My reflection wasn't cooperating. I huffed at the mirror after dragging the hairbrush through my blonde waves. I'd been waiting for this night for what felt like forever, and it was being entirely uncooperative in my endeavour to make my hair behave. It was being entirely uncooperative in every which way, as a matter of fact.

Everything had to be perfect.

I had to be perfect.

The room was bright and orderly, the sheets were clean on, and a trail of rose petals led from the hall to the bedroom. I'd thought about throwing them across the bed, but who wanted to pull a flower out of their ass in the throes of passion?

Certainly not me.

'This is ridiculous,' I muttered under my breath, turning away from the mirror and crossing the room to the vanity. It was littered with hair products and make-up. I'd opted for a natural look, and had found that looking natural took considerably more effort than caking on foundation in a rush first thing in the morning. Snatching up the hairspray, I returned to the mirror and doused the stubborn kink until it was soaked through, and wrestled it into compliance with a slim comb.

Perhaps I was panicking unnecessarily.

Men didn't really notice a single out of place hair, not when there was a woman luxuriating on the bed in little more than tulle and ribbons. At least, not normal men. Not the sort of man that I was attempting to ensnare. If he pointed out my hair instead of ripping apart my lingerie then I would be asking some serious questions about closets and just how deeply he was in one.

We'd been dating a month now, just long enough to experiment, but not quite enough to have gone all the way. I would be his first, he'd claimed. I imagined that was true. Toby was a sweet guy, the kind of guy that everyone has a little fluttering crush on in passing, but soon gets over when they enter a relationship with someone else. That wasn't to say that he was unpopular, he just seemed... unattainable, at least as far as I was concerned. I was the socially acceptable girl that everyone spoke to when it was necessary and nobody was cruel to purposely, but was always forgotten when she left the room. The neglect had been so painful that I'd almost wished someone would dunk my head in a toilet or stick a mouse in my locker just so that they'd remember I existed.

And, Toby, how I'd wished that he'd look my way. How I'd tried to catch his eye and hold his gaze for more than a few seconds just to convince myself that he really was looking at me, and that he wasn't looking through me, or past me, or just scanning the room in the search for someone else. It wasn't just that he was cute, although it certainly helped when boys were. It was the real warmth and kindness in his eyes, the kiss of youthful innocence on his lips that clung on despite his taking his steps toward adulthood, and the air of purity about him.

I know, purity.

When a guy says it, it's creepy, always wanting a girl to be pure for the sake of taking something away from her.

Yet, there's something to it, I think.

An untainted soul, one that hasn't been built up by the love of someone else and then torn apart when that person walks away from them. A heart that hasn't shattered into a billion jagged pieces. An untouched, whole, beautiful person on the inside who doesn't know the bitter sting of rejection.

That was Toby.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand and I hurried to grab it, the plush carpet tickling between my bare toes. A smile spread across my lips as I read the message.

I'm outside, are your parents really out?

They're not going to bother us. The door's open. Lock it behind you when you come in.

I heard the door open from the hall downstairs, close softly, and the lock click into place. Even from this distance, I could sense his warm, trembling breath as it tumbled over his parted lips, feel the vibrations through the floor as he tentatively ascended the stairs and passed the locked master bedroom, taking the corner and following the trail I'd left.

And, there, in his chest, his heart thrummed like a hummingbird trapped in a cage, longing to escape.

I glanced at the mirror, at my reflection, at the other me who stared back with wild, wide eyes full of panic. She mouthed at me, silent in her glass prison, reflecting all my outer beauty but none of my inner strength.

'What?' I asked the girl.

The frightened girl.

The girl who didn't know how to talk to Toby.

The girl who'd prayed to anyone who was listening to help her find the strength.

The girl so weak that she'd willingly let me take her place in this world.

The girl whose parents' bodies slumbered beneath their bed in a pool of blood and entrails, faces twisted into expressions of sheer, unimaginable horror, their hearts consumed. Vile, chewy things that they were. The taste had lingered for hours.

Toby drew closer with every step, and I hastily draped the sheer scarf over the mirror and pushed it backwards into the gloomy, shadowy corner of the room so that it wouldn't catch his gaze. I smiled and whispered to the trapped, broken, other me, 'His heart could have been yours, you know? If only you'd had a little faith in yourself instead of in the dark. Now, it belongs to me. The part of yourself you'll wish you never let out of the shadows.'

The fists banging against the other side of the glass made no noise as Toby entered the room. I turned and his gaze roved over my body approvingly, hungrily. Mine did the same in return, but not quite in the same way.

'You look...'

'Delicious?' I asked. 'Thank you. So do you.'