The Girl in the Mirror

I hear her before I see her. Footsteps stomping, pounding the stairs, the noise makes me cringe. I lower the music on my alarm clock radio and hug my Calculus book tightly to my chest. I brace myself patiently for all hell to break loose, praying this time; I wouldn’t get caught in the middle of it.

My door is flung open; it smacks the wall with a loud bang. Picture frames rattle on my walls. I carefully place the book I had been clutching back on the desk and swivel my desk chair to face my intruder.

“Your music is too loud.” grumbles my uninvited-guest. Grasping the door frame with her left hand, she leans heavily on it.

“Sorry.” I apologize pretending to be engrossed with the chipping paint on my wall. I silently pray that is all she wanted.

It isn’t. “How do you expect to do homework with your music blasting in your ears? I could hear it from the kitchen!”

I don’t reply and shift my focus to studying my feet. I know she is lying. She hadn’t heard my music until she entered my room. I made sure it wasn’t too loud. But none the less, her annoyance radiates off her in waves, along with the pungent odor of alcohol.

“Well?” she snaps. “Are you going to answer me or are you to stupid to speak now?”

I know I should apologize again and save myself from her wrath, but a spark of courage ignites in me.

“It helps me focus.”

She snorts in contempt. “That is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. You’re grounded by the way, for being a smart a*s. Understood?”

I mumble ok and continue to stare mindlessly at the floor, hoping it could somehow swallow me up.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you goddammit!” she growls. She attempts to stalk across my room, only to stumble from her current state of intoxication. I know she has reached me when I see her shadow darken the floor. She looms over me like ominous storm clouds threatening to pour.

“I said, understood?” she hisses. The smell of beer on her breath is evident, and recent.

Regaining another ounce of bravery, I make eye contact and reply sharply, “Yes.”

Before I can react, an unseen hand strikes my cheek. Instantly, my own hand flies to my face, I feel the heat and throbbing as I lay my palm against it. I sit there in speechless horror.

“That will teach you not to be smart with me.” she mutters. “Idiot.”

I’m not sure if it’s the comment or the adrenaline of the moment, but I jump to my feet and find my voice.

“I am not an idiot.” I argue. Despite the four inches and twenty pounds she has on me, I stand my ground.

“What did you say?” Her voice is eerily calm, but her bloodshot eyes give away her anger.

“I said, I am not an idiot.” I repeat, my voice growing stronger. “You have no right to call me that.”

Her face immediately contorts in rage. Her face red, her mouth puckered. It obvious she has reached her breaking point. She’s about to blow.

“No right, no right? I am your mother, goddammit, I can do whatever the hell I want!” she hollers. She takes a threatening step forward as I step back, putting as much space as possible between us.

“Would you like to try again?” she sneers, her hands balled into fists. Her shoulders tense up as if she is a predator about to make a kill.

“Never mind.” I mumble, swallowing my pride. I tell myself it’s not worth it to argue, but I’m left with a bitter taste in my mouth.

She smirks with satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”

And just when I think the bout is over, outstretched hands shove me hard. I topple backwards into my desk, causing everything to scatter. Paper, pencils, books, all litter the floor. With one last distasteful look, she leaves my room, slamming the door in her wake.

As I collect my fallen stuff, I catch a glimpse of a girl. A girl; her hair a mess, face flushed, and her cheek is marred with an angry red splotch. The beginning of a bruise is evident on her left arm. She looks defeated; alone. It is a reflection; one I had seen many times before, and one I had long gotten sick of seeing.

Author's Note

Feel free to give any feedback, i want to here what you think!

Reviews

[beautiful dreamer]

wowsers c. this is sooo good. are all your stories sad tho??

[C.C. Marx]

Sometimes, it just depends on what the idea pops into my head is

[Caitlynn Cusick]

This speaks not only to those who are abused physically, but also to those who are emotionally and mentally abused.... Sometimes the pain is so bad, it feels like you've been hurt... I know how it feels to be beaten down and this definitely speaks to my soul.... Very good at showing emotions....

[C.C. Marx]

Thanks I really appreciate the comment!!!