The Mirror Asunder

My reflection looks at me with longing eyes, like I'm supposed to have the answers. There is blood coming out of her nose, her ear, bruises paint her stomach and thighs. No longer able to hold back the tears, she examines my identical wounds and cries. The river of tears lasts for what seems like forever, staining what is left of her innocence. Talking in short, heaving breaths, she cries, "Why-is-this-hap-pen-ing?!" I simply return her confused expression, I don't have the answer. When I cannot stand watching her anymore, I sit on my bed and continue crying alone.

I stare up at the ceiling through teary eyes. An avalanche of terrible emotions collapses me. It takes every ounce of strength in me to try and forget what just happened, but it still plays over and over in my mind. Feeling feeble and light-headed, I fade into a deep sleep.

Suddenly, I feel my body being crushed. I open my eyes, and he is on top of me. His hands are clutching my throat, his eyes strangling my heart. I open my mouth to scream, but my lungs are imploding. I plead with my eyes, "Just let me go," but he grins at my helplessness. I struggle so hard to get him off of me, but I can't breathe. The room starts to spin, and the last thing I see is his twisted smile leaning over me.

I spring out of bed with a jolt, trying to catch my breath. The clock beside my bed glows with "3:14 A.M." I can't even escape him in my dreams. I look over my bruises and scrapes for a while, unwillingly recalling their origins. The sun comes up and fills my room with light. I liked the dark better, where I could pretend I wasn't hurt. But now my reflection reminds me of the hurt I'm going through. I throw on some baggy clothes to cover the bruises, and head for school.

The school day is a haze. No matter how hard I try to block him out, he is all I can think about. I can not concentrate on anything, it's like he is tattooed on my memory. I would give anything if I could just forget.

As soon as I walk in the door, I run to my room. Knowing my parents won't be home for hours, I plan to take a nap. As I reach for the light switch, I notice a figure sitting on my bed. I freeze in my tracks and squeak, "Who's there?" No answer. The figure rises and walks in my direction. Panic sends a chill down my spine and forces me turn on the light. There stands my personal Satan, Max; his eyes emitting the same look of lust as before. I back away in fear, but he grabs me by the wrist. My mind is flooded with things I should do, things I should say, but I do nothing; my body is paralyzed with shock, and he pulls me to the bed. We sit down on the bed, and I fail to stifle my tears. He does not attempt to touch me, he just observes my pathetic weeping. I look down to avoid eye contact, and he reaches toward my face. I cringe, but he simply takes a lock of my hair and pushes it behind my ear. He tilts my chin up, and looks into my eyes.
"Hey, no more tears, okay? We don't want anyone finding out, do we?" He asks me like he is just an innocent friend trying to comfort me. Has he forgotten the Hell he has put me through?
"What if I do tell?" The words spill from my mouth without my approval. He leans into my ear and says, "You won't. Or I'll really give you something to tell about, got it?" The harshness of his voice burns my soul, shaking my core. Despite my apprehension of his response, I can't control my voice.
". . .I don't get it. . .Why? Why would you do this to me? What the fuck is WRONG with you?!" I wail in anger. An immediate sense of regret runs through me, and his face twists into a psychotic glare. He grips the back of my hair and pulls me an inch from his face. "You shut the Hell up! Unless you want some more, you just do what I say. No one is going to find out, got it?" I whimper and nod, causing him to grin victoriously. "Good." He kisses me, winks, and walks out the door. I quickly lock the door behind him, and break down in tears once more.
"Why is this happening?" I beg the mirror for an answer. Max was such a great guy, how did he get so bad? Why did he hurt me? What did I do to deserve it? A million questions, all impossible to answer, float around in my head. Nothing seems to ease the pain, not even for a minute. The haunting memories deteriorate my heart, and I don't understand any of it.

He won't get off of me. I scream at the top of my voice, but he doesn't care. What the Hell is he doing? I cry out in pain, in frustration, but he just grins. He keeps telling me to shut up, he keeps holding me down, he just won't stop.

The mirror looks at me with the most hopeless expression I've ever seen. She has almost given up on finding the answers to this mess. I don't care anymore, either, it's impossible to fix me now. I can't make it go away, I can't make myself forget. The mirror keeps pressing for an answer, but I have no response. I'm sick of fighting it, I can't hold on anymore.
I can't watch her cry another tear. In a burst of rage, I punch the mirror, sending shards of glass all over the floor. The blood doesn't matter to me, I just watch it form a pool at my feet. I get up to pick up the pieces, and trip over the leg of my chair. While laying in the pieces of my lost self, I think about the possibility of not getting up. What if Max does it again? Can I lay here forever? What if I get up? Why should I?
Desperate for answers, I look up at where the mirror was. There is no one left for me now; I am all alone. Without the mirror, I have nothing.
"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?" I scream into the air. I feel so helpless and vulnerable, I believe there is no way out. Everything seems to be going wrong, I don't know how to make it stop. A sharp pain in my chest yearns for attention. I look down to find a small shard of glass imbedded in me, piercing my heart. The bleeding shows no signs of slowing, and I have no intention of stopping it. Watching my life bleed away, I see a small spec of my reflection in the shard. She looks at me, sad, yet understanding.
"Why?" she whispers, expecting me to know any more than she does.
"I don't know! I don't fucking know!" My fury dwindles as the room gradually gets darker. The realization that I am dying strikes my core. The fury ignites again, fueled by adrenaline and desperation.
"No! I don't fucking understand! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING? Why is this. . .hap-pen. . ." My body gives one last struggle, but gives in to the inevitable fate lurking over me. My reflection nods to me, knowing I have finally found my way out.
"Maybe there are no answers," she suggests. Without an explanation, she waves me farewell and dissolves from my sight.

I don't know why I have to die. I don't know why God has to throw such tragedy in my life when I have tried my hardest not to do wrong. The only explanation I have found is that there are too many questions to waste my life searching for answers.

And, after all, maybe there are no answers.