Title: In the Mirror
Fandom: Being Human
Spoilers: General series 4.
Warnings: Non-con; implied oc death; disturbing imagery.
Disclaimer: Being Human belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.
Summary: She's just another kill.
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Hal catches up with her in the cloakroom. Handbag clutched defensively; face slack and stupid: shock makes everyone a cliché.
She crashes onto the counter. Clattering, scattering: hair brush, scent. Powder and lipstick – sitting in front of the mirror and working to make her face disappear. Trying to resurrect her younger self. Layers of paint and varnish, but he can strip it all away: fear eats through any disguise.
He forces himself into her, forces her face up to the mirror. Her eyes squeeze shut like a child denying the night. Like a coward on the battlefield. She stares at the inside of her eyelids – red, not black: blood and darkness. But he wants her to look, to see herself, her own eyes staring back at her, already cold and glassy. It's not a mirror, it's a crystal ball, showing her the future.
He wrenches her head up and she offers no resistance, body slack, eyes open – but not seeing, or not seeing this. This tear-stained ruin, this sagging flesh. This mouth shaped by unhappiness: world-weary. Already more than halfway to being a corpse.
She doesn't see him; she can't see him. Two parallel rows of glass: mirror staring at mirror, staring at mirror – on and on, marching into eternity. And her face, receding from him, smaller and smaller. Her face. Alone.
He pushes and pushes, but he can't get any deeper. He pushes harder, tries to drive himself inside her, right inside, to burrow and crawl all the way into her skin. To become part of her – to become her, to lose himself – or maybe, finally, to see himself. Through her eyes, in her skin, in the mirror.