The Mirror

"Take your clothes off."
Brett glanced towards him from where she sat at the edge of the bed. Her fingers clenched tightly on her crossed arms, and her heart rate picked up at his command. She blinked her puffy eyes, her lashes peeling apart from each other, glistening with moisture. She gawked for a moment, his words having put her into momentary shock, before reacting.
"Are you an idiot? Hell no," she crossed her legs in a huffy fashion, tearing her eyes away from his.
Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, he slid a hand into his pocket, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His head dropped and he sighed.
"I want to help you."
"The hell kinda help are you offering me?" she spat. Her words were icy and quickly spoken. She couldn't fathom what purpose taking her clothes off in front of him had; he was her best friend, not boyfriend. Just the thought sent nervous shivers down the length of her spine.
"You're crying," he pointed out gently.
"No. I was crying. And now I'm not. Crying is how you cope with things, and now I'm done coping." she quickly turned her body towards him, the mattress springs squeaking slightly beneath her weight as her hand pressed down into the sheets. "How the hell is taking my clothes off going to help anything? If you think having sex with you is gonna make me feel better, I’m gonna beat the shit out of yo-"
"Hey hey hey-" Raising his hands to squelch her fire, he began to move towards her, slowly. "You know for a fact that I'm not like that," His eyes softened, slightly hurt that she'd think of him in that way. "Look. I know that it sounds weird. But just trust me. You know I would never do anything to hurt you." He stood in the middle of their hotel room, giving her a decent amount of space. “I won’t touch you. I just want to show you something. Okay?”
She studied him briefly, hesitantly. He was her closest friend...and he had never taken her for granted before, never used her in a way that would upset her. He was respectful and sweet. As he waited in the silence, soft eyes peering into hers, she felt her guard beginning to lower.
Despite not understanding his motives, she slipped off her gloves. Her hand moved to her collar, beginning to slowly pop open the buttons along her torso. She focused her damp eyes on her working hands, stifling her breathing as she slipped her arms out of her uniform. She set it to her side, staring down at herself, unwilling to look at the man standing a few feet away from her.
As soon as the air wrapped itself around her bare shoulders, her heart threw itself into a different gear, realizing what she was doing. Taking in a deep breath to calm herself, she arched her back and slipped off the compressive shirt that hid her breasts.
She wondered briefly if he was looking, though he hadn't muttered a single word, hadn't made a sound. Even still, looking at him would make her more anxious, so she opted to keep her head bowed and pretend this was completely normal.
She moved to her feet, turning toward him as her fingers messed with the buckle of her belt. Undoing the catch of her pants, they pulled away from her hips without the belt to hold them up. They slid down her legs, folding into themselves as she stepped out of them. She was starting to get antsy...what was he planning?
Her fingers slid to the edges of her underwear. They were lacey and white, the only feminine clothing she wore, even though no one could see them. They made her feel slightly better about herself. Her torso bent as she slid them down and stepped away from them.
She felt exposed. Never had she been so vulnerable in front of anyone. Her head lifted enough for her eyes to make contact with his, though she fought herself the entire time. Her mind was whirling, her inner voice screaming, but she stood as a soldier would: at attention, waiting to see what he would do.
He hadn't moved. His hand was still in his pocket, the other balled loosely at his side. His eyes were still locked onto hers. They were unwavering, never slipping for a glance at her naked body. There was neither lust nor desire within them, and his demeanor was as relaxed as it had always been.
Finally, he began to move. Not towards her, but around her, to the opposite edge of the room. There, resting on four wooden legs, was a full-length mirror. It stood alone, reflecting quietly from its corner. Brett had never spent much time in front of it. The mirror was there merely for decoration, for all that she cared. To take up space, nothing more.
"Here," he motioned for her in a gentle manner. Hesitantly, she stepped towards him, her face burning with the color of the blood beneath her skin. She stepped in front of the glass, looking at him questioningly, but all he did was nod toward the mirror. Her eyes followed it and met her own gaze. She watched as he moved behind her, feeling her muscles tighten as she heard his sleeve rustle. He was moving to touch her. She waited for the feel of fingertips down her spine, but it never came. Instead, his fingers gripped the tie holding her hair back. He slid it off gingerly, then moved to sprawl her now loose curls gently across her shoulders.
"There we are," he said softly. "Now look in the mirror."
"I see it, it's just me-"
"No, you didn't even look...really, look. Look at her...look at you."
