{refectionem - to rebuild or reconstruct something after it has been broken.}
newt's pov:
Allowing my fingers to trace along the skin, delicately grazing the scars, felt horrible.
The slightly broken mirror that I had propped up for more efficient use was only showing me what I didn't want to see - didn't want to look at, even.
The sight of myself made me want to dig my nails in ever so slowly under the skin, and begin ripping. Pulling all flesh away from the face, and starting completely fresh.
Removing all remnants of the person I was before just by taking a knife to the skin, and gently piercing the tip through the flesh that covers my face.
I could tear it, piece by piece if it means I won't have to see myself in the mirror every morning, and not like what's looking back at me.
I failed to recognise the person standing in the mirror, a boy who I knew now, was not myself. He looked confused and hurt, his eyes tired and his hair scraggly.
The man was tattered in scars, some more gnarly than the others. His hands were strained and muscular, his lips cracked and painful.
I lifted the knife to his cheek.
I am not the man stood before me.
His clothes were old, his posture clearly lacking in support and health, and the bags under his eyes spoke volumes.
I could feel the cold metal on my skin.
I am not the man stood before me.
Watching as I moved the blade slowly over his face, caressing his cheek with the knife.
A small movement could do it – pierce the skin. It wouldn't take much, the blade being as sharp as it is.
I am not the man stood in the mirror.
He is not me.
I went to move the knife.
"That doesn't look like a very smart thing to do there, blondie."
I wasn't even aware there was a person behind me, but then they moved swiftly around my frame, allowing me to come face to face with Fi.
"You going to tell me why it looked like you were just about to slice into your face?" She asked pleasantly, perching herself down on the counter.
I stuttered, checking my hands. "I, um, am not entirely sure, to be honest." I replied, before setting the weapon down on the side and turning away from the mirror.
"I think maybe I was just having a moment." I went on to explain, although Fi did not seem convinced.
"Looked like you were in some sort of trance – you feeling okay, Newt? The search isn't getting to you again, is it?"
Bombarded with questions, I turned around. "Yeah, sure, I'm fine. Just a bit spacey, maybe."
I moved out of the bathroom, headed straight for the bed in the centre of the room.
"You could say that again, I genuinely thought you were going to cut your face off." Fiona explained, following me out of the room and placing herself down on the large arm chair that sat proudly in the corner. "You sure you're feeling alright? I know everyone's been a bit on edge since the whole infiltration in camp thing but dwelling on it mate won't make it better."
I suppressed a small scoff. "Yeah, I know Fi, don't worry. I feel fine, I swear."
I couldn't even tell if I was lying anymore.
