Mój Potwór

TW: This story contains abusive behavior, graphic imagery, and blood.

Its eyes dark as night, black as coal, dimmer than ink. 

Its face paler than white itself. 

The sharpness of its features seems like cutting knives. 

It stares right into your soul. 

Magdalena rustles out of bed to hear the sound of rain pouring against her window. It’s a gentle rain opening up to the start of spring. She glances at herself in the mirror and views her appearance; tousled hair, residue from last night’s mascara, and bumps of acne that dot across her chest and shoulders. 

She walks into her excessively pink bathroom and rests her palms on the cool counter while leaning into the mirror. She stares at herself, examining the damage on her face from a night’s sleep. Red and pink ladybugs trickle about her nose and forehead . She gently rubs them and then the ones on her shoulders and evaluates the texture. Her lips quickly pull downwards and her eyes close slowly. She breathes in deep and then lets it out before opening her eyes again, carefully turning her head and surveying her bathroom before looking back into the mirror. 

She pulls off her nightdress in front of her tall mirror and twirls around, inspecting herself from every angle. She sighs while hovering her hands above her hips to where she wishes they would grow. Her fingers trace from her hips to her stomach almost in a straight line. The air around her becomes stiff. Magdalena drops her arms immediately and blindly heads for her dresser.

She drags on jeans, tucks in her shirt, and clips a belt around her waist. She picks up her brown boots and places them on her feet before heading out the door of her bedroom. She passes her parent’s room and smells the scent of her mother’s perfume; roses.

Walking down the stairwell, she gazes at the foyer below. The room is hinted with gold accents all along the trim and the pale blue walls. The aroma of steak and eggs fills the foyer and gets stronger as she heads toward the kitchen.

“Magdalena, how was your rest love?” Cynthia asks as she wipes her hands on her white apron.

Maggie eyes the food with more dilated eyes than before and smiles. “I slept well last night.” She pauses before adding, “this looks amazing!”

“Yeah, well I thought you would like something meaty this morning.” She laughs to herself, shaking her ginger hair in the process. “I’ve been making a lot of bread and butter.”

Magdalena chuckles while raising her head. “All your food is amazing Cynthia.”

“Oh, I know, but variation is, of course, important.” They look at each other for a moment. Maggie adores Cynthia.

A sudden sense of chills sets against Maggie’s arms and her face turns white. The once brilliant smile spread across her lips was now only held by the pure knowledge of another person’s presence: Cynthia’s.

“Well don’t just stand there, have some,” Cynthia mumbles to herself about how long it took her to make the food before handing a plateful to Magdalena. 

“Thank you,” Maggie says and then heads into the dining room and sits at a seat, not paying attention to the decor and fine design. 

The feeling of caterpillar-like legs scatters all on her arms, leaving her with a lasting sensation. The removed tiny feet on her skin seem lonely and untraceable. Her hand reaches for a silver fork until a cool touch traces the top of her hand. The white knuckles have no wrinkles and are smooth as marble. Its hands were marble. 

“Are you sure you want to eat that?” it says in its whispered voice, sending chills down her spine. She closes her eyes tightly and places her fork in her food. 

“The scale said 120.” The breath from its mouth finds its way to her face. The stench undeniable. It grabs her stomach, pulling on her skin. “120, 120, 120, 120, 12….” It repeats the numbers all while Magdalena is trying to force the food down her throat. go away.

Her face scrunches up as she attempts to hold back the tears. Her stomach twists and turns. Her brain is frenzied and then she opens her eyes wanting to scream. Nothing. The air warms around her and her arms push the plate in front of her away. Her once white face turns a dingy green. It won.

Her hands stop trembling and she breathes in and out, trying to remember how to make air enjoyable again. She firmly stands up and grabs the plate of food before throwing it in the trash and heading toward the kitchen.

“It was wonderful Cynthia,” Mags says, walking out, not stopping to hear a response.

✧ ✧ ✧

The walk to school is dreary with light droplets of rain tapping on her skin. The sidewalk has green spurts of mini trees and black dots crawling out of its cracks. She finally makes it to her school and a smile forms on her face as she heads toward her friends.

“Oh hey Mags,” Jasmine calls out and then greets her with a hug.

“Hi,” Maggie says back before sitting down on the bench table covered in school papers that are due today.

“Please tell me you got the answers from 15 to 20, because I swear if you don’t,” Sara says while making a joking grimace. 

“I did, I did!” Maggie raises her hands in defense and throws the answers down. “Happy now?” she jokes.

