She stared in the mirror and hated what she saw, she traced her thin long fingers over her heart shaped face; the perfect cheekbones, those sweeping eye lashes just rightly curved over her ocean like eyes. Her lips bruised and torn, reminded her of the many who had walked in and out of her life and she exhaled a quick shaky breath and shook her head.
“Inadequate” the word seem to have found the perfect permanent spot in her head. She forced herself to stare at the stranger in the mirror and feel something for the person staring back, anything but all she felt was emptiness and a dull ache of the beating heart. A dead beating heart. How long, she wondered, how long had it been since she last saw daylight. She wondered what the sun looked like now, did it look brighter today? Did it look shinier now that she wasn’t out stealing its thunder? Was it warmer now that she was inside?
Everything felt cold and dark and just right. Today seemed like a good day to die, she thought and then shook her head in disdain. Every day felt like a good day to die but she was a coward, an insult to everything she believed, she knew how the world looked at her, how men looked at her.
She was all that was pretty and all that was hated. Her whole life was a series of lies, weaved to perfection, one after another. Her lips spoke words men wanted to hear, her fingers traced their bodies inciting them, like places to be explored and cherished. She read them like she read books, she looked at them like she looked at the sky, she was all the dirty little things you couldn’t have.
A hopeless hysterical laugh escaped her throat and her glistening golden locks seemed to dance over her shoulders as her body convulsed. “Inadequate” She snorted. She was what nightmares were made of; She was the ugly hundred years old tree with no leaves yet which refused to fall, the chilling cold winter breeze which tore people apart, the fire that destroyed homes, the last few pages of a diary which nobody wanted to use, the painting which was never bought, the disposable to be thrown off once used.
The shrill voice of the doorbell brought her back to her senses; she looked in the mirror and decided today she would be Cara, yes. What a pretty little name, she mused as she reached for the door knob.