The reflection

Another short story about St Valentine's Day...

((Prompt II of the a picture is a 1,000 words contest... enjoy!))


She looked at the sink of her boyfriend’s bathroom, her deep breaths plummeted into the sink like vomit. She IS in love with him, and yet… the contradiction stuck onto her like superglue. She wanted, desperately, to forget. Her suspicions were right all of this time: he was seeing someone else. Someone else. Not her, someone else. What was wrong with her? Not pretty? Not smart, nor funny? Insensitive, not caring? Her family said that she embodied all of these things, and… he chose someone else. The mirror above the sink mocked her, as though she was a fool all along.

“I told you so!” the mimicking cry of her reverse image scolded her loudly as she snarled at it. She smashed the mirror, her fist became a weapon of destruction as the shards of glass flew like small, diamond spears. She was hurt, and confused. What can she do? What can she do? She saw her hand, dripped with crimson red. She eventually laughed out loud as she looked to the ceiling. Not that it mattered…

“He dumped me for another woman,” she laughed as small tears formed slowly into her eyes, she allowed it to cascade from her porcelain face to the tiles of her small bathroom. She breathed long and hard as she saw all the scattered fragments of glass across the floor. Didn’t he say something about the glass fragments once? It was then that she recalled that memory very clearly…

**@**

The young woman stepped into his studio, her expectations kept hidden in the dark. She saw a mosaic, she thinks, most of it made of glass, very beautiful ones. She admired the glass until a new voice interrupted her train of thought.

“I see you like the most ugliest creation on earth,” he joked as she turned around. Her dream boyfriend. Even though his T-shirt of country-blue and dark-grey denim jeans were splattered with paint, he chuckled as he welcomed her with open arms.

“Come on here,” he chuckled as she joyfully complied with his order. She hugged him tightly as he looked at him with sparkling eyes. Her naïve and soft voice gently opened to sing its song again.

“Oh, darling… I think it’s beautiful, what is that statue supposed to represent?” she asked as he gave her a funny sort of face, something that would made any kid laugh with glee.

“Well… it’s supposed to represent life, and someone smashing it. You know, my mother always said that life is a mirror. Things go peacefully until someone you trust and love completely, smashes that mirror because they don’t like what they see. They’re afraid to embrace the truth or to let bitter feelings go,” he said as she blinked at the statue. True, now that he put it in a different light…

“Love… do you think our relationship is like that? A mirror?” she asked as he shrugged lightly.

“I don’t know what our relationship is like… or do you want me to act like Forest Gump and say ‘Life is like a box of chocolates…’, eh?” he asked as she sighed happily. There was nothing else more that she needed but his presence. It was one of the happiest days of her life…

**@**

Now, upon reflection, that was the saddest days of her life. How could she miss that altogether? He didn’t answer her question. All he said was “I don’t know what our relationship was like” rubbish and the mirror meant nothing to her. She hated him. Instead of going on with her life, she couldn’t get over the fact that she hated him. She thought about dying. The black razor, her shaver that she used when she first met him… could be a form of poetic justice. She had everything in order. Her finances, her social order… she was alone. Isolated from the world. Her friends tried to help her to get on with her life, but their words didn’t touch her emotionally. Didn’t they know that her life IS him? Her entire life, is revolved around him? Probably they weren’t aware of it.

“I hate you, I hate you,” she whispered as she was about to take the razor in one hand, and… what is she doing to herself? If she did the deed, he’d only win. He wouldn’t give a damn if she passed away without trouble. After all, from what she’s doing… it looked like suicide. And smelled like suicide. The police would only record this as a ‘suicide’. She placed the razor down, right in front of her. She had to leave, now. She saw the truth, and her boyfriend would question her about it… Oh, she had to leave a message. There was no paper, no pen. That would be too obvious. So, she thought about her lipstick. Or was that his mistress’s lipstick? Anyway, she didn’t care. After she made sure that the sink was clean, she slowly and deliberately wrote the three simple words, artistically and with intended hatred in her writing.

“I… Hate… You…” she whispered to herself as she took the lipstick with her, leaving no evidence behind her. She left the apartment, blood, glass shards, lipstick and her razor in the bathroom. She switched off his computer before she grabbed her small bag and a set of keys to see the doctor. She was much better than him. At least she had a right to know.