Everyone scrambles to copy them while spurting out random “thank you’s” and “I hope this is right.” The bell rings and her first period is in 10 minutes.

The hallway is full of chatter while people are rushing to their classes. Maggie turns left onto an emptier hallway and starts walking at a faster pace. The walls are covered in papers and posters, all in bright colors to catch someone’s attention. Maggie’s eyes close at the overwhelming, intense shades. 

“Your answers are wrong,” she hears someone say. She freezes and surveys the hallway. A flash of distant grey swarms around her. 

“What?” she calls out sheepishly. Two cold sturdy hands rest on her shoulders leaving enough room for a piece of paper. A touch that almost comes from the inside, and can’t be felt from the outside.

“They’re going to fail and it’s all your fault.” Its hands trace down her shoulders to her lower arms. Bumps form all over her skin, more than she had this morning. Except these weren’t the irritating little red bumps, but those of fear. 

“I double-checked them..they are right,” Magdalena protests with it.

“They only use you,” it continues. It steps in front of her, blocking her sight of visions. She can only let herself stare at its feet. The large pointed black shoes with black laces. They face directly in front of her brown boots, though twice the size.

“They’re my friends.” The words slip out like drops of water on a hot stove. They sizzle with no meaning, leaving only the burning pan to make the choices. 

It clutches her left wrist, seizing to let her blood flow to her hands. The tears succumb and fall from her eyes as it tightens its grip.

“You have no friends, they only use you for answers, your house and money draw them to you.” All the words spill out with a harsh undertone, but it still manages to keep its voice low and chilled.

“Stop crying,” It squeezes her wrist once more before letting it drop to the ground. “Stop. Crying.”

Magdalena closes her eyes and lets her face become still. go away.

The final bell rings, causing her to open her eyes. The hallway is empty and the silence becomes unbearable. She uses her steps to create a faint tapping noise. She concentrates on the beat under her feet and walks to class. She is late.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Oh, hun’, you’re home! I’ve missed you so much.” Magdalena’s mom walks up to her, wrapping her arms around her daughter’s waist. 

“I’ve missed you too, Mom,” she says while she folds her arms around her mother and rests her head against her shoulder.

“I went to a shop today. It’s very new and they have all these fantastic styles..” Her mom goes on to say a couple more things, but Magdalena’s mind is on a different planet. Clothes aren’t in the atmosphere.

“What do you think?” Her mom lifts up a tight mini dress. Magdalena stares at the object of clothing that most likely cost more than most people could afford. As small as it was, it meant far more than its size. 

“It’s pretty.” Magdalena shrugs and looks at anything but her mother.

“Well, that’s great because,” she glances at Magdalena, catching her attention, “I got it for you.”

“Oh, Mom.. You know how I feel about those.” She gestures at the dress.

“Your figure’s wonderful dear, you should really think about showing it off.” She turns Magdalena around to look into the mirror. Her mom then places the dress in front of Maggie, resting the armholes where her arms are. “See, pretty!”

Maggie touches the dress and pulls it slightly closer to her body. The instant feeling of regret folds onto her face. Her eyes watch her mother’s from the mirror.

“On second thought, it doesn’t look good on you.” Her mother’s mouth opens wide and her lips pull to her eyes. She cocks her head and stares into Maggie’s eyes intensely. 

“Why..?” As much as Magdalena didn’t like the dress on her, she so much wished that her mother would. Her mother was the reflection of her. The mature, curved, beautiful locks, version of her. 

“You’re built like a box, that’s why.” It was as if her mother was reading her mind. The stinging words stuck needles into her arms. The image of her mother was that of perfection. Her long blonde thick hair that reached her lower back. Her hips that could dance for hours. Her lips that unfolded to show her brilliant white teeth. Her eyes, blue as ice...Her eyes, black as coal.

Her mother’s hands move from her shoulders down to her fingertips, leaving cold shivers. Her long French manicured nails dig into her palms. The pricking breaks through the walls of her skin. A thick, strong-smelling, scarlet-colored liquid streams down onto their perfectly white carpet. Drip.    Drip.      Drip.          Drip.

“Why are you doing this!?!?” Magdalena screams in protest with the pain, trying to remove her hands out of her mother’s godly grasp. She twists and turns until she is lying on the ground, curling herself into a tiny ball. Rocking around while a whimper comes out of her throat.

“Doing what?!” Her mother rushes down to her, tugging at her shoulders. “What’s wrong? What is happening? Why is this happening? Oh, god are you okay?”

Magdalena opens her eyes and stares into her mother’s. The once night-like eyes turn into the clear blue sky.

