The Wailing Woman

21. Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

I don't have a birth certificate. I've searched through the hundreds of folders I was given. I never bothered to look through them or read the documents inside of them because I didn't care about what they wrote, I fed them lies. I knew what they wanted to hear and I knew the truth, the cold hard truth about what I am. I'm not crazy, I know the voices are real. I know they are. Two days ago I experienced my first hallucination but that's because my emotions were all over the place and I'm fine now. I'm fine. 

As of now, I'm looking through my hospital documents from the times I've been admitted and my curiosity is growing by the second.

My name is blocked on every single document. A black rectangle covers my full name and in the descriptions, I'm referred to as the patient and nothing else. Except for the pills I take, the bottles have my name boldly printed but I can't help but think how easily the sticker can be forged.

So I started to look for my birth certificate and I couldn't find it. I searched through my hospital records but that didn't work out. I tore my room apart to find something concrete. I spent hours reading through my hospital and school records.

My school records were interesting since there were very few documents of my elementary and middle school papers. High school, as I remembered it, was a mess. I was constantly transferring to different schools throughout the four years. Too many accidents happened. I was going to skim over my college documents online but they were sealed and the only person who can unseal them was my guardian. My guardian is dead.

I don't understand why I couldn't look at my document, papers filled with information about myself. I'm not a child, I'm just a twenty-two-year-old adult who is having an identity crisis like every other adult.

I followed Refugio's plans and the doctors' plans. I prioritized recovering my fragile mind, I gave them what they wanted and I followed the plan of going to college to become a contributing member of society. I tried so hard and when I went back home to Refugio, she died and...I didn't mean for it to happen.

I accepted to be confined again. For three years I was confined. I started from scratch again, I went along with the plan of going to school because of Refugio and I'm here now, and—and—

A sudden crack begins from the top of the mirror I stood in front of, I stare at it until it continues to split an uneven line down the middle. I didn't move away from the mirror because I knew I had done this. I didn't touch the mirror but it reflected what I felt. Dilara said a witch's emotions are connected to their magic, we reflect what we feel. Did I feel broken? No. My skin vibrated all over my body, I wanted to break everything and everyone around me. I pressed my fingers down the line to feel the small pieces of shards. I can break anyone or anything like this mirror, like me.

I can make everyone feel the deep and sharp cuts I have.

When I left the hospital three months ago, I wanted to keep Refugio's wishes and live a quiet life. But all that has changed. I'm learning new things about myself that I never explored or knew about. I did what I was told to do. I tolerated the pain in my heart every day and now more than ever I wish to let it all out. I don't know if I can continue to do it but I'll hold it in for as long as I can.

But for now, I needed to show the witches and warlocks I'm alive and unharmed.

My half-dead eyes as the polite dead warlock said reflected on the broken mirror. I did my best with what I had, my makeup sharpened my face and I made sure to bring out my three-pointed lunares. I wore a gray long sleeve with a black skirt, its hem was ruffled in a diagonal line from my waist down to the edge of my heeled boots. I pushed my hair behind my ears, revealing my small silver hoops. I didn't know what to do with my hair except let it hang down to my waist.

Since I'm a target I should look presentable in the event of my death. I don't think I'm going to die but if they kill me, I'll be the prettiest dead bitch. But if they don't succeed, I'll be the prettiest bitter bitch they will ever meet.

Dilara knocks on my bedroom door. She has been coming back to my apartment these past two days either to change my gauze or scatter salt all over my floor. She is afraid to leave my side, she thinks I'm defenseless against the witches and warlocks. I told her she doesn't have to worry about me. I'm not as weak as she thinks I am. I am a banshee. All I have to do is scream and the witches and warlocks will drop like flies.

"Come in," I said.

She poked her head in, letting her brown waves fall like water. "Do you think it's a good idea to leave the house? What if someone attacks you? We still need to bind the house." She rambled.

I understood Dilara's worry but I told her I wasn't going to stop living my life. I was going to show the council or whoever wants to kill me that I'm not an easy kill. I have to pretend to be unaffected by the whole thing, something I am used to doing. What I was not going to do is not pretend I don't exist because I do.

Maybe my father will realize it too.

"I'm going to be fine," I assured her.

When I went toward her, my knees buckled but I latched onto the doorknob in time before I could fall. Dilara comes to my side and I lift my hand to stop her from helping me.

She said in frustration. "You can barely walk. If you want to do something we can start practicing your magic. It's not safe—"

"I've been stuck inside this apartment for two days and no one has come for me."

"Yet." She grumbled.

I glared at her. "Plus I told you I have to go see Grimm, I made a deal with him and I need to comply."

Dilara pressed her lips together from saying anything but the look on her face pleaded for me to stay at home. I had told her about Grimm since she did ask about him but I didn't necessarily say who he was exactly, just that he was very special and I had to help him with his job for a while. I could also tell she knew I wasn't telling her everything. Either way, she accepted it.

I opened the door widely as I reached for my coat and began to put it on. "Don't you have a class starting soon?" I asked.

I knew she had a class starting soon. In the past two days, I've come to learn more about Dilara including the fact that I was a year older than her. I picked up the white umbrella and held the handle, I took a step and didn't fall.

Perfect.

Dilara sighed. "Yes, I do." She followed me out of the bedroom. 

I took slow steady steps with my umbrella toward the kitchen counter, I grabbed my medicine and stuffed it into the pockets of my coat. Dilara made her way to the door and opened it. 

We walked out of my apartment down the hall and I noticed the lights were flickering as we passed them. I could feel Dilara's drilling stare.

"Ignore it."