Page 70 of Alamort

Oh, him. I’d almost forgotten. I look him over, his chest rising and falling. He must’ve fainted from the pain. Pansy.

“He was cocky.” I shrug.

“Are you wearing night vision goggles?”

A topic change to something she’s more comfortable with. Avoidance is key with her.

“No.”

“Then how can you see me?”

“I thrive in the dark.” I tell her. Keeping it short and simple.

She scoffs, throwing her hands up in the air before taking slow measured steps past me, hand back on the wall for help. My hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist, forcing her to stumble to a stop. My grip prevents her from breaking her ankle without help.

“Where do you think you’re going, Little Monster?”

“Uh, the fuck out of here to find River.” My grip loosens as she shuffles forward. She’s always with River. Stays with River, eats with her, spends most of her time with her. My eyes narrow while I press my lips together, not wanting to anger her further. We’re long overdue for a chat, River and I.

“You claim we’re so different. But you didn’t bother to check on the guy who was just trampled by people?” I ask smugly. She stops again. I can see the war going on in her head, the lie on the tip of her tongue. She doesn’t want to admit she’s anything like me, but her actions prove otherwise.

“He wouldn’t have thought twice if it was me,” she says quietly, stepping past him and continuing to move deeper, her heels clicking confidently.

“Best hope I don’t catch you.” I say in a singsong voice. The metal bat drags on the ground to let her know I’m coming. My body trembles at the thought of catching her off guard and having fun with her.

“You owe me some answers, Shadow Man. You don’t get jack shit until I get what I want.” Her tone is flippant but the way she was biting back a smile tells me she’ll play with me, anyway.

Decode - Paramore

Time seemed to stretch as I stumbled, disoriented in the dark, running my hands over metal walls, tripping over air, until I finally grasped the fact that the obstacle in my path was none other than a solid metal door. There was no way I was turning back to face the Shadow Man after that bomb ass exit. With my luck there would be cameras, and the person monitoring would die from secondhand embarrassment.

Once I undid the latch, the room I entered filled the endless hallways before me with a red ambiance, as opulent dark red drapes adorned every wall and emitted a distinct "store new" scent. Even the ground had plush red rugs. I believed one of those paths would ultimately lead me out of this maze. That’s what I’ve been walking through ever since. One dead end after another. Each corner more frustrating than the last.

While making a left turn, I collide head-on with a singular floor mirror, the frame is aged, once where it was golden is now a dark copper color, golden vines wrap around the frame reads “Timent Veritatem” whatever the hell that means. My eyes dart around my figure, taking in the sight ofmy clenched fists tightly pressed into the sides of my short, poofy skirt, before averting my gaze. The tightness in my jaw intensifies. My teeth ache under the pressure. The thought of looking at my reflection is enough to make me nauseous.

I’m pathetic. I can’t even look at myself. Wiping my sweaty palms on the skirt, my nostrils flare in response. I take a deep breath to face the mirror. I quickly glance, seeing my black corset reflected back at me. Keeping my stomach sucked in, my brows furrow.

Weak.

Scared.

I’ll be able to see exactly what I am. Every flaw. Every insecurity. Every bit of ugly I am reflected back at me, mocking me. Offering me one final motive to put an end to my miserable existence.

One last time. I can face what I am, just like everyone else has to. I don’t get to make a life-changing decision and runaway like a scared little girl now. Addison wouldn’t. She’d pull up her big girl panties and handle it with the grace she’s always had.

But I’m not her. She was always stronger than me. In every sense. My sister would never let something hold her back from doing what she thought was right. Even if it was hard. My nails puncture my palms as I gather the strength to meet my gaze.

There. I did it. My eyes travel from my shoes, up my legs, and settle on my stomach, before I finally find the strength to meet my own eyes in the mirror. The girl staring back at me doesn’t look anything like the person I once remembered. There’s a big difference between slapping something on in the mirror and staring into my soul.

I hate her.

The girl in the mirror is someone I would gladly kill and not think twice about the consequences.

Her face is gaunt. The cheekbones and jawline are so prominent that it’s impossible to ignore. Hollow and tired eyes, with noticeable bags under them. Her hair, once radiant and glossy, now appears lackluster and devoid of its former shine, a stark reminder of how everything has changed in the past 10 months.

Ugly.

I’ve spent my life trying to be who everyone wanted me to be. Only to be picked apart from the outside in. And I complain about them but I am my own worst critic.

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