Page 26 of Fragmented Illusions
I’ve been awake for twenty minutes now and the fatigue is still weighing me down—like weights attached to my limbs. My lack of restful sleep on top of a powerful sleeping pill was not the best combination—especially with class in just a few short hours.
I need to get it together.
Sighing, I push myself off the door and shuffle to my mirror. I untuck the corner of the towel and let it pool at my feet. I resist the immediate urge to squeeze my eyes shut as I stare at my nude body reflected back at me.
My love hate relationship with my own reflection is one I’m trying to work on—hence why I’m staring at myself. It’s much easier when I’m dressed. I have become used to it in that way, but when I’m naked, it seems to be a completely different story.
Maybe because of the small scars lining my stomach—as visible as ever. Taunting me. Reminding me of what is still inside of me.
Or maybe because of the memories they hold. Either way, I force myself to believe it didn’t happen.
They say that’s what started it all—the doctors. The therapists.
They said something happened to me that made something in my brain snap. Little do any of them know I have always been like this. But after that night, I simply didn’t care about hiding it.
I will admit, I went off the deep end. And I most definitely did some things I shouldn’t have, but it’s too little too late.
What matters now is I’m better. I have my medication to help, and I hide the rest of it.
I’m doing perfectly fine.
I’m perfect.
I drag my eyes away from my scars and when I glance up to meet my own stare, something catches my eye.
A piece of paper wedged into the white frame of my full-length mirror. It’s folded cleanly in half—the fold sharp and crisp. The paper is white as well, but it appears to be more of an off-white color, unlike the stark white of my mirror frame, which it why is stuck out to me, I suppose.
Long gone is the heaviness I was feeling moments ago, now instantly replaced by a bolt of adrenaline. I don’t know where this note came from, but it most definitely wasn’t me—that I am sure of. I’m notthatfucking crazy.
With slightly shaky hands, I lean forward and grip the edge of the paper. I slowly pull it from the frame so as to not rip it. With the note now in my grasp, I feel how heavy the paper is. It’s thick, dense, but the color of it is faded and appears old. It’s quite the contradiction… and I don’t even know why that is what I am focusing on right now when I just found a random note in my bedroom.
I should be freaking out.
I am freaking out.
I walk backwards on equally shaky legs, and when the bottoms of my thighs hit the edge of my mattress, I collapse on top of it. I force my breath in through my nose and out through my parted lips as I unfold the paper.
The first words my eyes fall on has the paper falling from my grasp and fluttering down to the floor. Darkness litters around the edges of my vision as I begin to panic. My vision blurs and my body goes painfully numb.
I can feel the movement of my chest as I take short, rapid breaths that further deepen my blackened vision. My body moves on autopilot—survival mode kicking in—and my arm drops to the floor to feel around for the paper.
I need to read it.
I—I have to know what I’m in for.
Oh, pretty girl, pretty girl
You saw something you shouldn’t have
Or did your eyes deceive you?
We know your secret
The one you keep locked up tight
Pretty girl isn’t so pretty on the inside
We’ll be watching
