Warped Reflections

I stood in front on my mirror, towel wrapped loosely around my waist. I had just come out of a long, scorching shower like I did every Sunday morning. It was a routine to me, because Saturdays never seemed to go right, I washed everything away for Sunday. There wasn’t anything special about Sundays though, I just stayed inside watching TV or reading. But I liked to be clean.

Right now I could see why Oli hated me. I was ugly; sure we were twins, but the almost identical sort. We had the same hair, eyes, height; but our faces were different. I can’t say how, but his is just prettier than mine. He always gets the dates, I’ve been on one in the history of my life, and I regret it.

Oli didn’t want to be related to someone like me, and I could see why. I wasn’t attractive, nor was I thin. I pinched my stomach with a grimace, not liking the way the way I could take skin in between my fingers. I tried losing weight, and it seemed to have no effect at all. He still wouldn’t look at me, not in a way that was in any form brotherly or decent.

My face would still be a mess, even if I did lose weight, I would still be cursed. I could try plastic surgery though, but they couldn’t fix everything. I would be like a deformed Barbie doll eventually, better to be pretty for a while than ugly forever.

I fell down onto the floor with a thump and lent my head against the bed, closing my eyes as I did so. There was no way I could ever be perfect enough to get the attention of my brother, even if it was just a fleeting, unemotional glance. It would be better than a glare, a snarl. If he could actually look at me, straight in the eyes, I guess I would be able to live with him hating me.

Just one look

But who would want to look at me? I was nothing, anyone could easily outpace me in looks, without even trying. Personality? That meant nothing to Oli.

I wish it did.

“Are you okay love?”

I jumped at the sound of my mum’s voice and open my eyes wide, surprise seeping through my skin. She stood in the door way, a wicker basket pushed against her stomach with her arms wrapped round it, looking at me with a soft expression and large sad eyes.

“Yes mum, just day dreaming...” I muttered unconvincingly, dropping my eyes to the floor and fidgeting with the rim of my towel, lips twisting out of shape and toes curling in on themselves. I had never been a good liar.

Mum stood there for a moment longer, just watching me, then left, her eyes returning to their standard faraway place as she did the chores. I did love my mum, she was one of the people closest to me in the world, but sometimes I just felt like I couldn’t trust her.

Especially when it was about my brother. I had no illusions in the fact that he was the family favourite, I knew dad saw him as the next man of the house, I knew that mum loved it when he would come and sit next to her and talk her through some silly story about his friends. I also knew dad thought I was a fag, and mum was sad she wouldn’t get any grandchildren from me. If I even mentioned my brother to mum she would almost instantly stop listening, not wishing to hear anything bad about her perfect son.

Oli was far from perfect, though. He drank, he gambled, he got into gang fights, trashed concerts. His grades in school were only just average, the people he hung around with could only be described as turned down asylum seekers and potheads. But the thing was, I wasn’t perfect either. And the only reason my dad wouldn’t look at me anymore was because I was gay, the only reason my mum didn’t care what my friends did was because I had only two.

My mum wouldn’t ask me every night if I had my eye on someone, but she would ask Oli. She wouldn’t ask me why I was going out late at night with someone that wasn’t Kate or Brad, but she would ask Oli, and tease him about finding someone. Dad wouldn’t talk to me if I sat down next to him and watched football, but if Oli came in he would instantly start to tell him all about the game. Dad wouldn’t care if I came home without a shirt, but he would care if Oli did.

I still loved them, though. They were my family, and they could hate me all they want, but I loved them. What was it called again? Unconditional love.

A sigh pushed its way through my lips as I ran a hand down my arm, it was alright, I didn’t need any love back.

I was fine without it.