I'll Be Good

8. Reflections

A/N

I dedicate this chapter to my dear friend Einav whom I love so very much.

Enjoy.

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Three months later and yet I had made zero progress. I still despised the man in the blurry window reflection. Still thought of myself as a worthless human being and an ungrateful prick according to my father (may he burn in hell).

Here is what it was like every day for three months. I woke up around 8am after 4 or 5 hours of sleep full of nightmares. I cleaned myself with a quick shower. Brushed my teeth while avoiding the mirror. Sat in front of the window of my loft for 8 hours at least. Ate an apple or drank some coffee. Went to bed at 8pm. Tossed around until dawn. And finally slept but not for long and not very good.

To be honest, I had avoided the mirror for a long time. I had no recognition of who I was anymore. The only thing I knew was that I hated who ever that was. I hated him more than anyone, and that says something. I loathed every piece of my existence.

That day, a cold December morning, was when I first saw how that loathed personality of mine looked like as a person.

It was the usual routing. Woke up (this time even earlier, around 6:30), took a quick shower while leaving the hot water for my coffee to boil, and then went on to brushing my teeth. Drank my coffee and ate 1 green apple. Then I took my usual seat in front of my window.

There was something relaxing about looking at everyone else moving, getting on with their lives, doing something, feeling, breathing, living. To spend days watching others became somewhat of a refuge of mine. It was as though I didn't have to live my own life, I could just watch theirs.

I would usually get up from my seat in front of the window before the sun sets but that day was different. Outside, in the street, an old man that looked very dirty and skinny was asking people for some money. He was there every day and most of the time people didn't give him money, but at the end of every the day he had enough money to buy him a small, humble meal that would at least help him make through the next day. Yesterday no one gave him money. Today he didn't wake up. People walked right past him without even looking, he was invisible. I couldn't help but relate in that feel.

I watched him all day. His body wasn't moving, he didn't blink or breathe. He was just lying there. I didn't move either. I watched him, and felt as though I was disappearing. It was like I was in a trance. Only when the ambulance and the police came I woke from my state, to notice it had gotten dark. Probably around 9:30 pm.

They picked him up and left, and then it was like it never happened. And my gaze focused on the inside of the window, on my blurry reflection. But I didn't recognize it. Despite all my efforts to stay away from my mirror, I had to see clearly.

I entered the bathroom and took a second before I lifted up my eyes to meet the stranger in the mirror. It was like he was someone else.

So thin, you could see the bones. Bloodshot eyes. Hollowed cheeks. Cracked lips. Huge dark circles. Messy dirty icy blond hair. Face full of bristles. A different human answering to the same name. Something about him resembles me much about how father looked like the last time I saw him.

The thought of me being anything like him made me angry, so angry in fact that I had lost my control. Next thing I knew, I was writing and owling a letter.

I am done with trying to help myself.
I need someone else to help me.
I can't do it on my own.
I don't care enough for myself so it would work but I need help.
I NEED help.

Please help me.

I owled that letter to Hermione Granger.