She called it the monster room. The mirror went forever over the twin sinks, reflecting the towel racks, the pink terrycloth rectangles hanging and frayed by too many rinse cycles. She couldn't even use the toilet without opening the shower curtain, always afraid that she'd see a rotting, bloated corpse in the tub. A man's face made featureless in decomposition, dark hair parted greasily. He was never there.
The mirror was the worst. She'd brush her teeth, glancing behind her constantly, even with the door closed. Vampires, she'd been told, can't be seen in mirrors. Maybe one got in? Maybe one was right behind her? She looked back at her reflection, considered not flossing, retreating to her room, with light quick steps, her curls wet-dark above the shoddy towel she wrapped haphazardly around her awkward adolescent body. No one was watching. No one would want to.
You know that's a lie, right? Why are you telling me this? It's like you actually expect me to still listen to you, you little liar. You manipulative, insane harpy. You ugly, vain, petty, talentless girl. Do you know how much pain you've caused me? How much trouble you could spare me if you'd just do as told? I know you watch me. I know your freakish plans in the dark of your filthy room. I know you want to trap me, strip me down, degrade me. I knew all of that from the first time I laid eyes on you in that mirror.
You can’t see me behind you at all, can you, you stupid self-absorbed slut.
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