Haley’s POV~
~4 Years Ago
“Obviously, it's gotta be some kind of boring period piece.” Sandy rolls her eyes as she considers the question. “Knowing Tammy, it has to be obscure. Even if from a popular author, she'd never be caught dead picking something everyone's heard of… and definitely not something popular enough to have a movie adaptation…”
Being the newest addition to this group, I'm in no way confident enough to interrupt this Sherlockian deduction. Honestly, I'm kind of afraid I've been too quiet all night. Libby brought me along with her to play party games with her friends, and while I understand the “getting to know you” aspect of the questions asked by these cards… It feels weird to make baseless guesses as an outsider.
“Lady Susan!” Sandy confidently declares, drawing a look of mock outrage from Tamara.
“What the hell kind of person do you think I am!?” Tammy asks, recoiling with overdramatized disgust. She holds up the act for just a moment before releasing a full stanza of melodic giggles. “Alright, so I don't hate that guess. But you're really overthinking things. Wuthering Kites! I live for stories built on terrible people with poor communication skills.”
Libby's face quirks up into a smile I already recognize as incoming mischief. “Why? Relatable?” A feathered arm, now a brilliant scarlet color, collides with Libby's face softly. “So violent… Called it.”
The group laughs at the pair's antics, and I chuckle sitting off to the side, wishing I was at all comfortable enough to let loose like them.
“Alright, my turn,” Libby declares. She crosses her arms and extends herself further up on her tail. “What's my favorite book?”
“The Odyssey,” both Sandy and Tamara instantly answer with deadpan looks.
My girlfriend deflates. “Really? No deliberation? No debate? And you both didn't even bother going into which translation I–”
The other two groan loudly, and Sandy even throws a piece of crumpled paper right at Libby.
“I don't think you're right,” I say, my voice still a bit nervous and barely noticable over the exaggerated noises of discontent. “It's not The Odyssey.”
“It's okay, Haley, I'm not actually mad that they–”
“The Odyssey was just one of many books on your shelf when you showed me your room. But you had that other book displayed on its own. I think it was Medusa's First Friend or something?” My words seem to hit home because Libby's face goes slightly rosy as she looks almost taken aback. “You probably read The Odyssey more… and yes, you talk about it a lot. But obviously, you care about that other book too.”
“You… That… I mean…”
Sandy chuckles and shakes her head. “Damn, you broke Libby… That's impressive.” Despite not articulating a response, Libby lashes her tail out to smack Sandy in the arm. “Hey!”
Tamara snickers. “Not bad, Haley. Guess you got that one right… Now, what's your favorite book?”
“Isn't it up to you all to guess?” I ask, trying to sound coy… or interesting. I just really want my girlfriend's friends to like me.
“Well, only one of us has any chance of getting this right,” Tammy says, prompting all eyes to fall on Libby.
“I don't know,” she says, her tail curling tighter underneath her. “Aside from knowing you're absolutely not a fan of textbooks, I can't say we've ever really spoken about what you read. Sorry.” Libby shrugs and looks at me expectantly.
Suddenly becoming the center of attention, I become much more self-conscious of my boring answer. “She's pretty much right. I'm not much of a reader. I like watching TV more, I guess.” I can see Sandy already getting ready to call me out on that non-answer, so I add, “Although, when I was younger, I really liked Alice in Wonderland. My mom used to read it to me. Back when…” When she used to smile. When she hadn't yet gotten violent. When I remember loving her. “Whenever she had time.”
Libby, at least somewhat aware of why saying that was a big step, holds my hand while the other two nod and move along, already picking out the next card from the box. Feeling her fingers lace through mine and an idle thumb lightly trace my knuckles, I can't help but lean on her a bit. The unfamiliar pull of connection is still hard for me to accept, but every moment spent next to her heals scars from time spent feeling completely alone. A part of me hopes I never get used to this. I hope that years from now, I still get nervous and warm with every subtle touch and gesture from this magical and beautiful girl I get to call my partner.
*** Present Day
Willow gasps, and Libby's hand finds mine as it drops the cloth cover. “Haley… Is that…” Willow doesn't finish the question as she stares at the many grim photos tucked into the edges of the mirror. “Why?”
My shoulders bob up in a lazy shrug, even though Willow asked a fair question. Not everyone would have the stomach to keep a collection of pictures from times they got the shit beaten out of them. Bruised, scratched, sometimes bloodied; laid bare for all three of us to see is a shameful gallery of my lowest moments.
“After Helena would run out of steam, I'd slink away to Aunt Mel's. She gave me a spare key so I could stay over even when she wasn't home. I’d head there, lick my wounds, and rest in relative safety until I felt ready to go back home,” I explain, looking straight at the unnerving smirk of the woman in the mirror who no longer kept up her reflecting act. “I thought that even if I wasn't willing to ask for help, even if I didn't want to report the bitch, I still wanted some proof… in case she ever tried to lay a finger on my sister.”
The first time Mel saw her sister’s handiwork, she begged me to let her call for help. She tried to tell me to report Helena to someone, anyone, who could do something.
I never did.
In retrospect, it’s gonna sound really stupid to say this, but I hated the idea of anyone else seeing me like this, hated how small and weak I felt. My decision to keep it to myself was rooted in stupid, stubborn pride. Even now, years later, I can barely look at each pathetic image, reflecting back the gradual breaking of my spirit.
“I almost always spent the night at Mel’s after a bad night at home, but every night I spent away, I could never stop worrying about Phoebe. Knowing that I left her alone with Helena because I was afraid… That’s what made me hate myself the most.”
Instantly, I feel both people surrounding me hold me tighter, just a bit. It's undoubtedly pleasant, but maybe not as necessary as they think. I thought saying all of this would be harder, but once they’d seen my pictures, the apprehension left me completely. For years, I'd nearly thrown up at the thought of anyone seeing this grim gallery, but now that the moment I'd dreaded has passed, I feel… calm.
