Black ink covers my features, turning it faceless. What stares back at me is unrecognizable. A monster. My heart hammers and I storm toward the mirror, then drive my fist into it. The surface cracks but doesn’t splinter, and I have to look at six distorted versions of my face. “Fuck you,” I whisper to all of them as blood drips from my knuckles, my fingers, and then splashes the white sink in red. I want to punch the mirror again—this time, erase myself completely, but I don’t, because this is also messing with my fucking control.
