'Speculum'
A request from Tumblr for the prompt 'speculum' (mirror)
He used to hate mirrors.
The only ones he knew at first were filthy, neglected old things, marked with soap spots and the name of that day's rebellious teenager; he was barely tall enough for those and he hated them all the more for it. They were a reminder that it was all stacked against him. That it was all on purpose, not a coincidence at all: he had been set up to fail from the beginning. It wasn't an accident. He, Edward Nashton, was not allowed to have anything. Not even his own reflection.
Not that he really wanted it. It was the principle, that was all. He should at least be able to choose, shouldn't he? On the rare occasions he was able he never did. There wasn't anything to see, anyway. Every glance revealed to him only some other defect, and he couldn't stand it. His nose was always too angled, or his hair had too much red in it, or his cheekbones stood out too much.
There were other things he hated in the rare glimpses he caught: the crookedness if he dared to smile, the lashes that made his eyes 'too pretty'. And the bruises. He couldn't stand to look at them. They took over his reflection, seeming to permanently mark him as a failure. No, he didn't need any of that. He wasn't going to look.
He kept avoiding them, year after year after year, until the day he removed his toiletries from the second-hand suitcase that contained everything he had that he cared to take across the country and set them on the bathroom counter of the most decently priced apartment he could find. In front of a mirror that wasn't cracked, or claimed, or spotted with careless soap. That was what bade him look, at first; next was the man it showed to him that he didn't recognise.
Somehow, he'd always thought he would forever see the boy.
He looked, really looked, for the first time in many years, and for some reason… for some reason he couldn't find the features he'd despised. His nose was bent up a little, sure, but it seemed to suit him. His hair had just enough red to call it auburn, and what a rich colour it was! And what had been the deal about his cheekbones? They only helped provide definition. He needed a bit of cleaning up, sure, but his trip had been long and he didn't even really look that bad. Not that bad at all.
He tapped one index finger on the countertop and licked his lips, watching himself all the while. This was his face, wasn't it? The trip down from up north had been a bit surreal, sure - his memory was flawless and only that knowledge kept him from dismissing half of it as a dream - but it had been real. And he felt sort of as though… maybe he was real, now. In a way he hadn't been before. Was it because he was now able to put a face to the man he was becoming? Perhaps. It sounded right, anyway.
The thought made him smile, a little; hesitantly for the crookedness, but… that wasn't that bad either. Roguish, sort of. If he put a little confidence into it, it would be perfect. So would quite a lot of other things, in fact. His eyelashes, far from terrible, would be stunning if he enhanced them. And he would need to do that, once he acquired the glasses he needed.
And the bruises… the bruises were long gone, and would never be inflicted again. That was done with. That nightmare was over.
He put a hand gently to his reflection, wishing he'd taken this closer look before. On the other hand, though, perhaps only now had been the right time. Perhaps only now it was time to dare hope he could be anything other than what he'd been marked to be. Perhaps… perhaps it was time to make his mark, all on his own.
He looked at himself without judgement for the first time, and he was happy with what he saw. Other people's opinions be damned. It was time to take what he wanted, no matter what it was.
He turned and continued unpacking his suitcase.