mirror game

XVIII.

Lust.

The word echoed through my mind as the weird idea popped inside.

The idea of lust filling Harold's eyes was so bizarre, it already seemed logic. Logic in which way? Maybe the reason he kept me here was because he used to be lonely? God, Rose, he definitely didn't lock you in because he's sexually frustrated. Who are you kidding?

I internally shook my head. No way. But I had to admit that the way Harold's body was so close to mine and held my wrists, not to mention that he said I'll have to punish you really turned me on. In such an awkward way. I was gone insane. Insaner than insane. I asked myself if Harold was able to feel. Anything. Maybe he couldn't even sense lust or any sort of erection. I shook my head internally, once again. Not possible. Not possible. This. Is. Not. Possible, Rose. 

The silence slowly but surely became embarrassing for the both of us. It was like his fingers being wrapped around my wrists separated my blood circulation because it felt like my hands woulnd't exist any longer. I couldn't move them. I didn't feel them. I could only hope Harold didn't freeze them in with his icy, ridiculous fingers. By the word lust revising itself in my head, I tried to push him away and escape his grasp. He let out a dry laugh when he would finally let me go. I nearly fell inside the tub as I tripped backwards. I was scared he'd hurt me. With that guy, you never know what he's going to do next.

"You know, Rosie, I can read your mind."

With that, he disappeared. Holy shit. He read my mind all the time I thought about this weird sexual idea that it could be lust filling his eyes and that he's frustrated and oh my fucking god. What is he going to do about it? Is he going to talk about it with me? Does that mean he also read my mind when I recalled the dream in which we were... Making out? Just about to have sex? Him satisfying my senses? God, my head hurt. Really bad. I turned around to face the marble tub. It actually looked quite appealing, if I was honest.

I bent down to let water fill the tub whilst I looked around the room. He's not inside, Rose, he just left. He can't see you, remember? I nodded, even though it was my own mind telling and encouraging me to undress. I was totally naked as I stood in front of the bigass mirror that showed me my reflection. But it was not quite me staring back. It was a girl that looked absolutely exhausted, drawn by the former occurrences. Drawn by the death of her friends, drawn by this attractive, ice-cold, dead and dangerous guy that is able to read her mind in the most uncomfortable situations. She looked all lean as she hadn't had a meal in - what did Harold say again? - 3 weeks? God, everything confused her. But the worst of all was that this girl was embodied by me. Rose. Rose that imagined a safe future with Ansel by her side because she had completely fallen for him. That was before he was murdered. By Harold.

It was like my reflection disappeared and the girl that rather looked like my former self stared back.

"Rose." It nodded.

"Uh, hi." I said, clearly uncomfortable with being naked in front of... Myself. Ironic.

"Nothing I haven't seen before." I smiled inside the mirror. "So Harold... He's really dubious, isn't he?"

"You're the one to tell." I half smiled. "I mean... Was he able to... God, I've got so many questions, everything is so confusing, it feels like my head -"

"Is about to explode. Yeah. I know. I am you, remember? Means I feel the same."

Myself looked pissed off. "Yeah, you're right." I nodded, nearly apologetically. "But how do you talk to me when we're the same person? How can you help me?"