Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

Breathe

My butt hurts.

The price of sitting on hardwood for four hours straight, but it's worth it because god, his paintings are so beautiful. It makes me want to die. They represent what's real, you know? It's so fucking... god, if I wasn't falling for him before, I am now and oh my god, he's amazing.

Sitting here, in the middle of the many paintings, just looking at everything has become my favorite pastime for the last week. I do it instead of sleep sometimes, but Seaton's caught me and tells me not to do it. It's the only time I disobey him. I think he likes it when I don't do what he says. That's so weird, but I guess it's Seaton for you. So damn confusing, and he likes it that way.

They're assigning me to a psychologist. By 'they' of course, I mean Mr. Spencer and his parental self. The Red Lobster place said they'd call me back within two weeks to tell me if I get the job or not. I'm hoping not. I mean, fuck, a host? For real? Is there a job where you interact with more people? If there is don't tell me, I'd rather wallow it the fact I'd be talking to dozens and dozens of people every day.

Damn it, I still haven't gotten used to having five friends and talking to them almost every day. I'm not social.

Seaton said that's the point, the bastard. Speaking of him, I hear the front door open.

"Brat, where the hell are –" I hear him call from the living room. "Oh hell no, are you in there again? The paintings haven't changed, Brat!"

They might've.

The door to the room opens, he spots me in the center of the floor and rolls his eyes. He leans his shoulder against the doorframe.

"What are you doing?" Seaton sighs, "Did you finish all your homework, I don't want another call from Spencer chewing me out for not hovering over your shoulder while you do it."

"Yes, I did it," I reply mechanically, looking around at the paintings again, looking for the other ones that are of me. But my face isn't there. Maybe he keeps them somewhere else?

"Good," Seaton said, walking further into the room, "What are you doing in here?"

"Looking," I respond.

"Obviously," He rolls his eyes again, "But why?"

"I'm trying to see the other paintings of me," I tell him, looking away from the paintings and at his face, "There aren't any."

"Well then you aren't really looking, are you?" Seaton raises an eyebrow and holds out a hand, and I take it. He pulls me to my feet and quickly releases my hand. I've learned not to think too much of those tiny touches. "Come on, your groupies are begging to see you. We're going to a movie."

By my groupies, he means Linda, Suki, and Corin. Stupid, really. Corin said he'd pay for the T-shirts... haha. Not funny.

"Okay," I say, because I don't refuse Seaton anything. Except not looking at his painting at all hours of the night.

"Come on then," Seaton says, turning away.

Things seem almost... normal. Like I'm normal.

Not that I'm an expert on that.

-

Ring.

Ring.

Ri –

"Hello?" Seaton answers the phone in the kitchen. He's making spaghetti. It's weird when he cooks, because it looks so peculiar on him. At least he doesn't wear an apron because I think then my brain would implode.