la reflexión
written by xfucktheglasses
edited by dictionary ink & pandastacia
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la reflexión
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She ate my heart
and she ate my brain
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That girl was beautiful.
Oh, she was gorgeous.
Her hair was long and silky – lustrous and platinum blond. Look at her roots, check her roots. Oh, it's not fake; she's a blond to the very root. And it's silky and long and so alive. A perfect halo; a perfect cape; a perfect frame. It reached the middle of her small back, falling in a thick cascade of white-yellow.
Her eyes were beautiful. The lightest of blue; lighter than the sky; lighter than life. Specks of different colors surrounded the pupils – green, brown, yellow; oh, her eyes were breathtaking. Framed with thick yellow-brown lashes that fluttered and tickled her cheekbones, lined with the blackest of eyeliner and colored around with the smokiest of eyeshadows. They stand out against her pale skin.
Pale and unblemished skin.
Pale and silky smooth.
She's a beauty.
That, girl, she's a beauty.
She tilts her head and some of her forelocks curtain her eyes.
Her hands reach up and cup at her chests, cups her breasts and stares.
She's curvy; the curves are never ending; her stomach is flat; her hipbones jut out; her collarbone stands out.
And yet she's beautiful.
She stares at that girl in the mirror; eyes boring holes to the reflecting surface.
Why couldn't she find anything ugly? Why couldn't she find a scar? Why couldn't she find something to make her imperfect?
Why.
Why.
Why.
The door is opened but she doesn't look away from the girl in the mirror.
He appears behind the girl in the mirror, head tilted and messy brown hair everywhere. It covers his dark eyes as he stares at her, wrapping his arms around her bare waist and burrowing his nose at her throat.
"What're you lookin' at," he murmurs, his lips brushing against her sensitive skin.
But she's just staring. Staring, staring, staring—
"Staring at that girl," she murmurs, distractedly and almost lost. She moves one of her hands away from her breast and points at the girl in the mirror, "That girl's a monster."
He stares at her, pulling away. His brow furrows and a frown tilts his lips downwards; his hold around her tightens. "Ino," he breathes out, "Quit it, okay? C'mere, look…"
But even as he pulled her away from the mirror she continued to stare, continued to search, continued to question.
That girl's a monster – that beautiful girl in her mirror. She was a monster and she swallowed paper hearts and ripped paper wings.
A monster – a beautiful monster.
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