“One day, I came home the same night I'd left. I remember thinking Helena had been a bit more… thorough that day. The fear of something happening to Phoebe brought me back. But I found my sister curled up on our mother's lap as she listened to Helena read a story. Embarrassingly, I had held onto hope for longer than I should have. I held out hope that one day, Mom would be the person I could barely remember her being when I was small. Seeing that killed any dumb notions of her ever being kind. She had always been a monster; she was just good at hiding it when she chose to…”
Something wells up inside me, something unfamiliar and awful. Not anger, or sadness, at least how I've felt them before. It’s a deeper ache I don't know the name for yet. Tears run down my face without cries or sobs and my voice remains steady, even as my hands tremble.
Libby's hand slips out of mine as she slithers forward, and I feel my own slightly chase it as it goes. My ex approaches the mirror, eyes locked to the very bottom where sits one particular picture. “Why keep this here?” she asks as she plucks the photo from its home, holding it gently between two fingers. It was a picture from our first date. We went to see an older movie she loved, a cult classic that everyone in the theater could probably recite the lines from by heart.
Her eyes dart back to mine, seeking an answer for her out of place inclusion in such a terrible collection. “You're the one who gave me the idea, always going on about mythology. At the bottom of the box that held all of the world's miseries, there was only one thing left. Hope.” The look on my ex's face becomes inscrutable as she processes what I've said. “More than just the symbolic gesture, any time I had something new to contribute to the mirror, it was nice to see something that made me happy.” Admitting this is incredibly embarrassing, but somehow Libby's face is even redder than mine.
Willow's grip never surrenders my arm, but she's the next to step forward as she examines each picture in turn. “Your mom is a monster,” she says. Her voice is colder than I've ever heard it, almost frighteningly so. Even at her most tense, angry, and upset that I've seen, there's always been that dash of, if not humor, then warmth to her. “I mean, I knew it already. But all of this…” Her grip on me tightens as she starts bouncing on the balls of her feet, like a rocket seconds from takeoff. “She's the absolute fucking worst!”
Pulling the bunny girl back, I put my free hand on top of her head, hoping hopping mad mammals work under the same rules as alarm clocks. Funnily enough, this does stop her shaking. “Yeah… she is.”
The nearly rabbid rabbit looks back at me. “She hurt you so much, and you still changed to look like her for Phoebe's sake…” My friend nearly chokes on her words. Pity is not a thing I've felt cast in my direction very often, and I have to say, I'm not a fan.
Taking in a deep breath, I decide that in keeping with today's theme of full transparency, I should finally put my old story to rest. “I didn't change into a Helena look alike only for Phoebe.” The other two in the room go completely still, as if complete silence will compel me to continue. I suppose it does. “I hate Helena. Hell, it's purely because of her that I know what true, visceral hatred feels like. I could stack every other feeling of disdain I’ve ever felt atop each other and it still wouldn’t even come close. But growing up with her, I also learned the meaning of envy. She was never afraid of anything. She lived the way she wanted to, getting her way constantly. For a broken girl whose life had become an endless parade of fear, what she had looked like freedom. When you can only see in terms of black or white, there's either strong or weak, villain or victim, malice or fear… and the former always sounded a lot better than the latter.”
Two reptilian eyes squint, perplexed. “Haley, there's no way you chose to look like your mother for yourself. You were never a black and white person, at least not before your metamorphosis. You weren't weak, you were kind. You weren't a victim, you were a hero to your sister. You weren't fearful, you were–”
“I was angry,” I finish, looking at the woman I've thoroughly disappointed with an appropriate amount of guilt. “I was so fucking angry, and when you feel one thing strongly enough, it drowns out everything else that you should have cared about.” I feel my throat clench in effort as I try to force out the words I've wanted to say for a while now. “I loved you… Hell, I still do… I don't think there's a version of me, no matter what shape I'm in, that wouldn't. My heart was just filled with too much bullshit at the time to appreciate the person I was lucky to have by my side.”
“You– What? I…” Libby takes a breath for a second, stone still. “And what about now? Still too much bullshit?”
“I hope not. I don't want to be this anymore.”
At some point, Willow must have let go of me because I see her quietly trying to exit the room and give Libby and I some space. A jet black tail reaches out and lightly pulls her back just as she reaches the door. “Nice try, Willow. You're a part of this mess now too.”
“Am I?” she asks, adorably flustered by Libby's gesture. “I mean, cool. But are you sure?”
“Afraid so. My condolences,” I answer with a smirk. “As long as you want to be, of course.”
Willow looks at Libby and I in turn, confusion turning into deeper and more profound perplexity. “Y–yes… that sounds agreeable. Yeah. Good. Cool. Umm… What mess are we talking about? Like a mess? Or like a mess mess?”
There, in the company of my still beloved ex and the strange yet wonderful girl I've grown to adore, something incredible happens. I start laughing. Minutes ago, I was baring my soul and revealing parts of myself I would have been happy to keep buried forever. Yet here I am, not scorned, not judged, not hated, but surrounded by care and comfort. Libby joins me and even Willow coughs up a chuckle at her own expense as I feel a sudden exhaustion come over me.
“No you fucking don't!” a familiar voice roars as a rough hand seizes my arm from behind. My head whips around to see myself, the me that always glared at me from the mirror, reaching through the looking glass as I'm pulled toward the dresser. “You don't get a happy ending! Not you!”
Resisting with all my might, I realize that I'm no match for my other self. “Libby, Willow, help!” I cry out, looking back to where my friends had been moments ago, only to find an empty room.
“Nobody can help you,” my cruel reflection cackles. “You're in my world now!”