I Saw the Devil in My Mirror

TW: Murder, micro aggressions, racism, transphobia, language

There are men much braver than I.

There are children braver than I.

But none so brave as the one that sat across from me, glaring a burning red hole into my forehead. The energy in the room would make anyone squirm uncomfortably, as did I.

“Kennedy.”

I jumped. I wasn’t expecting him to speak. What was normally a deep, sultry tone was replaced with a raspy and broken voice. Just listening to him say my name made me want to cough. Reluctant, I met his gaze. My throat suddenly felt dry. There was so much I wanted to say, all written down on a crumpled piece of paper in front of me. So much for that.

“Hey-” I cleared my throat, cringing at the break in my voice. “Hey.”

“Hey?” He shook his head with a dry laugh. “That’s all you have to say?” I looked down at my shoes, a lump forming in my throat. He scoffed. “Why are you even here, Kennedy.” It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking me. He was telling me, telling me something I already knew.

I had no reason to be here.

No, I thought. No, he’s wrong. I have every reason to be here. He’s my friend, for god’s sake! I took a deep breath in, clutching my paper tighter. “I’m here because I wanted to see you.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Windsor,” he spoke so soon after me, I wondered whether or not he actually registered what I said. “You’re here because you feel bad for me,” he leaned back in his chair, looking away, “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“Pity?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? After what I did for you? After everything I did with you? You’re going to look at me and tell me I’m here because I feel bad for you?” I grit my teeth, choking back tears. “I moved mountains for you-”

“I never asked for any of that!” He jerked forward, his eyes wide and manic. “You thrust yourself upon me, acting like I was some sort of project for you to work on!” He spit the word out like it was poison and bitter, something no one wants in their mouth. “I never wanted to be around you! I only stuck with you because my parents thought I had nally made a friend so they left me alone!”

“Stuck with me?! You-!” The words caught in my throat. He was lashing out because he was angry. He didn’t mean any of this.

Right?

I stood, harshly wiping my eyes with my wrist. “You clearly need time to process everything that’s happened-”

“Don’t start with that shit-”

“-and I want to give you the opportunity to-”

“I killed them, Kennedy!” I flinched at the words, refusing to make eye contact with him. “I know what I’ve done! And guess what?” I glanced over at him. He no longer looked angry. A sinister smile spread across his face. It sent an uncomfortable chill down my spine. “I. Regret. Nothing.”

His words echoed through my head that night as I lay in bed, trying and failing to sleep. They couldn’t be true... right? Questions of “why” and “what if” ran through my head relentlessly, causing me to toss and turn and tangle in my sheets. Tired but unable to succumb to sleep, I got up and went to the bathroom for a cold shower. I needed to be awake for any other reason than him swimming through my head.

The water was running when I noticed it. The growing bruise resting just under my temple. I frowned. I don’t remember getting hit, especially not there. My fingers traced over it and, oddly enough, it didn’t hurt. In fact, it was numb. I closed my eyes and sighed. Your body and mind have been under a lot of stress, I thought. It’s normal for things like this to happen. Still, something felt o about it. I shrugged it off and moved on.

I wish I hadn’t.

“Mr. Windsor?”

I looked over at the nurse calling my name. I know I updated my information in the system. She must just be an idiot. Whatever. Just get through the appointment and get out. I joined the nurse and walked down a long, ominous hallway to the consultation room. The nurse took my vitals and seemed to have a problem with every one of them. My blood pressure was high, but she didn’t want to hear about the crippling amount of stress that would have caused this. I hadn’t lost any weight since my last visit, but she didn’t want to hear about how it’s hereditary and not unhealthy. I was dark. That was enough of a reason for her to hate me, apparently. By the time the doctor came in, I was almost starting to hate myself.

He sat at the computer, as always. We started with an uncomfortable amount of small talk, as always. He apologized for the nurse having the wrong information on her chart. That was a new one.

“So, you’re here about...” His eyes strayed to the bruise creeping out from under my hair. Last night, when I first saw it, it was maybe the size of a golf ball. This morning, I almost spit a mouthful of toothpaste at the mirror when I saw it had grown to the size of a baseball. I nodded solemnly and pushed my hair back slightly. The look on the doctor’s face told me it grew more.

