New Meaning to Talking to Yourself

“I wish I could have been there that night. I wish it happened to me, instead of you,” I say softly to her. I am close enough to see her, but unable to comfort her with any sort of physical contact. The barrier prevents that.

“Why,” she starts to ask, her voice choking up, “Why would he do that to me? Why did it have to be me?” Tears begin to fill her eyes as she holds her arm across her chest, the only physical support she is able to have.

My voice becomes colder as I reply, “You lived close to him, so he could come and go easily,” I clench my teeth while hot tears slide down my face. I pause, but eventually manage to spit out, “and you were lonely and vulnerable. You didn't have a friend in the world.”

“I trusted him!” Tears continue to roll down her cheeks. She sobs, “He was everything to me. I love him!”

“Stop!” I scream and my arms snap to my side, no longer comforting. “After cornering you and taking advantage of your body and all he did in the end was abandon you, you say you love him? How can you possibly have a feeling other than hatred for him? Only a true idiot would feel such a way.” My face was turning red, my eyes still puffy. Everything seemed to be moving faster than what it really was.

“I can't help it,” her words are quiet and soft, almost distant. Her gaze is cast downward and she smiles slightly, “He's my dearest friend.”

“No, he's not!” I yell and strike the object separating us. The impact is ear-splitting. Shards slice into my knuckles, leaving small streams of blood on the remaining barrier. I drop my arm then look up and see her face, split by the cracks in the mirror.

She raises her bloody hand again and runs her fingers along the cracks I created. “Tell me,” she begins, a small smirk playing on her lips, “did you change everything from your style of clothing to your hairstyle because you truly despise him and don't want to be reminded of the yourself when you were friends with him,” she giggles, “or because you think if you change enough, you’ll be the type of girl he likes and he’ll come back to you?”

Her smirk stays as I say this and watch her, my reflection, move her lips, forming the words I form, say back to me, “After all, who knows you better than yourself?”