Alamort

49. Priya

Decode - Paramore

T ime seemed to stretch as I stumbled, disoriented in the dark, running my hands over metal walls, tripping over air, until I finally grasped the fact that the obstacle in my path was none other than a solid metal door. There was no way I was turning back to face the Shadow Man after that bomb ass exit. With my luck there would be cameras, and the person monitoring would die from secondhand embarrassment.

Once I undid the latch, the room I entered filled the endless hallways before me with a red ambiance, as opulent dark red drapes adorned every wall and emitted a distinct "store new" scent. Even the ground had plush red rugs. I believed one of those paths would ultimately lead me out of this maze. That’s what I’ve been walking through ever since. One dead end after another. Each corner more frustrating than the last.

While making a left turn, I collide head-on with a singular floor mirror, the frame is aged, once where it was golden is now a dark copper color, golden vines wrap around the frame reads “Timent Veritatem” whatever the hell that means. My eyes dart around my figure, taking in the sight of my clenched fists tightly pressed into the sides of my short, poofy skirt, before averting my gaze. The tightness in my jaw intensifies. My teeth ache under the pressure. The thought of looking at my reflection is enough to make me nauseous.

I’m pathetic. I can’t even look at myself. Wiping my sweaty palms on the skirt, my nostrils flare in response. I take a deep breath to face the mirror. I quickly glance, seeing my black corset reflected back at me. Keeping my stomach sucked in, my brows furrow.

Weak.

Scared.

I’ll be able to see exactly what I am. Every flaw. Every insecurity. Every bit of ugly I am reflected back at me, mocking me. Offering me one final motive to put an end to my miserable existence.

One last time. I can face what I am, just like everyone else has to. I don’t get to make a life-changing decision and runaway like a scared little girl now. Addison wouldn’t. She’d pull up her big girl panties and handle it with the grace she’s always had.

But I’m not her. She was always stronger than me. In every sense. My sister would never let something hold her back from doing what she thought was right. Even if it was hard. My nails puncture my palms as I gather the strength to meet my gaze.

There. I did it. My eyes travel from my shoes, up my legs, and settle on my stomach, before I finally find the strength to meet my own eyes in the mirror. The girl staring back at me doesn’t look anything like the person I once remembered. There’s a big difference between slapping something on in the mirror and staring into my soul.

I hate her.

The girl in the mirror is someone I would gladly kill and not think twice about the consequences.

Her face is gaunt. The cheekbones and jawline are so prominent that it’s impossible to ignore. Hollow and tired eyes, with noticeable bags under them. Her hair, once radiant and glossy, now appears lackluster and devoid of its former shine, a stark reminder of how everything has changed in the past 10 months.

Ugly.

I’ve spent my life trying to be who everyone wanted me to be. Only to be picked apart from the outside in. And I complain about them but I am my own worst critic.

Disappointment.

She’s so dumb to think anyone could care about her. She let hope seep into her soul, only to be crushed by reality.

Unloveable.

She looks so tired.

Our eyes sting with tears, a physical manifestation of the pain we have endured for months, even years. She looks like the type of person to suffer in silence when she’s barely getting through the day. One who would intentionally starve herself for days on end hoping to go down a pants size.

Fake.

And I hate her. I hate us and what we’ve become.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be done. Maybe I’m sick, mentally. Maybe there is help for me, but I don’t deserve it for what I let happen to the one person I swore to protect. I don’t deserve happiness. I should’ve died with her.

In the silent corner, my panting is the only sound that breaks the stillness. Our brows furrow in unison. I raise my clenched fist and lock eyes with the girl in the mirror, only to realize there’s someone watching my emotional unraveling.

Do I pretend I don’t see them? Hope they’ll go away? Or acknowledge them? It seems a little rude to be watching someone and not at least let them know they’re not alone.

Lowering my fist, I turn to face the intruder with both hands on my hips, ready to give them a piece of my mind on their snoopy ass behavior.

As I open my mouth, they’re closer than they were seconds ago. It’s easy to tell it’s a man by the broadness of his shoulders. He’s dressed in all black head to toe, minus the Ghostface mask from that horror movie. In the mirror, he seemed so far away, at least to the end of this corridor. Could it be a trick of the mirror? But that wouldn’t make sense, since there was nothing unusual about my appearance.

I step back, hitting the mirror, realizing I’ve cornered myself. This has to be a part of the attraction.

“Could you tell me how to get out of here?” I ask casually. The act of crossing my arms over my chest gives me a reassuring feeling of control. Safe.

Mask guy doesn’t respond. “A simple ‘No’ would’ve been fine,” I grumble, walking to slip past him. His gloved hand snaps out, catching me by the arm. A gasp escapes my mouth at the sudden touch.

“Can I help you?” I say through gritted teeth. The anger I felt earlier comes back tenfold. What would be a better way to get rid of it than putting a handsy carnie in his place?

His face ducks close to me. A whiff of gasoline and leather hits me. He reminds me of…

“Shadow?” I squint and tilt my head. He’s taller than I thought he would be. How tall is he...6’11? Whatever he is, is a giant. During my darkest days, that smell remains a constant companion, engraving itself into my memory. He mimics me, tilting his head. The way he stays silent causes my heart to race, second guessing myself. I’m a little over the games tonight. I nod, coming to an agreement mentally.

“Let me go.” I demand. Yanking my arm from him, but he holds tight.

“What’s wrong, Little Monster?” His voice is calm as his other hand cups my cheek, forcing me to look up into the solid black eyes of the mask. The longer I stare, searching for answers from a mask of a man I don’t know, my eyes fill with tears. This is what my life has come to. Spilling my heart out to a stranger.

“Have you ever felt so twisted up about something? You know what you have to do. But you’re scared?” I whisper. A single tear traces a path down my face, relaying the exact words my sister uttered one year ago. His hands are painted all black except the fingertips where it’s worn from use. Using his thumb, he slowly wipes it away. I swear I can feel his eyes dissecting me.

“I can fix it. Do you want me to?”

I nod.

“Say it.”

“Please.” My voice cracks as I pour what’s left of me into my plea of release. The rough brush of the pad of his thumb moves from my cheekbone to my lips to smear the lipstick I’d carefully applied earlier. My eyes involuntarily flutter shut, savoring the sensation. A touch that isn’t out of anger. One that doesn’t cause pain.

“Turn around.”

“Wait.”

My heart aches at the thought of saying goodbye to the closest thing that has brought me peace since my sister died. I need the closure of knowing what he looks like. Closing the distance between us, I press my body against his, feeling the comforting heat radiating from him, warming me to my core. I’ll miss this. The silence his presence brings to my mind. I place my trembling hands on the cool plastic of his mask, sensing the steady rhythm of his breath beneath my touch.

“I want to see you. Just once.”

He accepts with a tilt of his head.

With my eyes closed, I stand on my tippy toes to pull it over his head, paying attention to the warmth of his skin when my fingers brush against it before I let it go, dropping it to the carpet with a light thud before resting my hands on his chest above his heart.

Thump thump.

How isn’t his heart beating out of his chest like mine is? What if I know him? What if revealing his identity to me means he’ll tell everyone what we do? What I allow him to do to me.

Thump thump.

Does it matter?

Steeling myself to be disappointed, I stand a little taller knowing it won’t matter after tonight. And open my eyes.