Into the Mirror (boyXboy)

Chapter 1

I can no longer look into the mirror. All I see is his face when I do. That heart-wrenching pain, ugly lines of worry... All of this is tainting his face, his memory. I don't want to see it. No, I refuse to.

I can no longer look at my reflection. All I see is the face of my dead twin brother.

It's been seven days since he died.

I haven't looked into the mirror since.

***

The sheets felt rough beneath my hands. My head was throbbing as I lifted my horribly heavy body from the creaking mattress, wrenching my swollen eyes open. I raised a burdensome hand to my bloated cheek to languidly wipe away the stray tears. Legs trembling, I stood weakly within the darkness of my room, lines of white sunlight fighting to stretch across my bed and carpet through the closed blinds.

As I took a step on the plush carpet, I crumbled to the ground on my hands and knees, body trepidating with anguish as powerful sobs forced their way through my body, passing brokenly through my grit teeth. Tears burned my eyes, dripping onto the carpet. I banged the floor hard with my fist, savoring the momentary pain. I thought I had cried enough tears these past seven days. Burying my forehead into the carpet, the rough fibers scratching across my skin, I let gasps and sobs wrack my weak frame.

The door to my bedroom opened, but I failed to lift my face to acknowledge the person, continuing to grieve without consolation. "Breakfast is ready," my mother stated desolately. I could feel her dead eyes train upon my pathetic self. If there was one person my brother took to the grave with him, it was my mother. Without waiting for a response, she shut the door, the slam seemingly echoing through the small room.

For a few more minutes, I just cried, wishing that I could rip my heart out to stop the pain or somehow fill the chasm of abysmal sorrow with something else, something that could return my happiness. The sobs eventually calmed into light hiccups and I arduously rose to my feet, shoulders slumping as though they couldn't handle their own weight. My burning eyes automatically averted from the full length mirror that stood beside the door. Breathing in shakily, I rubbed my tears away, exiting the room, wincing at the sudden bombardment of bright sunlight.

Squinting, I slowly walked down the stairs, feet heavily imprinting into the hardwood. Before I knew it, I was in the kitchen, watching my father nibble casually on a piece of toast, reading the newspaper avidly, a slight frown present on his lips. When he heard my arrival, he layed the crinkling paper gently on the glass table, smiling sadly at me, deep lines forming at the corner of his eyes and his mouth.

"Hey there, kiddo. How're you feeling?" he asked lightheartedly, warm brown eyes kind and understanding. Shrugging infintesimally, I meandered to the plate beside him, sitting down and sighing. The enticing aroma of bacon, eggs, and buttered toast invaded my nose, but once I actually saw the full plate of aesthetically pleasing food, any sort of hunger was soon forgotten. Feeling slightly nauseous, I took the piece of lightly toasted bread and nibbled on it's edge, sinking back into the seat as I stared into nothingness.

"So when do you want to go back to school?" my dad inquired, skewering a piece of fluffy scrambled egg with his fork and letting it fall into his mouth. Once again, I shrugged, the thought of school without my brother suddenly suffocating. A comforting hand was on my shoulder. I glanced confusedly at my father, who once again had that sad smile on his face. Realizing that I was crying again, I quickly wiped the tears away, dropping the piece of toast among the eggs. "Tyler wouldn't have wanted us to act this way," he consoled, squeezing my shoulder. I nodded softly, gazing at my mother, who was slumped on the couch in the silent living room, expression devoid of any emotion.