Page 45 of We Own Each Other

But then I got that text. It was a text from someone I thought I would never see again. When his name, Corin, appeared in the message notification at the top of my phone, I almost didn’t believe it. I clicked into the message, and not only confirmed it was from him, but also found that he wanted to see me again. I nearly fell right off the toilet seat from the shock.

It was unfortunate that I had heard from him at my lowest and on the pot, but there I was.

I couldn’t respond fast enough, nearly begging to see him again as I sent:

Any time, any place. I’ll be waiting.

If I had any shame, I would’ve just deleted the message and let him move on to a better life without me. But no amount of shame could overcome my need to see him again. I was far too selfish to let such an opportunity pass me by.

But I needed to clean up quickly. If I was going to see him again, I needed to at least look my best. As I finished up on the proverbial throne in my hotel room bathroom, I stood up and finally faced what I had left to rot in the mirror.

As expected, I had deep, dark bags beneath my eyes, and a scruffy scarlet beard and mustache were making themselves at home across my upper lip and jaw. I, thankfully, found I was still pretty attractive even in this sorry state, but in a sad and unapproachable kind of way. If this was going to be the last time I saw Corin, which I was sure it would be, then I at least wanted to leave a memory of me at my best.

So, I got to work. I hopped into the shower and scrubbed myself down, finishing with a thorough rub-down with sweet-smelling body lotion. Then, I set to work on my face, the real travesty. I took my time shaving everything down until all facial hair was imperceptible and the exposed skin was smooth. I cursed, finding a couple of nasty ingrown hairs and mild acne that had been hidden underneath, but there wasn’t much to be done about that.

I hoped he would decide not to meet for a while yet, so I could give everything time to heal and refresh, but then my phone buzzed to life again.

The joy I felt in seeing his name appear on my phone again faded almost instantly when I saw his message:

Can we meet tomorrow? 6pm at the steakhouse?.

Part of me was excited to see him so soon, but that also meant the quiet hope I had that we might be able to work things out over time was steadily being crushed to nothing. I could primp and prune my outer appearance as much as I wanted, but that wouldn’t change what I, and now he, knew was inside.

As I responded with the affirmative, though with much less enthusiasm than I had initially, I met my own gaze in the mirror once more.

What I found wasn’t my face.

Not the fake one I presented to the world, that is.

There was a dark, tar-like visage staring back at me. It had my eyes, but everything else was unrecognizable. The rest of my face seemed to be melting, dripping down, and sagging across my face, taking on a pitch-black hue like all of the darkness inside me was finally leaking out.

I peered down into the sink to find all of that darkness plopping down into the porcelain basin in thick, viscous black blobs. As it dribbled down into the drain and bubbled up there, the eyes that had once been on my face suddenly floated up among the sickening slick.

They blinked their heavy tar-covered lids, peering up at me like they weren’t sure who I was.

My breathing was ragged, and my heart was pounding so heavy and fast in my chest that I wasn’t sure if I could stand on my own if not for my hands burning as they squeezed the edges of the sink basin. I felt compelled to look in the mirror, but the roiling pit that was my stomach was saying not to. Gasping for air, I stared into my eyes that were still steadily staring at me, even as more and more of that sticky black fluid dripped down over them.

If all of this was pouring out of me, what was going to be left?

I couldn’t stand it anymore, watching as more and more of myself disappeared into the sink drain. Just as my eyes finally swirled away into the mire and were sucked into the pipes, I lifted my face.

There, in the mirror, reflected back at me was a completely blank face.

It was like an empty marble canvas, waiting to be carved.

That was my answer. What would be left behind if I weren’t a monster? If I weren’t stuffed full of all the cruelty and selfishness I had happily lived with my whole life, there was nothing left behind.

I was nothing if not a monster.

I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I let go of the sink and let myself crumble down onto the cold tile of the bathroom.

My ass ached from the sudden drop, but nothing ached more than my chest and my head, rushing with blood and a throbbing pain that was indescribable. Puffing with pained breath, I carefully lowered my body down into a fetal position, curling up and letting the chill from the floor steadily soak into my flesh and gradually slow down my racing heart.

With shaking hands, I hesitantly poked and prodded my face, finding all of my features still there despite what I had seen in the mirror.

Still, whether that had been a figment of my imagination or a manifestation of my greatest fears, it had confirmed one thing I already suspected: