The room is dim. The window to my left is the only source of light. I turn to lock my door as I step into the white walled bathroom and stand with cold bare feet on the scattered brown tile. I’m not alone in the small room. A face looks out at me from the glass hanging on the wall.

It is a girl who could be mistaken for about 15 years old but her eyes tell a different story. They look aged from experience; experiences most the world prays to never have to witness. She seems hollow and broken like something has been tearing her apart from the inside out her whole life. A mess of brown curls pour over her shoulders and I notice the tips are split and uneven. Her body is naturally slim, yet at a first glance one would assume that she is athletic.

This girl in the glass wears only an oversized navy blue t-shirt which stands out strongly against her pale skin. She appears to be like any other normal child until you look at her face. She lacks laughing lines around her cracked lips. That in itself tells one of her stories. For her it is hard to find the fun in life.

She could be beautiful. Her lips are full but damaged from her excessive chewing. I look at her forehead where certain lines are visible but not those to be proud of. The hardest part of seeing her are those haunted eyes she possesses. I think again about how gorgeous she could be. Thin eyebrows and thick lashes border her chocolate brown eyes. I know from one look that she hasn’t slept well in many days.

Finally, I’m able to take a true glance directly into her eyes. It’s said that through the eyes you can glimpse one’s soul but I wasn’t expecting the whole story. I see right into her soul, awaking the fear of her father getting angry again. Seeing the glare he gives her before tightening his hands around her throat until she blacks out. Worst is when he doesn’t come. She misses the absence of any emotion she can get from him and takes pain into her own hands by befriending a kitchen knife.

Every pain is numbing. From the slice of the blade to her father bruising her neck. She will remain strong though. By giving in, she would welcome death and loneliness. So she puts on a strong face. I help her into a long sleeved turtleneck matched with yesterdays faded blue jeans. Together we fix her hair and add a coat makeup. She attempts to smile. The mangled half grin she’s able to make is enough for people to not ask questions.

I take one last look in the mirror and leave for school where things are secret. My cuts are hidden, my bruises covered, and my dark eyes made up. My secrets are my own, shared only with the girl in the mirror.