Monday December 21st 2020. 3 days before Christmas Eve. The day I left my old life behind.

This morning, I only truly woke up when I was in the shower. The jet of water against my scalp boosted my nerves, electricity shaking off the sleepy humdrum of the morning. I stepped out of the shower to my laundered towel, soft and gentle on my skin, before wrapping myself in my dressing gown. I stood in front of the mirror to assess the damage. I have asked him not to touch my face; it will only raise questions at work. Yet here I am again, staring into the purple haze surrounding my right eye. Another addition to my repertoire. I tentatively dabbed concealer over my face, carefully using my ring finger to blend the makeup into my skin. I wince when I push too close to my eye, but I have managed to cover the marks again. He’ll be pleased.

Finishing off my makeup, I retreated to the bedroom to get dressed for work. Running downstairs, he was standing at the kitchen island, flicking through the morning’s post. Without looking at me, he held out his arm, holding a cream envelope. “It’s for you”, he mumbled disinterestedly. I took it gingerly, the bruise on my arm. I sat on the kitchen counter, bemused. This envelope had only my first name written on the front. Had someone dropped it into the post-box?

The heavy cream envelope slipped open without ripping, and inside was a small piece of paper which held only a time and 3 words; “8:10am. Upstairs bathroom mirror”. I pored over the paper, unravelling its complex meaning from such simple instructions. Was someone messing with me? I glanced at the oven clock; 8:07am. I bit my lip subconsciously; was this a joke? His broad shoulders squared in front of me, his back still facing me. He cleared his throat; “who sent you that?”, he said gruffly.

I learned from past experiences that my business is never my own. What I receive in the post is shared, as are my bills, savings, and salary. He is protective, yet firm. If I lied to him, he would retaliate. If I told him the truth he’d say I had lost my mind. I mumbled an excuse to run back upstairs and brush my teeth. I tore up the carpet stairs, hearing him close behind me. I turned into the bathroom and locked the door, waiting for the banging to start. The bathroom was still steamy after my shower. I looked to the mirror, feeling the door vibrating with his punching. Something was written on the bathroom mirror, drawn into the condensation. I stepped in front of the mirror, trying to drown out his screams, something I probably would regret later. The note was very peculiar;

“Run away from him. If you want a new life, nod your head”

I felt cemented to the ground, unable to hear him anymore. What was happening to me? I nodded my head, unsure of what to expect. Suddenly the writing disappeared, and was replaced with new text;

“I am you.”

I was sure I had completely lost my mind when my reflection appeared again on the mirror. This reflection, however, was not me. She was speaking to me, unharmed by bruises and scars. She looked distressed.

“I am about to marry a man I don’t love. You know him; it’s Peter”.

Peter. My old boyfriend. My heart lifted at the thought of him, and how this “me” was about to marry him. I dumbly read on;

“I work for intelligence, and if I marry Peter he will be marked for assassination. He is too good for that. I want you to take my place and marry him today. Run away with him, and I will run away from you two forever.”

This version of me looked hurried; she was clearly under time pressure. She looked into my eyes, imploring me to help her, background noise supplied by his continued shouting.

I shook myself; he was going to kill me, for real this time. He was so angry. I felt this potential psychotic episode was safer than facing him again.

I reached out my hand to hers, and it passed through the mirror. I looked at her, staring into my own eyes. Without another second to lose, I jumped into the mirror, into the darkness as he broke down the bathroom door.