As I got up the stairs, I didn’t dare turn around to look at her room. Instead I just focused on heading to the bathroom, but that’s when I heardit.
Soft murmurs drifted from down the hallway, coming from her room. The sound was faint but unmistakable. Without making too much noise, I took a few careful steps in her direction. The door was cracked open, just enough for her voice to slip through.
I moved closer, but the next step betrayed me—a floorboard groaned beneath my weight. I froze, my breath hitching, straining to hear what she was saying.
“You are nothing.”
It was soft, barely above a murmur, but I heard what she’d said clear as day.
I stared down at the floor, silently begging it not to creak again. I was only a few steps from her door. If the boards groaned once more, she’d know I was there, heading toward her, listening. Yet, I needed to know what she was talking about.
I took the smallest step forward, carefully placing my weight on my toes before easing closer to her room. From where I stood, I could see through the crack in the door if I angled my head just right.
“You are ugly. Your breasts are too big.”
Her voice, usually so full of light and joy, was flat, laced with something dark and unforgiving. My chest tightened as I listened, her words hitting like tiny daggers.
Who the hell is she talking to?
I leaned in a little more, my eyes locking onto where she stood inside the room. She was in front of the large floor-to-ceiling mirror, her reflection staring back at her. It was just her. No one else was in the room.
She was talking to herself.
As I leaned in farther, the scene unfolded before me. Charlie stood naked in front of the vintage gold-framed mirror, her body bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Her hands moved with purpose, one gripping her cheeks, pulling harshly as if trying to reshape them. The other hand trailed down her flawless curves, tracing every inch.
When her fingers reached her stomach, she pinched at the soft skin and murmured, “Your stomach is too fat. You’ll never keep a man because of this.”
Her voice was cruel and unrecognizable. She slid her hand down to her thighs, gripping them with the same unforgiving touch. “None of the boys will ever like you, Charlotte.”
The use of her full name, coupled with the tiny hiccup that escaped her lips, froze me in place for a moment. Then I saw it—a single tear rolling down her cheek as I saw her swallowing back a sob in her reflection.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, I pushed the door open, not caring if she saw me. She didn’t flinch. Her hand dropped from her cheek, her eyes flicking to me briefly over her shoulder before drifting back to the mirror.
“Char,” I said softly, my voice barely audible as I stepped inside.
My heart was pounding, my feet moving on their own. I couldn’t get to her fast enough.
I stood behind her, not sure what I should do, but that’s when I saw the mascara running down her cheeks and her swollen, red eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Please. Talk to me,” I begged.
She only shook her head again.
I stepped into her en suite bathroom and grabbed a satin robe hanging from the back of the door. I picked up a towel and dampened it lightly with cool water before heading back to her.
When I returned, she was still standing frozen in front of the mirror, her arms limp at her sides, eyes fixed on her reflection like she was trapped.
“Come here,” I whispered.
She didn’t move at first, her gaze unmoving.
I stepped closer, holding out the robe as if offering her a lifeline.
She let me slip the robe over her shoulders, the satin fabric gliding against her skin as she pulled it tight around her. Her eyes stayed on the mirror for a moment longer before she finally let them drop.
