Thomas Brodie-Sangster Imagines

Part 17. The Mirror (cont)

I walk back to bed. Its past 2.

I lay in bed, wide awake, running through all the logistics of the next days. Thomas doesn't even cross my mind. I'm trying to figure out breakfast for tomorrow. Our hotel room has a mini fridge, but there isn't anything breakfast-like in there.

There is a restaurant place in the lobby of the hotel, but I figured we wouldn't want to eat there more than once or twice, and I should save that as a back up resort in case its raining one day, or neither of us feel like leaving the hotel.

I don't know the area too well at all, so I pull out my phone. I don't have Thomas's number. Too bad. I do have Greg's though.

(Y/N): Hey Greg... I know its late, but do you know of any good breakfast places Ava and I could eat tomorrow?

I sit waiting for a minute. No answer. I always feel like people don't answer their phone right when i need them to be answering me. I put my phone on the bed side table, and close my eyes. I cant sleep. I open my eyes and stare out the view of the balcony's sliding door. Its gorgeous.

The phone lights up.

Greg: Ya. There are a few places. Anything in particular you're looking for?

No. Not really.

I mean, obviously not crazy pricey. We are foreign University students who are renting a place in Oxford. We don't exactly have cash lying around.

Ok then...

There is this really nice cafe sort of near the outer part of downtown London. I would definitely go there.

Great. Can you send me the name of it? and maybe the directions?

Sure.

He sends over the directions, and I can now sort of peacefully sleep.
____
I wake up to the gorgeous sun pouring in over the remarkable London skyline out the window. This has truly been exceptional. I know this is a gift for Ava, but I've truly enjoyed it.

I walk to the bathroom to wash all the sleepiness off my face. Nothing wakes me up first thing like a cold tace wash does. I pass the mirror again.
There she is. I gave her what she wanted. Didn't I? I didnt loath myself in that moment. Why does she still look incomplete?

I look at her.
Stare into her eyes.
There is this sadness.
Not an internal sadness.
An external sadness.
Something.
Something I've done.
I know the girl staring back at me is me.
But shes so different.
She sees me.
And I see her.
I see myself.
From another view.
I can see what's causing the sadness.
It's how I look at her.
At myself.
I no longer loath myself.
But I'm still jealous.
Of all those girls.
With the perfect hair.
And smile.
And skin.
And slim perfect figure.
And significant other.
Why am I not like them?
Why am I me?
Why can't I just fit that mould?
I see in her eyes.
This is what saddens her.
She is sad that I still try to fit the mould.
I am sad that I still try to fit the mould.
Never again.
I am me.
The only reason I dont fit those moulds,
Is because I'm already formed in my own.
Never again.
Never will I try to be someone I'm not.
Never.
I look at her.
I smile.

She smiles back.