• The first time you see him, it is in a bathroom.

    But you aren’t really seeing him. After all, you’re looking at a mirror.

    He stares back at you with puffy, red eyes common to young children like him. He was crying, but not in the usual earsplitting way children usually do. You can still hear the loud yelling of his drunken mother that scared even you. Even then, his quiet sobs seem so much louder. At some point in time he stops and he just keeps staring at you.

    His stare is unnerving. And with just one glance, you know he’ll never be the same.

    ---

    The second time you see him, he’s surrounded by a score of tailors running around. They’re all trying to make everything perfect for him. After all, he did pay thousands of dollars to have a simple two-piece suit that would probably only be worn for one night. The owner of the shop, an elderly tailor, directed his retinue of apprentices like a conductor would with his orchestra. He would often pipe up with some encouragement.

    The man being fitted clearly looks annoyed; even in reverse you could see it. You’re sure that he would’ve given anything to be in your position right now. Not feeling very helpful, you reply with what you believe to be almost-pleading eyes, “It’s your fault for falling in love…” You laugh at him. You’ve never thought that he would be the kind to actually get married. He doesn’t speak a word.

    In a few whirlwind minutes, the apprentices leave. The elderly man shuffles over and picks up a silk tie perfect for the suit he had designed like it is his own baby. You’re sure that he feels the same way children do when Christmas arrives.

    When the tailor finally reaches him, he rather rudely snatches it from the tailor’s hands. The soon-to-be enslaved man stares at you as if he is asking you to come nearer. His gaze, even when reflected, is piercing. You take the tie and begin to knot it in the intricate way you have learned at a very young age. You tie it perfectly. You straighten it a little and look up.

    You swear his eyes grew just a little bit darker.

    ---

    The night right after his wedding, he calls you. You barely wake up, but you manage to do so anyway. When you get to him, he’s in the bathroom. He’s only wearing his pants and a wife beater and you, being similarly clothed, are about to make one of your lewd euphemism-laced quips until you see him furiously washing something in the sink. You haven’t even walked three steps until the smell of rust hits you. You feel like someone poured quick-dry cement on your feet as he straightens up. You see him pull a watery hunting knife from the sink. But that doesn’t scare you.

    However when he looks up, you’re utterly horrified. He glares daggers at your reflection. You want to run but you can’t. He tightens his grip on the knife. He comes nearer, near enough that you can feel his breath. You feel the sting of cold steel. You black out and the last thing you remember seeing were his eyes. They’re black enough to reflect your own in them.

    ---

    The third time you see him is in a white tiled room with a huge mirror covering one of the four walls. He’s in all white, and he seems so different to you now. He’s thin and scraggly, and you can barely recognize him. He’s a stranger to you. You know all too well how it has come to this, and you can’t stop him. In fact, you enabled him all the way.

    You think that he would eventually get over it. You still think it was his unique version of quarter-life crisis. But you’re naïve. And you’re supposedly the normal one. You try to reason with him, but you’re never quite able to look him in the eye. He doesn’t respond.

    He never does.

    He looks at you with his dim orbs and you shudder. It’s no longer out of fear as it was the first time. It’s of regret and disappointment. He comes nearer to you and you don’t back up. He places his hand on your shoulder, and for a brief moment, you think you saw his eyes twinkle. You hesitate, but that hesitation is enough for him. He grabs you and pushes you to the mirror. He pulls your collar and you feel his thumb on that scar he gave you months ago.

    He speaks. But his voice is too low, you can’t understand it. He presses harder on your neck and you try to fight back, but your muscles are jelly. It doesn’t even feel like you’re standing with your own two legs now, it’s more like he’s holding you up with the amazing strength his thin arms could muster.

    He grabs a piece of cloth that is on the floor and strangles you with it. You can’t breathe. The world around you starts to darken but he is the first to disappear. His grip on the cloth begins to loosen but even then, you’re falling faster and faster into the abyss of darkness. You barely hear something falling, you’re not sure if it was you or something else that hit the floor. Soon enough everything around you disappears. You can’t even feel the grip of the cloth on your throat.

    And as you take your last struggled breath, you hear him breathe at the exact same time

    ---

    The last time you see him is the moment your soul is being pulled out of your body. You’re spread-eagled on the white tiled floor. A cloth rope around your neck, you were strangled.

    Your—his eyes are open. They’re blank, but they’re finally back to the brown they were back when you were a child.