Not Your Day

The Essay, The Mirror, The Sister

       It was a dark and stormy night outside, and I had been up rather late doing homework.

       "Nnnng," I groaned. Setting my pen down, I flopped back onto my bed. Staring at the ceiling somehow seemed more interesting than writing this dumb essay. There were papers and books spread across the bed in front of me. My research. My bag was open next to me, my English binder lazily shoved in. A half-written essay was sitting on my crossed leg, covered in red pen scribbles and comments. A side effect from letting Jake proofread it. Never doing that again. Too much extra work.

       "You gotta make it better!" he said when he saw my wide eyes staring at all his marks.

       "I'm not Shakespeare! I just need a passing grade" I whined.

       "You need more than just a passing grade to raise your average, Alex. You need a miracle. And at least a B on this paper!" he laughed and hit me on the head with my essay. "Make these changes then show it to me again. We can work on the second half of it after this part is good," he handed it to me and swung his bag over his shoulder.

       "Bleeeeeeeehhh!" I said, sticking my tongue out at him. I rolled up the essay and swung it at him. He dodged. "You suuuuck, Jake," I complained.

       "You can thank me later!" Jake yelled. He sprinted off laughing as I picked up a rock from the ground. I chucked it at him, just barely missing. He stops for a sec to stick his tongue out at me before running off. "Seeya, Alex!"

       "Man, I quit," I say, sitting back up and shoving the papers away from me. Jake can go step in dog poo for making me do all this extra work. "I'll work on it again later. It's already one. I. Quit."

       Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stared out at the rain crashing down outside. The sound of it hitting the roof outside my window was a bit calming. It's so much darker than normal. "I wonder if we'll even have school tomorrow," I sigh. Taking soft and deep breaths, I stand up and stretch a bit. I'm not really tired, and I don't want to sleep just yet, so I clean up my bed a bit. I pick up the essay and look at the changes I made. It's not exactly what he wanted, but it's an improvement. I'll finish it when I wake up. Shoving all my papers and such back into my bag, I decide to find clothes to wear tomorrow before I head to bed. Stalling sleep as much as possible, I go to stand in front of the full body mirror in the corner. "What do I feel like wearing?" I check the weather on my phone. Still stormy. I glance back up to look at myself in the mirror. "Have I always looked like this..?" Slowly, every little flaw in my body becomes clear. It's happening again. Things I try not to focus on becoming the center of attention. Tears start to well up in my eyes, but I blink them away quickly. "F-fuck."

       "Shit, that hurt.." I'm on the ground, holding my now bleeding hand. It's only small cuts, but it hurts like hell. I shake off my hand and look up at my mirror. A shattering hole is on the side, cracks branching out like a spider's web. The reflection of the window show's from this angle. Broken, shattered chunks of rain, falling across the smooth glass surface of the mirror. "It's raining tears.." I mumble. I'm crying now. The tears in my eyes blur the image of the rain. The light reflecting on the droplets of water softens and blurs together. It's mesmerizing and beautiful. It's horrible and terrifying. Emotions rage through me. "I hate myself," I say through sobs, "I fucking hate myself. And I don't even know the damn reason why... I just can't look at myself. My damn body is shit. I hate everything about it, and nothing at all. I don't know. I hate how my hair looks. I hate my face, my body. I hate myself!" I sob wildly, my hands shaking with fury. 

       I stay like this for a while before standing up and shaking off my hand. A stain of blood has dripped into my cream-colored rug, but I don't care. I rub my arm over my eyes, smearing my tears. Carefully opening the door, I sneak to the bathroom as quiet as possible to clean off my cuts. It's a process, but soon my hand is bandaged and I'm sneaking back to my own room. I'm almost there when suddenly the door to my little sister's room opens just a crack. "Hey, Fi," I whisper, "Head back to sleep, alright? I just had to use the bathroom real quick," I say with a small smile.

       She's staring at my hand. "What didya do to yer hand?" She says, pointing at it. Instinctively, I pull it back.

        "Keep your voice down. We don't want Papa to know we're awake," I warn her. "I tripped getting clothes from the dresser, is all. My hand hit the mirror when I tried to catch myself."

       "You sure, Alexis? I thought I heards you cryin'. Were you crying cause you hit your hand? You gonna have to cut it off now?" Her eyes go wide at the thought.

       I chuckle a bit and rub her head with my good hand. "I'll be alright, Fi. I promise. The hand is staying on the arm." I shake it in her face. "Don't you worry about me. You just head on back to sleep now, alright? We have school in the morning." She looks uncertain for a second before smiling a big toothy smile.

       "Don't you worry, Alexis! I'll keep yer secret!" I hush her and look around. "Oh yeah. Quiet. Seeya in the morning, sis-sis. Night Night!" She shuts her door and I stand there for a moment to make sure she gets to bed. Once I hear the creak of her mattress, I creep back to my room and shut the door.

       "Good Night, Fiona." I smile.