John's POV
"I look perfect."
You are.
I stare at my reflection. I don't feel perfect.
When I go downstairs, my mother looks me up and down and smiles a plastic smile, her eyes expressionless and dull.
"You look perfect."
But-
No, you are perfect.
Okay. I am perfect.
I walk to my father's study like I do every morning, at precisely 7:15.
He stands tall. I mimick him.
His eyes are just like mom's, his smile exactly the same.
"You look perfect."
I don't-
You are perfect. Everyone says so, just agree.
Okay.
I am perfect.
Finally, I reach my sister's room.
She is on her bed, her eyes swollen and red, raw from crying.
She sees me and lunges for me, wrapping her arms around me and sobbing into my chest.
Her eyes aren't dull, like all the rest of us.
"Why can't I be perfect, like you?!" she cries.
Because she is not meant to be perfect.
But you are, and always will be.
Yeah, okay.
I'm perfect.
