I didn't know the time, but the light in the room was dim. Never mind, I take that back. There was no light in the room at all. It was pitch black. Dark as the black, eerie night I went into the woods at exactly 12:00 while playing truth or dare when I was 13. I was scared out of my mind, and my friend Lawson claimed that he didn't think I would really do it when my Mother scolded him for giving me the dare.
I could still see one thing though. The mirror. It was a wide clear mirror that was lined with a thin silver frame which was stuck on the wall above the white and black granite counter and the single, average sink. I had been staring at it for a while now. Not really looking at anything but the mirror itself.
I felt oddly attracted to it, like a moth is drawn to a flame. Quite some time had passed since I came into the bathroom to do I can't remember what. It had to be a pretty long amount of time though. Long enough that my eyes were now watering, glassy, and unfocused. Like I said, I wasn't really looking at anything. I couldn't really see anything either, even if I wanted to look at something amazing on my very average mirror.
I realised that there was probably work to be done, and that I should really leave. The magnetic effect with the mirror suddenly stopped. I walked away, shaking my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts. I'm smart enough to know it's not going to work, but it's better to do something stupid than to do nothing at all. I took a deep breath, as the smell of linen flooded my senses and tried to calm myself down, but I still felt oddly nervous. There was a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that I couldn't explain. My hands were shaking, and I rubbed the sweat that had started to collect on them on my jeans. I gripped the hem of my black t-shirt to stop the shaking. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt my breathing hitch when I realized how long I'd really been staring.
I remembered I still had on the Apple Watch Carson bought me for Christmas last year since he's kind of rich. There was a date and time shown when you turned it on, like an IPhone. The displayed time read 4:08 am. The date read April 5th. I went into the bathroom at 5:06 pm. 5:06 pm April 3rd.
I looked back at the mirror to see a pale, short, 17 year old boy. '5 '4. Light brown, short wavy hair with bangs half covering my left eye. Dark blue eyes. Except that's not what I saw. I saw a 17 year old boy who you could call 12 if you didn't know any better. Messy hair. Bloodshot, wide eyes. An overall terrified expression.
This boy was not me. It couldn't be. I was Alexander Lacomb. The mirror had an image of a boy who hadn't slept in 2 days. Like John, the idiot who sometimes forgets who to fall asleep, if that's even possible.
I slept yesterday. I did, I know I did. This wasn't real. It's not real, so I can run away, I can leave. I have to leave. I walked out of the bathroom. Walking isn't exactly what I was doing, but it doesn't matter. I was about to yell for someone, anyone, when I remembered the facts.
I live alone. I'm just a traumatized 17 year old, sleep deprived boy, in a two-story house. By himself, if that makes the situation even worse than it already is. Everyone was asleep. There was a poster in my kitchen with a picture of a girl, with red hair and blue eyes "REBECCA MADDISON: MISSING" it read, in all caps and red ink. Weird.
It was 4:14 am now. I set an alarm for 4:15 apparently two days ago. Why didn't I hear it earlier? Will I hear it now that I'm at least half-aware of everything? I sighed. I should make some coffee. Or finally go to sleep. I decided to do the second one, so I dragged myself to bed, then—
"Oh, well imagine"—the song 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies' played, as I began to heave in breaths. It was the song I set for my alarm every night.
