Broken Glass

He was supposed to stand by you. 

Through fire, through flood. Through darkness, through light. Through happiness, through sadness. 

He was supposed to stand by you. 

But he left. 

And now all you see is his back, walking out your door. 

    He wanted perfect. 

    You were broken.

***

    Beauty was never your strong side, always slumping too far to the left. It manifested in a shape of almond eyes on your tanned skin from the sweltering sun. It manifested as a slender body, skinny wrists, and a broken soul. The clothes hung off you, like it, too, hated being near your body.

You were never meant to be loved.  But you cared. Far too much. You bit and clawed, trying to climb your way out of the dark pit that you were left in. You cried for help, watched as the people around you walked away. But you still climbed, still kept a smile on your face. And when you reached the top, you grabbed the hand of a boy who smiled so brightly that you felt your mouth pull up too.

 You didn’t cry when he pushed you back down. 

And, now you lie on the bottom of the pit. Bruised and broken. 

    Abandoned by the one you thought would never leave you. 

    Your eyes flutter open, the darkness swallowing you whole. The only light comes from the mirrors around you, all in different shapes and sizes, covering the entire wall. One with a dark mahogany frame catches your eye, and you stare into it, meeting the sad almond eyes of a girl you barely know. 

    You see a girl not worth saving. A girl with jagged hair that you cut away because you were so upset and angry. A girl who never belonged in this world and who felt most at home among the magical worlds in books. You see a girl whose death should have happened a long time ago. 

    And, yet, you are still alive. 

    You throw a rock at the mirror, watching as it shatters. 

    Broken glass. Broken heart. Broken soul.

    You laugh, a chilling sound within the dark cavern. But you stop when the mirror reforms, as if it had never been broken.

    You stand up, pressing your hand gently against the mirror. The surface ripples before calming. When you look at the mirror again, you don’t see yourself. You see someone with blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, tanned skin, and a perfect body with curves and edges in all the right places. You see someone surrounded by a group with loving friends, all with smiles and beautiful faces. You see a boyfriend whose muscled arm ripples as he places the arm around your shoulders, as you lean into him. 

    And then, as quickly as it appeared, it disappears. You watch with horror as your friends evaporate, disappearing into a dark mist. You watch the look of alarm on the boy’s face as he tries to speak, only to be swallowed by the darkness. And then you watch the girl in the mirror, the defiance on her face, as she disappears. 

    You are left with only you. Your poor jagged dark brown hair, framing your pale, too thin face with small almond brown eyes. You see a girl with straight lines, edges only. You see a girl whose hope has been extinguished a long time ago; no defiance lies in any inch of her body. Only despair. 

    But before you can ponder more, a voice calls down, just as a suitcase, glowing with an inner light, drops in front of you. Before you can grab it, you disappear from the pit, and into the sunshine.

    “Leila! It’s so good to see you!” Anne exclaims, her own dark hair swinging wildly as she hugs you. 

    You smile, a slight smile that disappears far too fast. She looks at you, her hands on your shoulder. Her own dark, almond eyes search yours. Perhaps that is a flash of concern that passes through her face. But you scoff, berating yourself. There is no one here for you. 

    Unlike you, Anne is beautiful, confident, and has a place in life. She knows what she will do, where she will be going. And you? You are floating in a vast sea of nothings, waiting for the day you fall over the edge. 

    A tear slips off your face, and you wipe at it furiously. But it’s too late. Your shoulders are slumping, caving in on yourself. Your head lowers, as Anne hugs you. 

    You stupid good for nothing. Crying is a weakness, one that you are full of. 

    Anne draws you to your couch, rubbing your shoulder in soothing circles. But the tears have already stopped falling, caught by Death’s own hand. He is watching you, waiting for the moment that you let go of the edge that you are barely hanging onto. 

    Anne smiles, offering you a piece of chocolate. Dark chocolate - your favorite. The bitter-sweetness melts on your tongue as you close your eyes, embracing the richness of such a simple thing. Then, she begins to speak. 

