p r o l o g u e
broken
_
There is something so heavily symbolic about a broken mirror. The image of oneself, ones heart, and ones China doll face is trapped in the reflective metal and glass for ever. And then — crack. The mirror breaks. I am filled with the idea that I would be breaking in synchrony with the mirror, as I stare into the one on my bathroom wall, and consider smashing it with my fist.
Instead, I trace the sore, red split in my lips with my fingertip. Glancing at the bloodstain left on my finger, I notice for the first time the dried blood under my nails. That must've been from when I scratched his pretty, invincible face. Funny how I've only just discovered the traces the action left behind. It was so simple in that moment. Lifting the arm, flinging it at his cheek. Feeling the scrape of nails on porcelain skin.
Implanted in my mind is the image of him degrading me with words that felt like electric shocks. He was angry – anyone could see that. And he manipulated his fury into cruelty as he mocked me. Never again. I remember him stumbling away from me afterwards, clutching his face, his fiery eyes locked onto mine. His surrender tasted like victory on my split lips.
I curl my hand into a fist, pulling back my arm and punching the mirror in front of me. Pain detonates in my knuckles, and twice as much blood streams down my hand, but my reflection looks better like this. More honest. Fragments of what once was hole.
YOU ARE READING
• Chasing Rainbows •
Teen Fiction|| When it comes to love, you can be chasing rainbows when the real gold is right by your side. ||
