The Ones Who Live Inbetween

5

You can't break me with this. Not yet, but you still don't remember. Why are you telling-no, showing me this? The water around me draws away like a silver tide until I am once more in a mirrored room. But this time something is different. My reflection is not me. Although he seamlessly imitates my every movement, I know he is not me. Nor is he intended to be me in any iteration. He is too young, too little to be me. His eyes. He has the saddest eyes. I look into them and see nothing but despair. Yet he is smiling. It is a crooked little smile. It is a smile that says nothing of childhood innocence. His smile is heavy and world weary. His back is slightly bowed as if he is carrying some unseen burden that weighs him down from behind. His clothes are expensive looking, blue silk detailed with gold brocade, yet ill-fitting and oversized. He is not wearing any shoes and his feet are scratched and bloody. Around one ankle is a shining gold cuff with a chain leading away into darkness. His hair is pale and glossy but it hangs long over his face.

I sit down, as does he. Although we sit in the same cross-legged position, he somehow seems all the smaller for it. My breath mists the glass of the mirror. Before melting away, words appear one after another, as if drawn on by an invisible hand. Look. I breath onto the glass again and it is replaced. Remember. The letters dissipate and reform again. Where did you go? I feel an inexplicable wave of desolation and guilt. You can't protect me anymore. In a swift violent motion, I wipe the mist off with my hand. I can't feel the glass under my hand. All I feel is the warm palm of the boy as his hand meets mine in the identical motion. I jerk back shocked. Then reach my hand out again. Our palms meet and I fold my fingers over his. With the rasp of a voice unused, I speak.

"I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry for what they did to you." I stop and clear my throat, "I don't know why I'm apologising. I don't even know you, do I?"

The hollow ticking of an unseen clock thrums through the room. The boy just stares at me, head tilted, with a broken smile. The lily tightens and burns deep in my chest.

***