    “Leila, I heard he broke up with you,” she says, her dark eyes searching yours. 

    You let the windows come down, shuttering your eyes from any outsiders. “It doesn’t matter,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. 

    It doesn’t matter. You are too far gone. 

    Anne tilts her head to the side. Concern is written all over her face, and you feel yourself begin to perk up. Perhaps, perhaps, someone does care about you. “Are you sure? I thought you loved him.”

    You scoff. “I’ve never loved anyone.”

    “Why’d you cut your hair?” she returns, rapid fire. 

    You shrug, not trusting your voice to say anymore.

    Anne shakes her head, her dark eyes narrowing. You can almost feel her gaze penetrating through the dark windows you keep tightly drawn in your eyes. You shudder inwardly. She sees too much. “Leila, I’m here for you. You can tell me anything.”

    Automatically, your mouth opens. “No, I can’t.”

    And then you curse your stupid mouth. You can feel your windows opening, letting in a sliver of light. Windows that you want to keep tightly shut because the moment you open them, everything in you will drown everyone around you. 

    But Anne, beautiful Anne, lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Yes, you can, Leila. You can tell me anything.”

    “But if I do, everyone will drown. If I don’t, I’ll be the only one who drowns,” you reply, your voice trembling. 

    Goodness gracious, girl. You sound like a little girl who didn’t get her candy.

    But you ignore the voice. 

You want to see what is in that suitcase. You want a life-line. You want to see if anyone cares. Just once before you go. 

Death shifts by your side, the rustling of his cloak the only sound in the room.

    Anne sighs, crossing her legs as she turns toward you. The smile that first adorned her face is gone. She folds her hands in front of her. 

    “My twin sister, Laura was her name, was the best. We hung out together, played together. We were inseparable little minxes. We caused trouble wherever we went. Two peas in a pod. We were the real-life, female versions of Fred and George.

“When we were about twelve years old, my twin sister stopped playing with me. She didn’t want to play soccer anymore. She didn’t want to dance with me when we did karaoke. She didn’t want to help me make cookies,” she continues, her eyes lost in a faraway memory. 

    You wait. You listen. 

    One last story before you go.

    Death is unmoving next to you, his hand placed gently on your shoulder.

    Anne sighs deeply before continuing. “We all thought it was just a phase she was going through. Like she was getting too cool for us. Besides, you know, Asian parents don’t really care. As long as we work hard and get good grades in school, they’re happy. But then Laura’s grades began to slip. She was never home anymore. And when she was, she was locked up in her bedroom. 

    “Our parents were angry. They made her sit down, gave her a huge lecture, and then watched her for the next two hours as they forced her to do the make-up homework. We’re old school, and like most Asian parents, we tend to shy away from topics of depression and stuff like that.”

    You swallow because Laura reminds you of yourself. Your fingernails dig into your skin; anything to make you feel something. 

    “And this continued for the next year. I got my own friends. I stopped talking to her because she was weird. She wore all black, refused to talk. She was always on her phone. People at high school began making fun of her behind her back. I know she heard them because I saw her crying once in the bathroom. I didn’t say anything. I was ashamed of her. So I distanced myself from her, didn’t stand up for her.”

    Anne’s voice trembles as she speaks. Her eyes are becoming glassy, but you can’t bring yourself to comfort her. You want to know what happens to Laura; if her end is your end as well.

    She takes a deep breath. “And then, this one week, she grew back to her old self. It was the last week before her birthday in October. She started talking a lot, wearing makeup, smiling more. Her grades went back up. She gave me some of her old clothes, ones that I had always loved. She gave a lot of things away that week.”

    Your fingernails make crescent moon marks in your palm. Your shoulders draw in, anything to protect you from Anne’s next words.

    “And then, one day, she was gone. She slit her wrists on her birthday. Bled out to death.”

    Anne is crying now, the tears dripping like small pearls onto her legs. You sit there, numb to the pain around you. You know what Laura feels like because you are feeling it now. You know that feeling of loneliness, the feeling of shame. You look down at the plain linoleum floor, a small tear dripping down your face. Laura had no one. 

