Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

Fuck

I've been cooking for years. I don't have a mom anymore, so she can't do anything for us, and Alfred, well he's a horrible cook. That's why he gets me to do it I'm sure.

When everything's in the oven and the water for the pasta is boiling, I go over and pick up the pieces of glass, but I end up cut myself on the last piece. Damn it!

I go to the bathroom, sucking on my finger, and rummage through the medicine cabinet until I find a tiny box of band-aids. I pull one out, wrap it around my finger so that the white part is settled over my cut, then I stand up... and I'm faced with the mirror.

I see Alfred's green eyes and Alfred's auburn hair and his slender nose and defined cheekbones. I see his neck and his cleft chin and his ears that are a smidge to small for his head. I also see a bruise and a split lip. Those are all mine. Everything else in the mirror belongs to Alfred because I look exactly like him, except a few of his features have withered away from his excessive drinking.

People say I'm good-looking. People lie too fucking much.

I can't avert my eyes at first, but then I hear his door open. I've got good hearing, I have to. I come out of the bathroom and nearly run into him. He shoves me back, knocking me backwards so I fall on my backside. He snorts.

"Get the fuck up and finish," He snaps and heads into the living room to watch TV or whatever. I go back to making dinner/lunch for him and his 'lady friend' that's supposed to come over. Suddenly, he shouts roughly from the other room. "Get me a beer!" which inadvertently makes me wince.

He's like this in the afternoon.

-

Damn, it's fucking cold outside. That's not saying much, since I was born and raised in Florida, and so it's only about sixty or so degrees Fahrenheit. New Yorkers would be wearing shorts and tank tops while I'm out here in a jacket shivering my skinny white arse off.

I rub my hands together and decide to sit down on the wooden hallway outside out apartment. I know to keep warm your supposed to keep moving but if I'm gonna freeze, I'm going to do it comfortably thank you very much.

The apartment we live in is 334, which is parallel to apartment 333. An old lady used to live in there, but she died about a year ago from cancer or mothballs or something. Danny, our landlord, says someone else is moving in there. Danny is kind of weird. He walks with a cane wherever he goes, even though he doesn't have a limp.

My butt kinda hurts now. How long has it been? Two, three hours since that woman went into our apartment with my dad? Please, he's thin, but it doesn't mean he's gone that much stamina for god's sake. And then the door opens.

Oh shit, she's got a bruise. That wasn't there before. I glance at her worriedly and I notice she's actually sorta pretty, except for the fact she was most likely just in there banging Alfred.

"Are you... okay?" I ask her, but I don't have the chance to get an answer. My dad pulls me in the apartment by the collar of my shirt, strangling me for a moment. The door slams and I'm falling to the floor again. I'm used to it. Physical training.

He's just glaring at me, "It's your fault, you waste of space."

"Sorry, sir," I say automatically. I remember mentioning before that I usually only say 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir'. Today I've gotten a vocabulary stretch, I think. At least it's nighttime, so I'm not being blinded by the sun now.

"Apologies mean nothing," He snarls and lifts his foot as if to crush a bug. Namely me. It always hurts, too. Every kick, every punch. This time is no exception. White sparks fly in front of my eyes as the bottom of Alfred's shoe comes into contact with my face. It splits my lip back open, and tomorrow there will probably by a bruise where that horrible throbbing is.

Damn –tomorrow's Sunday.

Great, a whole day for my bruise to form just for school on Monday.

He's right though. Apologies don't mean anything. But what else was I supposed to say? I'd like to ask him why it's my fault. I really would because everything seems to be my fault with him, and I really don't think I have that much control over the universe. But that's just me. How did I screw up this date of his? I don't know and frankly, I don't care. All I know is that it's eight O'clock and I'm already tired. I want sleep.

He's not that bad, really. I mean, he's taking care of me. When mom died, he could've just given me up. Alfred is my dad, Alfred Norse, and I'm Jayden Norse. I don't know why I call him Alfred in my head, but I've done it for a while now and it just feels weird to call him 'dad'. It doesn't really suit him.

Alfred spits on me and storms away, bumping into a million things as he goes knowing I'll clean everything up after him. And I do that. His door slams and I flinch yet again.

He's like this at night.

~~
Hiya! So after a few years (five years is still considered a few, right?) I've decided to do a little revision and so far, it has definitely been needed!

I'm not sure how often I will be able to post edits due to college and all, but, as I have mentioned before, you can always read the unedited version which is published on this account as well.

Also, if I make a mistake, please feel free to call me out on it so that it can be fixed.

Please enjoy!