Chapter Three: Sweet Dreams
Manny was at home, once again staring at herself in the mirror. It seemed she was doing it more and more as the days went by, but it wasn't a newfound ability to channel Narcissus. She wanted to see if she could see herself, truly see herself. So far, she hadn't any luck. She saw a girl, a girl she supposedly was, but she had to repeat in her head I am Manny Santos, I am Manny Santos, I am Manny Santos. She didn't recognize the girl in the mirror, though it was her. She didn't like the girl very much.
A rage started to bubble inside her, a rage she could not explain. She was infuriated with everyone, everyone who knew who and what they were. Everyone who had it easy, just being themselves. Oh, sure, there were the ones who played the game almost as well as she did, but at least they didn't have to go home everyday and stare at themselves, wondering just who was looking back at them.
She let out a muffled shriek and before she knew what she was doing, her fist flew into that mirror. It shattered, slicing open her hand. Her knuckles bled and already she could feel bruises forming. The pain was sharp and immediate, but not unwarranted, not something awful. The pain felt good; it made her feel almost whole again. She took a deep breath and looked at her bleeding wounds. Bits of mirror were embedded into her flesh, the tiniest shards.
Manny stood and walked cautiously to the bathroom. Her parents weren't there, but she couldn't think of a way to hide what she had done. No excuse would cover how badly shattered both the mirror and her hand were. The mirror was bloodied and ruined, and they would surely notice. She could clean the mirror off and wear gloves until she healed, but she didn't know why she should bother.
Pouring hydrogen peroxide on her hand, not even that could make her wince. Manny flexed her hand and formed a fist. It was still in working condition, though it hurt to give it much movement.
She wrapped her hand in gauze and went back into her room. Strenuously cleaning off the blood, Manny recalled that she had a pair of leather gloves with the fingers cut off. She smiled and searched for them. When she came across them, she encased both hands inside of them and once more flexed, made a fist, flexed, made a fist.
Perfect, Manny thought. She would think of an excuse for her parents later, something noncommittal to be sure, but an acceptable reason for the broken mirror. After she cleaned the shards off the floor, Manny decided to tell them she was brushing her hair too hard and the hairbrush escaped, flying into the mirror. They'd believe it; they wouldn't want to think what other things could have happened.
Manny went to lie down on her bed. She felt weary from the day's events, and decided to indulge herself with a nap, even if that meant she wouldn't sleep later on that night.
Sleep sucked her under, and almost immediately she began to dream. They were the most beautiful dreams she had in a long time. In her sleep, Manny smiled.