Brooke has never been much of a philosophical thinker. She isn't dumb by any stretch of the imagination, not a typical ditzy blonde cheerleader captain who can't actually spell half of the things she's cheering about. No, Brooke McQueen is smart. Nicole calls her a triple threat; beauty, brains and bitch. But even so, she never really thinks too deeply about things. Unless it's to do with Josh or the Glamazons or what other people think about her and yes, maybe that's where she falls into the role of tired old stereotype. But that's kind of part of who she is and she can't really change that.
She's tried.
So she's resigned herself to the fact that maybe she needs it, or will someday, to become a better person. One who can learn from their flaws. Will balance out the person she's supposed to become.
Because Brooke thinks balance is important. That without the balance of day and night, the world would fall into chaos. Without hate to offset love, love would be meaningless. That a balance of light and dark is needed to fill the world with colour.
Brooke has found herself thinking of these things a lot lately. How balance is a pivotal force in their everyday existence. She thinks about it now, standing half naked in front of the bathroom mirror as she's done numerous times a week as far back as she can remember. She pinches the skin of her stomach between a forefinger and thumb and frowns at the way it stretches when she pulls at it. It disgusts her and she lets her hand fall back to her side.
Brooke hates mirrors. The hardest part of her day is the morning, where she knows she inevitably has to get up and face one. People joke about how long she takes to get ready, but it isn't the makeup or the hair styling or anything like that which sees the ticking hands of the clock wipe the minutes away. The majority of the time is taken by Brooke just trying to gather her confidence, push herself into reaching for the makeup bag and hair products. Convincing herself that if she keeps making an effort, maybe one day she'll get it right.
Finally be perfect.
And so even though she hates them, Brooke can't pass a mirror without stopping. Without finding something to touch up, reapplying the products she needs to make herself look pretty. Forever finding faults.
Her self-esteem had long ago been knocked off kilter, balance skewed towards the low end, and she tries to claw her way at least back to the middle. But she isn't always successful. Which is why she ends up here.
Back in front of the mirror, half naked. She eyes herself with extreme dissatisfaction, a frown creasing her forehead, and she clenches her teeth and juts her jaw forward at he ever present inner monologue.
The voice, she thinks, has been with her for as long as she can remember. But it had taken years for her to understand why it rang with such familiarity. Harsh, biting; an ugly imitation of her own voice. She doesn't understand why she's so admired at school, why other kids gawk at her with thinly veiled jealously. She doesn't understand why Harrison is so, obviously, in love with her.
A soft click shatters her detrimental reverie and her head instantly snaps to the side, eyes landing on the door handle that's still in the process of turning. No one was supposed to be home for another hour. Why would she have thought to lock the door like any other normal person might? There's very little time to think about that though, or anything else, because unfocused brown eyes suddenly register the person in front of them and settle, startled, on Brooke's face.
There is a horrifically long second of silence in which Brooke's heart tries to crawl out of her body by way of her throat and the air in the room seems to warm up by a few hundred degrees.
"Oh my god." The surprisingly monotone statement is hushed, almost whispered, and it's only when Sam's eyes flicker down and the blush tinting her face turns deep to sweep along her neck that Brooke realises something else should be happening here. Shrieking, screaming, and maybe some slamming of doors. But there's nothing beyond them staring at one another for one seemingly endless moment.
"Sam!" Before Brooke takes it upon herself to shriek for both of them, twisting around to rip one of the towels hanging from the rack and haphazardly trying to cover herself with it as quickly as possible. Sam's gaze lifts to catch Brooke's eye and for a second Brooke is sure she sees the red flush from the brunette's cheeks reflected in them.
"Jesus, Brooke!" And Sam is suddenly angry, rage rushing up and boiling over in what she had come to learn was kind of the smaller girl's trademark. "Have you never heard of locks?!" Just like always, her tone of voice digs into Brooke like nails on a chalkboard, sends her sprinting from placid to psychotic in zero-point-two seconds.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?!" She spits, taking an unconscious step towards her housemate. "Some people consider it to be the polite thing to do before opening a closed door!" Her skin prickles with annoyance. "But I guess we both know you don't have much experience in that area." The noise that leaves Sam is dangerously close to an actual growl and Brooke raises her eyebrows in a silent challenge. But something seems to stop Sam from throwing another biting retort in the blonde's face. Hazel eyes watch as Sam swallows, hard, and her posture relaxes. And she probably isn't supposed to notice the way Sam's gaze lingers on her - it's only for a fraction of a moment - but she does. Then Sam is pivoting on a heel and tearing out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Brooke stares at the door for a handful of heartbeats before she sighs and turns back to the mirror. She throws the towel aside and it catches on the bathtub, draping itself over the porcelain finish. Her eyes find her reflection and she gives herself a once over that's more thorough than usual. She rolls her eyes, the beginnings of a smile curving her lips, and then she closes them.
Because she doesn't understand why Sam is in love with her either.
So yes, Brooke hates mirrors. Hates looking at herself in them because it upsets the scales on which her opinion of her appearance sits. Makes her feel ugly the longer she looks.
But when Sam looks at her...
Brooke doesn't hate that.
Even though Sam never says anything and actually seems to go out of her way to make Brooke believe she thinks the opposite. That she can't stand being around her for longer than two minutes. Regardless of that, Brooke knows.
She can see it every time deep brown eyes find hers. Sees it in the way they linger, in the expressions that write themselves across Sam's face like lines of poetry and even in the way she holds herself.
And every time she sees it, Brooke feels that precarious balance between love and hate that has shifted so dramatically inside her reset itself. Making everything sit a little more equally.
Because when Sam looks at her, Brooke feels beautiful.