I touched my fingers against the cool pane of glass. The condensation sent a shiver up my arms, settling somewhere deep against the back of my throat, cozy and warm until it's time came to remind me that I couldn't escape.
I let my eyes drift. I let myself stare at him, openly, prying and unceasing. Glossy brown battled that concentrated, unconsciously commanding green. He stared in his glass of unrewarded heroism, and pretended I never existed. My presence, my meek, desperate voice for approval, for unprovoked forgiveness for every crime I never committed, wasn't really there. My strong and collapsing brown eyes that scared him to his very core was a trick. I was his worst enemy; therefore, I didn't exist.
There was a time, in a distorted day dream of a fairytale, where his lips met me. My face, they caressed. My eyelids, they comforted. My hair, they tamed. And my mouth, unyielding, demanding, and the gate to the only soul I'd ever owned, distorted and frightening as it was – his lips would defeat. He'd torture me with every breath. His hands moved with the movement of my hips, my skin tightened and purred as he ventured across the wide, open terrain.
It was so far away, I couldn't be sure it was my story I had inside of me. Maybe I had heard it from a friend.
All I could see was the nightmares.
Those, I knew well.
I didn't sleep. I could always see them behind closed doors.
My footsteps were loud as I departed. Wasn't I always one to make an exit? It felt right, but I didn't know for sure.
I tried not to blink. I could see it in the darkness. Awry and unaware, that smile. Beckoning. All I could do was stare and wait. It waited in turn, revealing more and more of a face that was surely going to blind me. It was only in my last minutes before oblivion that I realized it was beckoning to me.
And every time I closed my eyes, it would still be.
There was nothing worse than a liar.
But my hands were tied, in fear of the only thing that had caught me unaware. The only thing he had ever taken, and the only thing I had forgotten to watch.
I could still feel it beating, but I knew it was an act.
I didn't eat. I could taste my own regrets.
It was my own house, but it went on for endless, confusing miles. I took every wrong turn, because I didn't have it in me to feel what was right. I ended up in my bathtub, dry and clothed, and I couldn't tell you how. My eyelids fluttered and closed, but sleep didn't come. Of course it didn't. I didn't sleep.
It dripped onto my face, burning it off into the clean, stainless white porcelain around me. I didn't cry out; just let it do its job. I fell to bits around my silhouette, and tried to catch my bones as they fell. I had a job to do, and since I failed at all else, this I would do well.
I laid myself out, careful and precise. My eyes were closed, but I saw more clearly than I ever had. My hands moved with perfect accuracy, and the pieces flew back together with more skill than I could ever possess. It took only minutes, the job I thought would last me my whole life. I stood, and took a good long look at the new girl. She smiled at me, and I tried not to melt into the wall, useless and broken compared to her beauty. But, alas ... one more thing.
I drew one long, bony finger and touched the curve of her mouth, ever so softly. I couldn't break her. I would never forgive myself. My deteriorating breath caught, and I slowly pushed up the tight, pure white skin.
She was happy.
I had never felt as proud as I fell to the ground, just a pile of dust, my heart finally still.