The Man In The Mirror

By: Georgia Le Carre

“I’ll miss you, you know?”

I laughed. “No, you won’t. You haven’t closed your legs since you met that Russian husband of yours. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“That’s not even funny. Of course, I will miss you. Anyway, I don’t even know why you insist on working so hard and still paying rent here. Yuri has already offered to buy you a fabulous house near us.”

I smiled at her. April would never know how much I really love her. She was the sister I never had. “I know, but I like working. It makes me feel useful. I can’t imagine being one of those women who has lunches and manicures instead of a job.”

“Sure, I get that, but why won’t you let Yuri buy an apartment for you instead of paying rent.”

I shook my head resolutely. “Yuri made all my dreams come true when he bought my mom’s house for her. I’ll be forever grateful for that. I don’t want anything else from him. The most important thing is he makes you happy.”

She grinned. “That he does.” She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening. “Oh my God, the baby just moved again. I’ve got to tell Yuri this.” She reached for her cell phone.

I groaned. “Oh, for god’s sake, where is the vomit bucket? Do I have to listen to the two of you cooing at each other over the phone again?”

She pressed a button on her phone and looked at me smugly. “You better be careful young lady. I won’t forget this when you find your man and go ga ga over him.”

I snorted. “Hardly likely since I’ll be dressed in a sackcloth, ashes, and a horrible pair of librarian glasses for the foreseeable future.”

Chapter 2


The Thrill is Gone

Jesus! One side of my face was on fire, the flesh was disintegrating away, and my bones were pressing into the damp ground. The smell of burning stung my nostrils. Only when I brought my hands up in a panic to try to put the fire out did I realize that my skin was not burning. I looked at my hands in shock. Shards of sharp glass stuck to my palms and they were dripping with blood.

What the fuck!

Something was burning though.

Dazed, I turned my head. A few feet away my car was on fire. I watched it blaze towards the sky. Even in my disorientated state I could see how beautiful it was. Suddenly, I saw Stanley’s face rise up from the seat. It was full of horror and his mouth was open in a scream of terror. I hadn’t worn my seatbelt so the force of the crash had blasted me through the windscreen, but he was wearing his, and now he was trapped behind it and couldn’t get out.

I had to get to him.

I tried to lift my body, but it wouldn’t cooperate. As though I had turned to concrete. I couldn’t feel anything. Not even the biting cold. I tried to crawl as excruciating pain ratcheted though my body, a hundred different places at once. A single cry bubbling up inside.

“Stanley!” The word tore from my throat. “Stanley!” I screamed and crawled onwards, grabbing at what I could of the glass and tarmac beneath my hands. He was saying something, but his face was bubbling and melting.

“God, no.”

I filled my lungs with freezing air and went to drag myself up. It was like being stabbed in every part of my body, but not an inch could I move. Sweat poured out of my body as I pounded my hand on the ground in frustration. In agony, I watched the slight silhouette of the man who was more of a father than my own had been, collapse and fall out of view.

“This is a dream. Just a nightmare,” a voice in my head screamed. I began to beat at my own body.

Wake up, wake up, Brett. Wake the fuck up. Now!

I jerked awake in the darkness of my room. Sweating. Coughing, and clutching at my chest for dear life. I shot out of the bed, and such pain racked my entire back that my knees gave way underneath me. Grasping the bed, I stopped moving and stayed still, my teeth gritted. I just had to wait for the spasms to pass. They always did. I just had to be patient. To wait. The pain dulled to a bearable throb, but the dream remained vivid.

It would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Beads of sweat dotted my forehead, and misted on my chest from the nightmare. I glanced at the digital clock by my bedside. Only a few minutes past two in the morning. I had put myself to sleep barely forty-five minutes earlier. The thought of the long night still ahead made me groan quietly in misery.

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