Stephanie Sarchett – University College
Slowly, I walked up to the sink and caught the eye of the girl staring back at me from the mirror’s reflection. I recognized the face and yet I still couldn’t place it. She watched me cautiously as I leaned in closer; almost as if she expected me to strike her. Her light brown hair framed her face with delicate curls, shining ever so slightly in the florescent light.
The bruises under her eyes told of agonizingly long days and sleepless nights, lined with fear and pain. I can tell she’s in deep thought at that moment even though she tried hard not to think about what has been coming back to her day after day, month after month.
I tore my eyes from her familiar face and looked down at the creamy porcelain sink. I flipped the faucet on and it ran freezing water over my fingers. My hands were shaking, though it wasn’t because of the temperature. That’s what scared me the most.
I examined my arms as the water trickled down them, the cold causing the edges of long since healed scars to redden and stand out against my pale skin. In the mirror, I watched as the girl followed with her eyes as I ran a finger across my forearm and she was surprised to find that the skin was still smooth despite the damage that served as an everyday reminder.
My head snapped up and the girl’s eyes widened in time with the pounding in my chest. The girl looked sick. I felt sick. Then I realized who that girl was staring back at me. The girl with the sad eyes and tortured expression was me.