Under the Influence ✔

15.

Reflections are a funny thing. I know that I'm staring at myself, but it's like I'm looking at a stranger in the dirty mirror hanging on the wall. All my life I've been told that I'm pretty - beautiful as Wes would put it, but I've never seen it for myself. 

When I was little, before I was old enough to speak up, my mom used to dress me up like I was a mini adult, and people would comment on how adorable I was or how much I looked like a doll at times. I however just wanted to wear t shirts and shorts like all the other kids. I didn't care about appearances, I still don't. I'm plain, average, nothing extraordinary, and I'm fine with that. 

What I'm not fine with though, is the fact that in the past year it's as if I have transformed into a totally different person. My hair hasn't been properly washed or cut in months, my skin is broken out in places, my face is looking a tad bit hollow and there are bags under my eyes darker than they have ever been. I've never worn a lot of make up, but right now, it wouldn't hurt to invest in some foundation. 

My clothes don't fit me anymore, they're baggy in all the wrong places and my belt is being used to actually hold my jeans up instead of an accessory right now. I hand't been paying attention to the physical changes in myself, not until now. I knew that they were happening, I knew my clothes were getting too big, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the next high and becoming numb. 

The knock at the door has me wiping away tears that I didn't even know had formed in my eyes, "Luna, are you in there?" 

"Yeah." 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah." I close my eyes and hope that he can't hear the crack in my voice. But this is Wes, and of course he knows that I'm lying. He opens the door a crack and steps into the small bathroom with me, closing the door behind him. 

"Don't lie to me, beautiful." 

"How can you call me that?" I look back at the mirror and frown at my reflection staring back at me. I feel sorry for the girl I'm looking at, she looks lost and broken. She looks like she's been dragged through hell and doesn't know how to find her way out, and she looks like she's scared of what will happen to her if she fixes herself. 

I can see Wes' reflection wrap his arms around mine, and it's frightening how different we look. It's as if you can see more than just our physical appearance through the grime on the glass, you can see our inner selves - and his is in a much better state than mine. I let my head lean back and rest against his chest as he holds me tighter, both of us watching our mirrored selves mimic our actions. "Do you really not see it, Luna?" 

"No." I tilt my head and watch as my blonde hair falls to the side, the splint ends as easy to point out as the bags under my eyes. I've been sober for three months, but I still look like I'm strung out. 

"What do you see?" He watches me as I study myself for the hundredth time since I walked into this room half an hour ago. I know that if I tell him, he'll tell me I'm wrong - he'll say something sweet and he'll make me smile, and it won't be a lie, but his truth and mine are two very different things.

"I see a ghost. I see a stranger. I see a girl that I don't want to be, and I can't find the old me anywhere, no matter how long I stand here looking for her." I look down at the floor, unable to bear the sadness in the eyes - my own eyes - looking back at me. 

Wes doesn't say anything but I know he's thinking, probably trying to find the perfect words to say. He's good at that, saying the perfect thing to make me feel better, even if it's just for a minute. But no perfect words come, instead he says,  "Let's get out of here." 

Gladly. "Okay. Where are we going?" I knew better than to think he would let me go back to my apartment and crawl back into bed, but I was hopeful. 

"It's a surprise."