Disturbed

The Monster in the Mirror

My eyelids are heavy and my heart hammers slowly, painfully in my chest. The clock in the corner has woken me, with it's insistent voice. The bed feels warm, safe, and yet still there is a lingering sense of immediate panic and sick fascination I have come to expect. I will myself to sit up, keeping my eyes shut for fear of what I might see. Would I catch glimpse of the monster? Would I spy the dark shadow on the wall, smiling so maliciously at me?

At last I could not bare the curiosity and welcomed such sights. There was nothing. Just the same peeling wallpaper and stupid posters of smiling idiots I had once idolized. I relaxed, my shoulders falling back and breaths becoming steady. I am alone, there is nothing to confront me.
I swing my legs out over the wooden floors, half expecting some shriveled claw to grasp at my leg. My foot touches the cold boards and I wince, having been accustomed to the heat of my blankets. I continued to the bathroom, where the door opened with a metal screech and I was greeted with the bright smiles of electric lights. My hands grip at the sink, my head bowed so as to not look at myself in the cracked mirror.
I am sick, I am twisted inside. I am dead. I have been told these things so many times I can't help but to wonder if they are right. My heart is black with spoilt blood they tell me. My head is swimming with murderous thoughts and surely I must see the importance of seeing a psychiatrist. I am not crazy. 

The morning is cold and I curl on the sofa, my eyes glued to the television screen, watching the blurry pixels change colors and listen to the wailing static sounds that come through the shattered speakers. I trace my crooked fingers down the leather armrest, a smile twisting my chapped lips. I can feel it at the edge of my mind. The screaming, the rush of anger, the special sort of sickness that I have tried to quell. I take deep, calming breaths to try and dispel the images floating within my mind.

Bloodied hands and a smile. That is what I remember most of the monster and even still I do not see it as often as it sees me. I have no love for the red eyed beast but oh, how it adores me. It is always there, lurking behind the shadows, the after image in the cracked glass. The nightmare that clings to my waking thoughts. I am alone.

The morning has gotten even colder. My fingers have scraped off bits of leather and they fall to the floor like snow. I can feel the presence itching at the back of my head. I can feel words pressing against my skull, and the icy hands wrapped around my neck. I take a shaky breath, images flashing across my line of sight. They are jagged edged and washed with blood, each more appealing than the next. I grit my teeth, why am I excited? Why do I want to...

I am up and running, to the bathroom, to the shattered mirror. I see it, standing within the shards of glass, a smug sort of grin stretching across thin lips. The monster sees me, and I see it. I am pleading, sobbing as it steps from the mirror, it's face etched with cruelty.
"You are still scared of me?" the voice is smooth and deep, handsome. I can not bring myself to speak, as it steps around me. It rests its clawed hands on my shoulders, whispering in my ear, "Of course you would be...I am your nightmare after all." it smiles again, a chuckle shaking the room. "And it is so easy..."
The house is dark when I wake again. I am slumped against the bathtub, pain surging up and down my aching body. Something is terribly wrong. My hands are slippery and there is something cold against my skin, pressed delicately to my neck.
"Hush now....you're in good hands." I can hear the voice, quiet and insistent in my ear and chills race down my spine. The lights brighten and I am looking up at myself, though it is not truly me. My eyes are not red, my mouth does not twist that way. My hair is not ripped out in chunks. I am not crazy.
It holds a knife in it's blood covered hand, and I can feel the metal on my skin, threatening to dig into soft flesh. My eyes are watering and I feel the burning of tears against scraped cheeks. I swallow sobs, watching the amusement flicker in it's soulless stare, and I know it wants me to scream. It's a waiting game, and I am going to lose. A whimper breaks from my sealed lips and it grins.
"Shhh, it's alright. Let me take care of you..." It draws back the knife, fiddling with it's handle as it stares at me, cocking it's head with a raspy laugh. "How should I kill you?" It mused, glancing at the weapon. "This knife has been so good to me... It makes quick work of my playmates." It's eyes glitter and I swallow, my heart thumping uncomfortably against my ribs. "But at the same time...it is too fast." It leans in. "I want it to last, this moment....I want myself to remember." I close my eyes, hoping that this specter will leave me be. I cannot be murdered by some phantom nightmare. This isn't me, I am not crazy. I am not going to die.

"Look at me when I'm speaking!" the growl forces my eyes to open as it clutches my t-shirt in it's clenched fist and I stifle a scream. My terrified gaze is locked with it's bloodied stare. It tilts its head, biting at raw lips. "Oh you....you have always been so good....but beneath that layer of pureness...there is a demon waiting..." it leans forward so that it's lips are against my ear, its knife pressed to my chest. "Let it out..." I feel its hand moving, feel the cold steel dig deep into my chest, and I can see it's elation...dancing inside merciless eyes.

I am crying, I am spinning in a void of bloodstained darkness. But there is a smile on my face... My eyes are open, and I am staring at a lifeless body with blurry, tear filled eyes. My hand is sticky with its dark blood, gripping the knife which is buried in its chest. I drop the body, and it falls into a filled bathtub, dissolving into red stained water. I am screaming, clawing at myself as if I could remove what lies inside of me. I slump to the floor, body convulsing in violent shivers and my head throbbing. I am a killer, I am sick. I deserve to die. "You poor little thing...let me help you." it's voice resonates around the room and I see it standing in the doorway. A perfect copy of myself, though its eyes are so much wilder, its teeth are sharper and it's face is bloodied and scarred. "You want to be whole again don't you?" it whispers inching closer. "I-I don't understand...what are...who are you?" my voice is little more than a child's whimpers. It smiles, lips curling into a sneer, eyes flashing in the dim light. "We are one...I am the nightmare and you...you are the daydream..." It crouches down, it's blank stare level with mine. "Isn't that exciting darling?" I shake my head, my eyes closing. It's hissing laughter forces them open and it trails it's cold finger down my cheek, tracing dried tears. "Don't be so afraid....It'll be just fine..." It smiles then, pressing my eyelids closed and I am sinking, drowning in darkness. My mouth is moving with unspoken screams and I am thrashing...but it is too late and I am left drifting.