Mirrors |NH|

Chapter Three

Edie sat back down as everyone else came back in from the break. She couldn't believe she was here. Her brother had forced her to come and she was not pleased. She did not need to be here. None of these people would ever understand what she had gone through, what she was going through. She couldn't even show her face, not that anyone would ever want to see her face again. She placed her hand up onto her cheek and ran a finger along the broken cracks of her skin. She cringed at the touch.

She watched as they all walked back in. She particularly took notice of the Irish boy who also didn't want to be there. She had seen him outside just a few moments before, talking with a friend, saying things that she herself believed to be true. She didn't belong here with any of these people. She was not like them and they were not like her.

The rest of the evening went slowly, but finally they were allowed to leave. She exited the building as she saw her brother get out of his car and come to her side. She opened her door and climbed in, not saying a word as her brother made his way back around to the driver side.

She buckled up and they pulled away from the curb. Looking out the window, she saw the Irish boy as he got into a car with his friend.

When she got home, she said goodbye to her brother after he had walked through her place to make sure no one was there. Once alone inside her apartment, she locked the door, deadbolting it in the three locks she had installed afterwards. She walked around the apartment checking all the windows, which had been nailed shut. She did all this even though her brother had just done the same thing. It had become part of her daily ritual now. Only once she was done making sure her place was secure, did she let out a breath and kick off her shoes.

She grabbed a bottle of Moscato and made her way to the bathroom. She got the water running as she uncorked the bottle and took a long gulp of it. She removed her clothing and made her way back to the bathroom, walking past the full length mirror in her room, now covered with a black sheet.

She quietly removed her makeup and jewelry before stepping into the now hot shower. She stood there, letting the water beat down on her back, her eyes closed. She quickly opened them again when the memory began rushing back to her. She slammed her fist into the wall of the tub and began crying. She couldn't even take a shower without being reminded of what had happened.

She finished up and got out. After she put on her pajamas, she snuggled up on the couch with her computer, and her cat, Lilac, who quietly curled up next to her. She gave the cat a few strokes down her back and a quick little kiss before focusing her attention on the task at hand. She opened up the folder on her computer that contained everything about that night.

The case had gone cold, already. There were no leads, which didn't surprise her. Nearly all of the evidence had been washed away and she couldn't tell anyone what her perpetrator looked like. No hair color, no eye color, not even skin color.

Edie, sat there, drinking her wine, petting the cat, and researching. "I can't be fixed if I can't find him, Lilac," she softly said. "I need to find him. It's the only way."

And there she sat, on her computer, until the sun rose above the horizon. Then, and only then, did she turn out the lights and climb into bed.

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Niall got home and slowly shut the door to his house. He locked the door and the deadbolt, before resting his back and head against the cold door. He closed his eyes for a moment before letting out a deep breath that he felt he had been holding in all night. He still couldn't believe he had had to sit through that meeting. He was nothing like those people. The only person who seemed to catch his attention was the girl who sat in the dark corner all night. He couldn't even remember her name though.

He opened his eyes as he tossed his keys onto the side table by the front door. He kicked off his shoes and proceeded to make the rounds of his house to make sure everything was secure. Once that was done, he went upstairs to take a hot shower. He turned the water on to as hot as it would go, removed all of his clothing and stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom. He watched himself as he traced a finger over the scars. His arm wasn't all that bad. He had been right when that bullet had just been a flesh wound. The scar on his arm didn't bother him. It was the other two.

He traced his finger over the top left portion of his chest down to the other just below his rib cage. One of those bullets had nearly hit his heart and the other just missed his lung. He really was lucky to be alive. He opened his hand and laid his palm on top of one and then the other. His hand was big enough to cover the majority of the scarring, most of which wasn't even from the bullets but rather the surgeries to save him. He tapped his finger along the scar by his heart, in rhythm to his own still beating drum, luckily still beating. 

He turned around to see the two scars on his back. Both bullets had gone straight through. These scars were worse than the front ones. These were where they exploded out of him, ripping his skin and muscle to shreds.

He got into the shower and shuddered. Despite the water being scalding hot, he was still cold. He stood there as the water beat down on his back, numbing him up. He only got out when the water turned cold. He threw on some sweats and made his way downstairs to make himself a cup of hot tea. Once it had been made, while it steeped, he plopped himself down in front of his tv and turned it on. There he stayed until the sun attempted to peek through the curtains that had been closed for two months.