She didn't want to. She didn't want to see herself like this, unclothed and ugly as she was. She shook her head quickly, her eyes squeezing shut, turning her body away to leave. His hands that he’d kept so carefully to himself now moved, bracing against her shoulders. They were firm, but gentle.
“Seriously, I don’t want to look-“
“Brett…please. For me.”
She rarely spent time looking at herself in the mirror. It always made her upset. Not once in her life had she considered herself beautiful. Having grown up with four brothers, she felt the need to prove her worth by enlisting in the army, a bold move for a female in this society. Her looks were never something she coveted, and she didn’t want to start now. It frightened her to study herself. She wasn’t one of those skinny blonde girls that wear masks of makeup. She was never one to be cat-called out in public. She was the girl that everyone avoided, that everyone was too intimidated by to talk to. Because of this, there was no reason why she should feel pretty…right? Who was there to impress?
But, he wanted her to look. He was being so careful, taking time out of his night to comfort her, and show her something. What it was, she couldn’t tell yet…but his words, gentle as they were, were serious, and she forced herself to look into that smooth silver panel. For her friend. For him.
She first came to focus on her eyes. They were still red, irritated by salty tears from mere minutes ago. Her eyelashes were still damp. She always looked awful after crying, though she tried not to cringe. She trailed her eyes down the length of her own body, slowly, trying to see what he was attempting to show her.
“Can we stop now…”
“Not yet…please…just look.”
Slowly, slowly. Study, search, look, explore. She tried hard to see. See what? Frustration was building inside of her. As if on cue, his hand moved up to brush her hair away from her face, enough to draw her attention. As her gaze followed his hand down the length of her hair, her expression began to soften. Her body began to loosen. She was beginning to see it.
Her red hair was sitting delicately over her shoulders, and her skin was fair, milky-white; her uniform acted as a shield from the sun. It looked smooth. She could see few imperfections, minus a few scars here and there. But they were faint. Her body was fit and healthy. She was not a stick, but her military background kept her curves in check. Usually, she carried herself with a feigned confidence, but here, she looked like someone else. She looked innocent, naked, and bare. Vulnerable. Her eyes continued to scour the girl in the mirror. That dusting of light freckles over her shoulders glowed gently in the evening light. It was the same across her nose…and those vivid, brilliant blue eyes…
Suddenly, she felt his hand entwine with hers. She knew then that this was what he could see, though she didn't want to accept it. She couldn't accept it. How was she to believe the woman in the mirror was as beautiful as her eyes made it seem? How could that woman actually be her? After years of torment from the men in her family, after feeling so lowly of herself that she threw her future away to join the army, just to prove she was worth something…how? Her vision began to blur again, and she moved her free hand to wipe the tears away. Her body began to tremble slightly.
"Do you see now?" he asked gently.
Silently she shook her head. No.
"Yes you do. I can tell that you do, because you're…coping again." A soft, gentle smile began to play at his lips, and she sent a sideways glance to him through the glass of the mirror. "You're coping with accepting your own beauty...you can see that you are beautiful." His hand never wandered from her fingers, and his eyes were still locked on hers.
As she began to cry, the feel of his hand disappeared as his feet padded toward the bed, taking the blanket folded at the bottom of the mattress. He stepped behind her once again, slowly wrapping the blanket around her body to conceal it from view. She gripped it with shaking hands, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of conflicting emotions. Her tears dropped onto the soft fabric while his hand rested on her shoulder for a moment. She squeezed her eyes shut, hanging her head.
"Whenever you doubt yourself, go to the mirror." his voice was getting quieter. There was the sound of soft footsteps, and a doorknob turning. He was leaving, because he knew that she hated to cry in front of people. Some part of her realized this, but she was too overwhelmed to fully appreciate it. "Don't try to argue with the mirror, because it will never lie to you.” She glanced wearily towards him, trying to conceal her tears with the blanket. He only gave her a knowing smile, telling her it was okay. “You have to give the mirror a chance to tell the truth. Don’t let your mind cloud what truly is. And don’t ever forget what the mirror has shown you…you’re beautiful, Brett. You’re really, truly beautiful.”
There was a soft click as the door to her bedroom shut behind him.
She stood alone before the mirror, crying and shaking until her tears ran out and the light from the window turned a dark orange.
Her eyes were dry when she finally turned away.
She left the blanket behind at the foot of the mirror.