There she sat: heart beating, lungs breathing; forcing a smile before her miserable reflection.

"I'm beautiful." She said. If only she believed so. If only those words sounded the same as when they nonchalantly came out of his mouth. She reached out to the mirror; dainty fingers caressed the girl's flushed cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears that just wouldn't leave. It was as if they were forever etched on her skin.

She was beautiful. In all of her misery, she was beautiful. In her wretched state, she was beautiful. Despite her countless flaws, she was beautiful.

But most of all, her eyes were beautiful. Those eyes like molten honey, framed by long lashes were the windows to her soul. They showed what she hid, said what she thought, and were what she wasn't.

Truthful.

The girl's mouth curved downwards and her lips pursed. How much more beautiful she might've looked if they were upturned into a smile, the smile that he brought upon her face?

He was right. She truly was nothing without him. He always had been right, and that wasn't about to change right now. She glanced at the multitude of purple blotches stained on the girl's face. She sat there and watched as she prodded them. It was his mark, his mark of love. He did it because he loved her. She knew it. Then… why? Why did it hurt so much? Why was the memory engraved in her mind never to leave? It was because he loved her. Wasn't it?

Tears formed in the girl's eyes and she watched as she blinked them back. She made a mistake. Leaving him was never an option, he knew she'd come back. And here she was, wallowing in his presence. He was everywhere.

His smell. That husky clean scent of his suffocated her.

His touch. She still remembered it. The stinging sensation of his strike still burned like a million embers on her cool skin.

His presence. It lingered in the room, haunting her. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone? She had convinced herself, it was all because he loved her. It was always because he loved her.

The tears now streamed freely down her bruised and swollen cheeks. They hurt. Each and every drop hurt. More than the scars. More than the bruises. More than her broken heart. These were real. These proved that they were real too, that this wasn't a dream. And that hurt. That killed.

What had she done wrong? She was always there for him: a shoulder to cry on, the one to fight his fears, the one to wipe his tears. It was funny how he was the cause of hers. But it was her fault, he said so. And he was never wrong.

It wouldn't happen again, she silently assured herself. It was her fault this time. It was always her fault. Then like a million times before, she watched that broken girl in the mirror. She watched as she cried. She watched as she died. She watched as she hurt. She watched as she did it again and again and again. She was a silent observer, nothing more, nothing less. And when she was done, she watched her reach for her ever familiar tube of concealer.

"It won't happen again…" she whispered those words to herself again. If only she believed so. If only…

A/N: Thanks for reading.

EDITED: 14/04/13

© 2013 by Laila14

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