“Maggie, why are your wrists bruised like that?” She pulls her daughter up to examine the damage that looks like a large bracelet. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know..” Maggie replies and stares down at her wrists too, noticing the vandalism from earlier in the day. “It just did..”

“Don’t lie to me.” Her mother’s usual light and airy voice turns stern and strict. “You did this to yourself.”

“I did not!” Maggie argues with her mother, standing up in protest.

“Okay then tell me who did this?”

“I can’t say..” Maggie stares at her feet, shuffling them around.

“I can’t believe this is happening again!” Her mother starts pacing around the room, stepping on her new mini dress like it didn’t matter anymore. “You said the bullying had stopped. I talked to the principal and they punished the kids who were doing this to you.” She points at her hands. “And now you're so nervous that you’re digging your nails into your skin!”

Maggie is dead quiet as she watches her mother ramble on about how anyone could do this to her beautiful girl. The talking consumes the room until she can’t even understand what her mother is saying. Her lips are moving, but nothing is coming out. Dizziness spins in her head and she can feel her feet stumbling as she tries to rush to her room. Her legs run up the stairs, hands gripping the stairwell.

She hears her mother calling after her, but to Maggie, they were just words of motivation to make it successfully to her room. She closes the door behind her and leans against her door, sliding on her back to the ground. Her forehead rests on her knees and she’s gone.

✧ ✧ ✧

The pounding on her door stopped a while ago. The cries and screams from her mother turned into ‘I’ll let her be.’ Maggie fell into a deep sleep and by the time she opens her eyes, it is dark outside. The moon is shining onto her skin, glistening like glitter. 

She can hear the faint noise of her mother talking to someone. It wasn’t Cynthia, but her father. They were most likely talking about what had happened or maybe they had moved on from that and were talking about something else. Happier.

Maggie pushes herself from the ground and scans her room. A silhouette is now standing in front of her window, covering most of the moon.

“Why do you always lie?” It asks while it trails farther from the window and closer to her. She stares at the sculpted being in front of her. It’s walk is swift and enchanting. The closer it comes though, the more she can see its imperfections and foulness. It’s arms almost reach the floor, hands trailing along the ground. 

“I don’t,” Maggie objects. Her once loose and comfortable body has come closer together.

“Yes, you do.” It states and takes a nearer step. Its pants, also black like its shoes, were dirty and stained. “You lied to your mother.”

Maggie goes quiet and lets it advance forward, but turns her head parallel to the wall.

“Why don’t you tell anyone about me, Maggie?” It was closer to her than she thought. It reaches down to her chin and forces her to gaze into its inky black eyes that swarm and move around its pupil. Its nose is sharp. Its mouth full and a bright red; the only color that can be seen on it. “I don’t want to be your secret anymore.”

Maggie flinches. It removes its hand from her chin and folds them behind its back. It leans into her face and breathes, causing her to scrunch up her nose and cough. Wack. The swift motion of its fist lunges into her stomach. Her breath is taken away and she is gasping for air.

“When are you gonna tell your mother that those kids did nothing to you.” It hits her upper arm and she immediately grabs her arm, rocking back and forth in pain. “It was me. You knew it was me. You never give me the credit I deserve.” Its foot comes into contact with her thigh. Again and again and again. 

“You let those kids get in trouble for no reason. You are selfish and rotten.” It grabs her arm and pulls Maggie up. Her head is turning to look in all directions. An exit. An escape. Tears are streaming down her face like a faucet. go away.

“That won’t work this time.” It grins and moves its hand from her arm to her neck. “Say it’s me.” 

“No,” Maggie says sternly. The grip squeezes around her neck, causing her arms to flail all over. She grabs its ice-cold hands and tries to pull them away. They stay put, not affected by her force.

“Say it’s me.” Its lock around her neck tightens, leaving her wheezing off the ground. She kicks its legs but does no damage to what feels like steel. “Say it.”

“It’s.” She pauses trying to breathe in air, not able to say the last word. It takes her a moment before the word “you” slips through her teeth.

She expects it to let go. To stop holding her in this endangering position, but it's hold is firmer than before. A smile spreads across its face and its eyes are glistening with delight. go away. go away. go away. go away. go aw..

✧ ✧ ✧

The last sight Magdalena’s mind ever saw was the reflection of herself in the mirror; hair neat and glimmering, eyes light and blue, skin smooth and pale, and her body glowing with perfection. Maybe it was just the moonlight or maybe it was her actually seeing herself for the first time. The last thing her eyes ever saw was her mangled body hanging from the ceiling fan, rope tied around her neck.