The Man In The Mirror (Beautiful) [FVK] [KEVERIDGE]

The Man In The Mirror (Beautiful)

Laurence’s POV 

~

Why can’t I ever be good enough?

Even simple things made me notice the imperfections in those days. The mirror in particular seemed to have a fucking problem with me. All I had to do was take one glance, and I could see all the insults form in words around my head.

Emo, fag, freak, fat, gay.

When people say those things, they do it for a laugh and they don’t realise how much it actually hurts. Just day after day, it was pain. The verbal abuse drug me down, made me feel like shit on such a regular basis that I’d do anything to take it off my mind, even replacing pain with pain. That’s what I thought to myself as I drug a razor along my hip, creating a small trail of blood. Shallow and far from life threatening, it served it’s purpose. I didn’t want to die, not most of the time, I just wanted a substitute.

We’d just finished a show so everyone was tired and no one was around. All of the guys were in bed and deep in sleep; nobody knew I was here, or, so I thought. I clutched the edge of the cool porcelain sink in one hand and the blade in my other. A second line joined the first, quickly followed by a third. Usually, shows left me feeling good; don’t get me wrong, this one did, it was only after that things turned distinctly more pessimistic. Signings with fans were going well. Fans covered in talcum powder and steam punk goggles were gathered around us, some crying, some beaming and some asking me to draw them pictures. Whenever I got asked this, I always did the same thing; I drew an image of myself frowning. They always asked the same thing straight after – “why are you sad?” and I always replied with the same thing – “because I’m always sad”. When this happened today, some stranger on the street overheard, and just couldn’t resist the opportunity to make an ‘emo fag’ jibe at me. I knew I should of ignored them, like the two girls whose albums I was signing said, but I couldn’t. After that, I found an excuse to slip away, and hid myself away from everyone; I barely spoke to the guys in the car and was unusually quiet when we arrived back, before I dismissing myself to bed.

I refused to let myself cry while I did this to myself; I chose to do this, so I shouldn’t have been all emotional and depressed when it hurt, which it did – a lot. I finished off by adding a couple more lines before chucking the crimson blade into the sink, where it landed with a clatter. My now free hand joined my other on the edge of the sink. I just stood there for a second and breathed, slowly and heavily. My eyes shut themselves of their own accord, as they usually did in this situation. When I opened them again, I couldn’t help but jump, Kier’s face had joined mine in the mirror. The younger boy was stood just behind my right shoulder, his mouth open slightly. Then I looked back at his eyes in the mirror and realised they were focused on the exposed skin of my stomach and the blood splattered sink that held the blade.

“Why Laurence?” he asked in a whisper, sounding fragile, like he couldn’t believe it.

“It’s how I deal with it, Kier. Please just leave it alone”.

I can understand why he’s concerned, but he really shouldn’t be. I choose to do this, I’m fine.

“But why? Deal with what?” He reached his hand out to my hip hesitantly, before retracting his it, as if he’d thought better of the gesture. Instead, he grabbed some tissue paper off of the side and stretched his arm out again, cautiously. When I showed no signs of stopping him, he started to blot the blood from my stomach.

“Everything, Kier. Words, insults, it builds up” I explained simply, letting him gently push me down to sit on the closed toilet seat so that he could clean the wounds properly. Usually, I’d sort myself out, but I just let Kier get on with it, feeling no need to push him away.