Transgressive Thursday
Girl in the Mirror
The girl glaring back could have been my doppelgänger…
He followed me into the bathroom, shoved his palm against my cheek and pushed my face up against the mirror.
“Juss look at yorself, you f-ing tart,” he spat the words into my ear.
“I — I… can’t see, too close,” I mumbled.
He grabbed my arm, roughly pulling me back, and we both took in my reflection.
“That crap on yer eyes.”
Staring ahead, I saw the mask I had spent time perfecting five hours earlier. The neat eyeliner and subtle foundation. The lipstick that matched my nails and the eye-shadow that complimented the hazel of my iris. The girl glaring back could have been my doppelgänger. She looked like me, but I felt totally removed from her,
verbal abuse hardens your soul until you find it difficult to recognise what you have become.
Finally, he walked out the door — turned and scathingly muttered, “Ge’ yorself a real man, not that little squirt from down the road.”
A tear cleared a path through the rouge as it tricked down my cheek.
It wasn’t easy being seventeen. Finding your way in the world and searching for yourself at the same time.
I took a tissue from my pocket, ran it under the tap and smeared the make-up across my face. Now the mirror depicted reality, I looked and felt like dirt.
Once in bed, I curled up into a ball, hugging my knees and sobbed. I had to leave home. I couldn’t bear to live in the same house as my stepfather any longer.
Another from May…
