The Mirror Games

PROLOGUE

I'm sitting on my bed, panting, clenching the mattress with my hands in an attempt to convince myself that I am safe again. My hair feels tangled, long brown strands fall on my ears and eyes, attaching to my damp neck and lips. My white shoes are muddy, my blue jeans are spotted with light brown dirt, my red shirt is wet; I can smell the stench of my own sweat. I feel a mix of relief and hysteria spreading slowly from my stomach, and my scattered brain fears and welcomes it. My eyes feel sore; the sunlight comes from the windows behind me and reflects on the light peach walls. It's blinding. There wasn't this much light on the other side.

The mirror in front of me doesn't reflect the light; it shows the windows and the white curtains behind me like a frozen image, but I'm not in the reflection, though I'm sitting right in front of it. Someone is pounding her fists on the surface on the other side, though. Her eyes look so much like my own, dark brown, but there's a shadow behind them, one that I would have never seen in myself. Her short legs clad in tartan leggings are tense with rage, the short black skirt jumps with every one of her violent movements. I can read her lips, as full as mine, although I can't hear a sound.

"Let me out", she screams, and I can hear her chilling voice in my ears, grating as her face—my face— deforms with anger. I bite my lips to suppress a sob, and I keep my face as straight as I can, clenching the mattress even harder, trying to convince myself that I'm here, not there. But it's harder than it seems. Especially when I can still see myself on the other side of the mirror, still pounding at the glass, still screaming "Let me out".