    Death takes his hand off your shoulder, walking a little bit farther away. His eyes catch yours briefly, twinkling sadly.

Anne takes a deep breath and grabs your hands. She forces you to look at her, her stone cold eyes drilling into yours. Your window is gone. All that is left is despair and pain. 

“Laura died of suicide. My younger twin. She took her own life because I was too stupid and too blind to actually see that something was wrong.” Her voice is filled with conviction and self-loathing. “And when I see you, Leila, I see Laura. I see someone who is drowning. Someone who is crying out for help. Someone no one can hear. And this time, I can help. Leila, let me help you. I can’t bear to see someone else fall again.”

    You look down, your hands twisting within each other. A tear slips down from your eye. “I’ve already fallen.”

    Anne shakes her head again. “No, you haven’t. Because you wouldn’t be here, listening to me. I’m begging you, Leila. If not for you, for me. Talk to me, Leila. I can’t see someone else die again. Not on my watch. Think of this like...” She waves her hands, apparently trying to figure out how to placate you. “Think of this like a crossroads. There’s a station to your right. It’s dark. No lights. The station on your left looks the exact same, as does the station behind you. But in front of you, the station is lit up with lights. And everything you need is in that suitcase to get there. It’s your choice.”

    You swallow, your hand running through your tangled hair. Death holds the suitcase out to you, a dark shadow, waiting for you to make your move.

    He nods, a small smile crossing his face as he silently urges the suitcase towards you.

    You lunge towards the suitcase, gripping the golden handle with all the strength in your bones. And you sigh with relief as Death smiles and disappears, leaving a golden whisper of light in his place. 

    And then you begin to cry. You sob. You let Anne hold you close, let her whisper that you will be alright. You let the anger and despair rush out of you. 

    Laura had no one. 

    You have Anne. You have yourself.

    And when you finally pull away, you feel raw. You can still feel the darkness, pressing in on the corners of your vision. But you can see clearer, clearer than you have seen in a year. 

    The suitcase is open. There’s nothing inside. Oddly, you didn’t expect for anything to be inside.

    Anne smiles slightly, taking your hands into hers. “I’m guessing you have decided to move forward.”

    You wipe your eyes with the back of your hands. “Do I have a choice?” Your voice is hesitant and quiet. 

    Anne nods. “You always have a choice. And, right now, you can make a choice. Take your suitcase and move to the light. My aunt is a therapist, and I think she can help you. A lot.”

    You shake your head. “I don’t know if I can. It’s different.”

    A therapist cannot glue your broken pieces back together. No one can, except you. And the suitcase next to you.

    “It’s different. And you have a long road ahead. But you have me walking with you,” Anne replies, her voice hard as steel. “And I lied. You don’t have a choice. I’m going to drag you to my aunt if I have to. It’s your choice to go willing or to go forcefully.”

    You look at her, seeing the determination with her face. And, even if you can’t see it, defiance enters your face. Defiance enters the empty spaces in your body where there used to be nothing. Because you’re not leaving now. 

    You grip the suitcase tightly. It’s not your time yet. Everything you need to move forward is in front of you. Everything you need is in you. 

    So you nod, watching the smile break across her face like the sunrise. And you laugh for the first time in forever as she wraps you in the tightest hug you ever received. 

***

    Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. You can see the twinkling lights in front of you and the faint sound of laughter and twinkling bells. What happiness sounds like. Next to you is Anne, smiling and giggling, telling you stories of another lifetime. 

    You are seeing clearer than you had seen a year ago, as you enter the lavender smelling office. Anne’s aunt smiles gently at you, as you sit down. You’re ready to move on. You’re ready to leave the pit. 

    It’s only the second visit. But, already, you feel lighter. 

    Around you, the ornate mirrors shatter to the ground. Broken glass lies around  you. All that is left is a hole where they used to be. And stairs leading to the top. 

    So you take it, one step at a time, suitcase in hand. Even as the glass cuts into your feet. Because you can and will move forward.

One step at a time.