Prompt #63: Self-Conscious (original) (raw)

Title: Impurity
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Ville Valo
Prompt: #63—Self-Conscious
Word Count: 654
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ville looks in the mirror but sees nothing but pain.
Author's Notes: There’s really nothing to say. I don’t own the people mentioned in this short drabble.

The mirror lays cracked before me, one thin line running from one end of the frame to the other. Through the broken glass I can still see my reflection, hollow eyes peering back at me and accusing me of all my sins. Sunken cheeks, ashen skin, greasy hair—imperfection.

I want to scream, I want to cry—but most of all I just want to fade away. I don’t want to have to see myself in this mirror ever again.

I can hear him snoring in the other room, his breathing level in his drunken sleep. He has no clue how much it kills me to see such beauty in his clear blue eyes. It hurts so badly knowing that something as stunning as him has thrown his life away for something as repulsive as me.

A heavy sigh hitches in my throat, coming out choked and desperate. I find myself leaning all of my weight upon the small porcelain sink, my hands tightly gripping the sides and my knuckles turning white with the strain. With hooded eyes I peer upwards toward the mirror, dull green eyes locking with their twins. Every little flaw, every blemish, every thing that I’m not supposed to have is reflected right there. How can this world be a stage for me if I can’t even stand my own sight? All of those fans must be wrong, there is nothing special here.

“You’re worthless,” Mirror-Ville mocks, his nose upturned and his eyes on fire. I feel my heart clench as a stray tear slips from my left eye.

In one swift motion my fist was against the glass, shattering the corner and causing bits of broken mirror to dig into my flesh. I didn’t feel the pain. I watched carefully as the crack grew wider and split off in many directions, the blood seeping from my hand and landing in the sink with steady drops.

He was calling my name, his fist pounding on the bathroom door at a frenzied pace. But it was locked. He couldn’t get to me in here—no one could.

My hand began to shake as the pain caught up with me. I needed to bandage it up, but that would require movement. Once more glancing at my reflection, I smile as it slinks back away from me. I had won this battle.

The door behind me suddenly flies open, the small hinge clattering to the ground with the impact of his shoulder against the frame. In seconds he’s by my side, his eyes darting between the now shattered mirror and my bleeding hand.

“What the hell happened?” I hear him yell, but his voice is tunneled and unclear. I try to pull away from his grasp, but he holds me close. “Ville, look at me.”

Two fingers are placed beneath my chin, pulling my face upwards. My eyes lock with his. He’s so fucking beautiful.

“I-I can’t do this anymore,” I sob, finally giving in and burying my face in his shoulder. “Bam, I just can’t do this.”

He coos me softly and runs circles down my back, trying urgently to calm me down. It works, and after only seconds my tears are gone and my breathing is even. Past his shoulder I can still see my reflection in the mirror, and it’s still haunting and sarcastic.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks as soon as I’ve calmed down. I only shake my head and grab a towel, gingerly wrapping it around my injured hand. He smiles and thankfully lets the subject drop, but I know he’ll bring it up later. He always does.

“I love you,” he whispers, flicking off the light switch and walking me back to bed.

I don’t know why he says these things. I don’t know why he believes he has to love me. But I nod and say, “I love you too, Bammi.”