AN: Nudge-centric. I'm not quite sure exactly where this takes place, but when Nudge wants to leave the flock in MAX would be a good place, I suppose.
I am the parasite that lives in your room, feeding off the attention that you give me. Your vanity serves to maintain my existence. And because you have an abundance of vanity, like any regular teenager, I will always exist out of the periphery of your vision. Whenever you see me—truly see me—you always blink and shake your head, as if you are trying to forget what you have just seen. I always watch you, my eyes permanently fixated on you. It is not my choice, and it is not yours. Neither of us have any control over it, yet we are forced to put up with it. You can do whatever you want, but you always remember that I am always watching.
I see that your bedroom mirror is cracked, as if one too many things have been thrown at it. You stare at your reflection in it, contemplating your looks. You are in a dress, which Max never lets you wear because they are impractical for flying. You give a little twirl in it, watching the white material flare around your ankles, giving you the illusion that you are flying. I work hard to stifle a giggle—you look so ridiculous.
You then give a little sad smile at the mirror, giving it a little curtsy. You are playacting, I can see, playing at a future that will never be yours. You then collapse on the couch and sit there for a while, staring out the window. Everything has been given to you, yet nothing you want. Attention? Definitely not anymore. Love? Heck no. Normal friends? A distant fantasy.
I think you are conceited. You wallow in self-pity when there are other things you can think about instead. You are a pathetic excuse for a human. Somehow, you can sense my thoughts, because as soon as I think that, your face twists into a forlorn expression.
"I already know that!" you yell into thin air. You wish I can hear.
I can hear you. Yet, I do not reply.
It is easier to not communicate with you.
You sit with your head in your hands, counting repeatedly, as if that will keep me and thoughts of me out of your head. Maybe if something else can preoccupy you, I will not. But you cannot get rid of me. I will always be there.
Always.
I am a discarded toy. I am a memory of a broken childhood. I am a reminder of things you want to forget. I am a nuisance that you can't get rid of no matter what you do. I am that monster under the bed you love even though you hate me.
You hate me because you love me.
You love me because you hate me.
I am you.