“Well, when you described it, you led me to believe it was... smaller. At least, smaller than this.” He reached a hand out and poked it carefully. “Does it hurt?”

“No. If anything, it tingles a little. Pins and needles, you know?”

He nodded. “I see... and, you don’t remember how you got this.”

I shrugged dejectedly. “I have no idea how it happened.” I paused. “Or how it’s growing so fast.” I glanced over at him and did a double take. He looked almost... dazed? He was staring at it like it was the only thing that existed. I cleared my throat, bringing him back to reality.

“Uh, yes.” He looked away, his mind somewhere else. “I’m sure it’s just a broken blood vessel. Put some ice on it, you’ll be alright.” He looked back at me, forcing a smile. “It was great seeing you.”

“But-” He hurried out of the room, ignoring my protests. This wasn’t a “broken blood vessel.” This was something else. I left the clinic as quickly as possible. I needed to figure out what this was.

“It’s grown.”

“How much?”

I looked in the mirror, moving the phone away from my face. Just about half of it was jet black splotched with dark blue and gray. “Enough to be concerned.” I heard my friend sigh on the other end of the phone. “I don’t know what to tell you, Kennedy, I mean...” She sounded defeated, as if this was her face that was messed up, not mine. “You went to the doctor, right? You said he was acting weird about it.”

“I don’t know. I could be overthinking it.” I stared at myself blankly. “I don’t know,” I repeated.

I heard a pause on her end. “Yeah, I know, um... I have to go. Call me if it gets worse, alright?” She hung up and I set the phone on the counter.

It was getting worse as we spoke.

Along with the growing “bruise” came unbearable headaches. I called out sick three times because I couldn’t open my eyes without feeling blinded by any amount of light. And falling asleep with these headaches, as impossible as it sounds, brought dreams. Awful dreams. Dreams full of horrible, gut wrenching, blood curdling screams and acts of violence that would make James DeMonaco blush. What made all of them worse was when I realized all of these acts were committed by me. I’d wake up drenched in sweat and tangled in my sheets. I eventually abandoned all bed covers and slept on the couch.

Night after night passed of insufficient sleep, and before I knew it, October 19 came. My second visit at 1 o'clock. I left the house in sweatpants and a hoodie, looking like I had just been brought back from the dead. All of the security guards looked at me strangely before leading me back to that metal table where it all began.

There are men much braver than I.

But none as brave as I pretended to be as I sat down across from the man I considered my closest friend. He stared at me like he’d never seen me before. Which I understood, seeing as my face was more numb-bruise than it was normal flesh. I sat down, crossing my legs with confidence that was false and fragile and stared at him.

“Kennedy.”

“Hey.”

He looked me up and down, letting the room fall into silence again. “Am I going crazy, or is something different about you?”

“Both.” I sniffed dismissively. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

He stared at me for a long moment before bursting out laughing. “This is you pretending to be tough?” I felt myself deflate. He was right. I sighed, looking away.

“You know what, you’re right. I’m not tough.” I looked back over at him. “I’m scared. Really fucking scared.” A lump formed in my throat and my voice broke. “Because something is happening to me and I don’t know what it is.” I wiped my eyes. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

He watched me for a while before shrugging. “You don’t.”

“What?”

“You don’t fix it. You let it do whatever it’s going to do to you. I mean, look at what life did to me,” he gestured around himself, “I think I’m better off here.”

“I don’t understand.” I shook my head, thinking. “That’s not... I can’t do that. I can’t just...” I let a hand stray to my face. “I can’t just let it take over.”

“Yes. You can. And that’s what you’ll do.” I felt a headache begin to form as he spoke and his voice began to change. “There is no choice, Kennedy.” I looked at him when he said my name. He looked... normal again. He sounded normal. “Life doesn’t give us choices.” He reached across the table and took my hand, but I felt nothing. I looked down and realized the darkness had begun to spread to my limbs. He continued, “And it’s time you learned that, Kennedy.”

There are men much braver than I.

Unfortunately, those men can be found lying dead on a prison floor. And it is I that walks away with bloodied hands.