bedroom, leaving me in the kitchen. With the top half of my body resting on the countertop, I picked myself up, my wings still just as sore as they were for a week now. 

My infection was beginning to take its toll on me and physical movement became a burden more than ever. 

I was about to follow in Tom's wake to the corridor yet my reflection in my peripheral vision had captured my attention. My vivid green eyes stared vacantly back at me. I couldn't help but study how my red horns descended from an already intense red, like my wings, to a fine black point, like my fingernails and my ears stood on end, perked to a curved point.

My pair of fangs hung out from the front of my bottom lip, slightly revealing themselves instead of hiding like the rest of my flattened teeth. They may be difficult to spot at first, but when I smile, they are visible. 

I turned away and found myself looking down the hall where Tom had gone. I took one final, sparing glance at myself in the mirror, taking in my appearance once more. Yet, something of my reflection had been curiously altered, so much so, that I did a double take. 

I yelped in instinct, causing my body to stumble and crash into the wall behind me.

The boy in the mirror followed my actions. With his mouth open in shock, his fangs were gone. He had light brown eyes and matching dark hair but without horns. His wings - he had none. I had been wearing no shirt at the time, yet the boy in the mirror had on a light red hoodie.