Together, Always (TPN x reader fanfic)

Horrendous Beauty

I never thought of myself as ugly. I always made sure to look presentable– shower (when I could), wash my face, comb my hair, clip my nails, what Mom taught us growing up. She taught us that no one was ugly, and that people who thought so were insecure and hated something about themselves, thus told others how ugly and unlovable they were . Therefore I always thought that whenever someone hated the way they looked, they were just insecure...

But now?

I like my hair color, I like its texture that allows my younger sisters to play with it.

I like my eyes, they resemble a beautiful element in the world that took years to form.

I like my nose, I can breathe with it, smell things with it , and stay healthy with it.

I like my hands, they allow me to hold close what I hold dear.

I like the small flaws that are in my face, hands, legs if I look really closely, they remind me of experiences and how I've grown throughout the years.

That I am far from perfect, and that's what I like.

No one's ever called me ugly or despicable to my face.

So why am I so sickened by what I see looking back at me in the mirror?

I want to scratch it, rip it, pull it, change everything I can from it. It's nauseating.

I want to rip off my face, deform it into something unrecognizable, until I can no longer be related to any of them.

I stare at the face of the people who started this hell, was she my age? Was she younger? Was she older? Was she even human? How many generations have passed that carried this face– how much harm has been done? Can I even call this my face?

I hate the person staring back at me. I hate the choices she's made. I hate that I made some of those choices.

I want to break the mirror, I want to shatter it, I want to stop her eyes from looking back at me in anger, despair, shame, pity, disappointment. Who is the person staring back at me? Is it my biological mother, my grandmother, the first Cetra? The ancient that aided the construction of human plantations? Is it the monster that my choices created?

Before I know it my fist strikes against the bathroom mirror, creating a noticeable crack. I quickly pull my hand back, I stare at my hand which luckily only had scratches in it– I sigh in relief, Anna had just removed the last bandaids I had from being tossed around by Andrew, I'm in no rush to be one fourth a mummy any time soon–perhaps if I had bottled everything back then, I would have shattered the entire mirror plus my fist, screamed, shouted, cried, broke down, and embarrassed myself in front of strangers who seem to have a shrine of 'my' face somewhere. And worry Norman.

I caress my scalp, followed by retrieving my hand to see various strings of hair in it, rolling them in a hair ball, and disposing of them– I get closer to the cracked mirror, lift up a section of my hair, the one over the spot that I always seem to pull my hand away from. I feel my pupils shrink and my brows furrow upward. A small bald spot.

"What..?" I quickly fix my hair, placing it in its usual hairstyle, making sure to cover what I had just seen– If Anna or Zack saw it, it's goodbye to anything that would give me a reason to stress in the slightest. 

I turn on the sink to wash my hands, rubbing the parts of my knuckle that took the impact. I turn off the sink, look in the mirror, straighten my posture, and smile at the past panicked face that was looking at me. Her smile is now happy and sincere. I'll definitely get an earful from Ray as soon as he sees it.