FIVE: LA LARME

NOIR

"Hey you'll need some fresh clothes. What should I send for?" I asked after knocking the bathroom door, but there was no response. In fact, the bathroom was completely silent which made me worry.

"Are you okay?"

Still no answer.

I knocked a few more times but there was no response. Then I tried to open it. Locked.

So I kicked the door with every ounce of strength in me. I kicked so many times, the adrenaline rush intensifying with every hit. I tired to break it in with my arm too. It took a while before I managed to accomplish that.

When I finally got in, she was just standing there staring into the mirror.

I had never been more confused and frustrated in my life.

"Danica?"

There were tears running down her cheeks.

I stepped in front of her and held onto her shoulders, shaking lightly. She stared into my eyes and all I could see in her eyes was the worst kind of fear.

She sank to the floor and held onto her chest, fighting an unknown force for her breath.

I knelt beside her looking back and then all over the bathroom. There was no one there."Danica breathe. You're okay. Take deep breaths." She took deep shaky breaths, gasping desperately for air.

I searched my pockets for my phone. "I'm going to call an ambulance," I said trying to stop my hands from trembling.

She slapped the phone out of my hand. I stared at her, finding a look of horror in her eyes.

"Don't. Please," she managed to say. "Okay."

After a few minutes she was breathing regularly, but barely conscious. I carried her out and placed her in the bed.

Then I sat beside her and tried to control my breathing.

This is all my fault. She could've died.

Her eyes opened and she frowned at me as she sat up. "Are you okay?" I asked calmly. She nodded.

"Here's some water. Do you need anything else?" I asked handing her the glass. She shook her head, no.

"What happened?" She stared at nothing in particular with the glass in her hand.

"Th-the mirror," she was shaking.

"The mirror?"

"I-I—"

"Its okay. No one is going to hurt you,"

She took a sip from the glass and handed it back to me.

"No you don't understand. I can't face it," she said, finally finding her voice.

"Mirrors trigger me," she whispered.

I didn't know how to react to this.

"I'll have it removed."

"Oh you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do. They'll come in here to fix the door anyways."

DANICA

That's when I noticed the blood on his elbow and the bruises all over his arms.

My fingers reached and and trailed the injuries before I could stop them.

"I'm so sorry this is all my fault I should've known there'd be a mirror in the bathroom I'm so dumb—"

"Danica," he cut me off.

"It's fine. When you didn't respond I knew you needed help. I did what anyone else would do," he said forcing a small smile.

"No. Not anyone."

A moment of silence passed.

"So would you like to talk?" He asked.

"Talk?"

"Yes. About everything. Anything you know about yourself. Your history and identity. I mean if that's okay."

I got out of the bed. "I'll tell you everything I know," I replied.

"Where do I start?" I asked as soon as we were seated on the carpet. It was an odd position but he sat there beside me as soon as I did without a second thought.

"It's your story. You could start from the beginning, the end, somewhere in the middle..."

I definitely wasn't the type to talk to anyone about myself and my past. And I didn't trust him.

But what did I have to loose.

So i thought, who knows? Maybe he's actually trying to help.

"Or you can start by telling me how you got that badass tattoo," he joked, referring to the one on my neck.

I wished it had an exciting story attached to it.

"I ran away," I replied.

"Why did you run away?"

I was hoping I wouldn't have to explain so much but I wasn't too uncomfortable.

"For as long as I can remember, I've had the title, the identity of a psychopath. So I was home schooled. My parents wouldn't let me go anywhere. I had no friends and I almost never got to meet relatives.

I was locked away."

I looked up and he was still staring at me, failing to hide his slightly irritating curiosity.

"My parents only cared about their business and their image," I continued.

"And I had no idea what they were up to. All I knew was that they were rich and arrogant.

"I almost never came down the stairs. But I had to after hearing the gunshots and shattering glass.

There were two guns on the floor beside their dead bodies.

I ran over and knelt in the pool of blood. I was too shocked to cry, too scared to call for help. You're probably wondering why I'm telling this story with a straight face."

I looked up at him.

"I'm wondering a lot of things," he replied.

"I screamed for the maids, the Butler, body guards. They we're all gone. Well except for one maid. She walked in and looked at me with horror in her eyes. I ran over to her but she held her hands out. She pointed at me, too scared to form any words. Then she begged me not to hurt her," I paused.

"She thought you did it," he said.

I nodded.

He ran his fingers through his hair.

"And that's why you ran away," he added.

"Yes."

"I hurt someone once before. At my school. I didn't mean to, I just couldn't control my anger. Everyone knew about it. The neighbors, family, friends. And then it was like everyone had seen me do something terrifying or heard me say something really dark but the news had spread fast and all my parents did was deny it. I just... I can't remember anything else before that day. I don't know what I did or why I had to be locked away from the society."

"Did your parents try to help you?" He asked.

"They refused to get me medical attention. They had already told everyone that I wasn't psychotic.

Their little statement was all over the news for a while so they thought it would be best to lock me away to protect their image.

And when I confronted them they said they were protecting me."

"Do you remember anything after that?"

"Vaguely," I replied.

"All I know is that I was found by this... Woman. The same woman that gave me this," I pointed to the tattoo on my neck.

"I guess she took care of me for a while. I have no idea why."

"Did you ask for it?" He asked trying to maintain a calm tone.

"She put me on a stool in front of a mirror. I don't remember asking for it. All I remember is the conversation that came with the art."

"What did she say?"

"She said she knew the truth. She said my parents had been all over the news and the police had confirmed that they killed themselves. But according to her, she knew it was me that did it. And when she was done, she said even if I didn't pull the trigger, she was sure that they were so disgusted by me that they couldn't live with the truth anymore. so they..."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would anyone say that? How did you get away from her?"

"I lost control. I got angry and I..."

I choked on my words, completely unable to say it. I couldn't let anyone find out what I did to her.

"Danica—"

"Just don't ask about it again please," I said.

"okay."