Reflections

“Drop the knife, Elizabeth!”

Her fingers curl tighter around the wooden handle. Blood rushes to her pale nails. The pointed tip of the blade grazes her flimsy shirt, and the fabric rips right over her round belly button.

“Please,” I beg, but she swings her head from side to side, and tear drops splatter all over the tiled bathroom walls.

“I can’t,” she croaks out. Her shoulders are twitching from her suppressed wails, so I take the chance to lunge at her hands, trying to grab the deadly weapon.

“No!” she screams and evades my skinny arms. A heavy knock cuts through the uneasy air in the room. Elizabeth lets go of the knife like it’s hot iron and kicks it under the cabinet.

“Elizabeth?” a soft feminine voice calls from behind the locked door.  Elizabeth wipes off her gooey mix of mascara and tears with the back of her shaky hands and rubs the stains on her dark jeans. I move back to allow her clean her face with the blue towel on the rack.

“Elizabeth, are you in there?”

“Yes.” She clears her throat. “Yes. I’m coming.”

After one hurried look at the mirror, she pulls the white door open as she plasters a toothy smile on her face.

“Is everything okay?” Her mum pokes her smooth, round face into the pristine white bathroom.

“Of course, mum. Just about to take a shower,” she responds and shrugs her shoulders; however, her eyes are trained on the chunk of vomit hanging off the toilet bowl. Her mum doesn’t notice though. After one more sweeping look at the bathroom, she finally looks at her daughter and gasps.

“What happened to you?”

Elizabeth’s hand clenches the door knob. “What do you mean?”

“I taught you how to properly apply makeup, didn’t I?” She wets her right thumb with saliva and wipes at the leftover stains of mascara under Elizabeth’s eyelids. Her long fingers linger, thumb stroking Elizabeth’s hollow cheek.

“Na mistake jare.” Her grip on the knob loosens; sturdy shoulders slump. “My hand moved when you knocked, so I had to clean it.”

I shake my head at her, chin rested on my palm, but she ignores my judging stare.

“Na mistake jare?” her mum questions, planting her hands on her hips. “Enough with that crass Nigerian pidgin, Elizabeth. You know better.”

“Sorry.” She fixes her eyes on the ground.

“You better be,” she says and walks away into the adjoining bedroom, “Anyway, food is ready.”

“Oh— “

“But–“she purses her lips, pointed nose crinkling up–“I’m not sure you need to eat though. Your cheeks are getting chubby again, dear.”

The color drains from Elizabeth’s blemished face. I dig my fingers into my palms, sharp nails leaving marks on the taut skin. My tongue is stuck in between the jagged crowns of my teeth to stop me from spitting hate at her mum’s retreating figure.

“I’m not even hungry,” she agrees, then looks at the circle she’s been drawing on the floor with her left foot. Her mum smiles brightly at her and leaves the bedroom.

“Elizabeth. Don’t,” I plead, but she’s already headed for the toilet seat. I look away as she sticks her fingers down her throat and heaves the repugnant contents of her stomach. Her noodle-like arms are barely gripping the sides of the bowl.

The pungent smell of vomit fills the air as she hurls over and over and over until all that comes out is stomach acid. She flushes the evidence and rests her backside on the toilet bowl. A bitter chuckle escapes from her lips. My fingers twitch beside me. I wish I could dry her tears and remove the chunks of puke still clinging to the edges of her mouth, but I am sick of enabling her toxic habits.

Her fingers creep towards the cabinet, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. I stomp on her hand right before she grabs the knife, but she frees her hand from under my foot and dives for the object once again.

“Elizabeth!”

My fingers wrap around her blond hair and pull her up by the over-dyed strands. I hurl her straight into the bathtub, and the echo of the impact resounds throughout the small room. I almost feel bad when she lets out a nasty grunt, but she springs at me and slams my body into the mirror. Its glass shards pierce through my back, and I crumble to the ground. Blood seeps out from the wounds lining my skin. The huge piece of glass lying next to me holds no reflection of my face or the pain in it.

Elizabeth grabs the knife from the blood-stained floor and tries to ram it into her belly, but I wrap my hands around her fists and struggle for control.

“Let go!” she screams as the blade shifts from side to side.

She comes to a halt, and her eyes lights up for a flashing moment before she attempts to slam her body into the blade. I sweep underneath her legs with no regard for the pain coursing through my spine. She tumbles to the ground, and her head bounces off the edge of the tub on her way down.

She lies on the ground, eyes wide open.

“Why won’t you let me die?” she whispers. Tears stream from the corners of her eyes and form pools underneath her face. I crawl towards her and wrap my arms around her skinny frame. She relaxes into me, clinging onto my shirt.

“Please, Elizabeth.” She tightens her grip. “Just let me die.”

I hold her close to me and stroke her stringy hair until her breathing becomes heavy and her eyelids flutter shut. Her mother will find her here tomorrow fast asleep on the floor as if nothing ever happened. As if a war never happened.

“If you die Elizabeth, what becomes of the future ahead of you? What becomes of the people that love you? What becomes of the hallucination that comforts you every night while you sleep?”