“Vanity, are you ready? We’re going to be late!”

“Hold on, I wanna check my hair,” I say, walking to the bathroom. The mirror in this bathroom has a dim light above it because it needs a new bulb, which I was supposed to fix but haven’t yet. It isn’t ideal because it makes me look a little yellow. The upstairs bathroom, the one painted blue, has a cooler, much brighter light, since there are three hanging above the mirror. But that one makes me look paler. My favorite mirror in the house is the tall one that’s placed in the corner of my bedroom. It shows off my figure nicely. The lamp placed next to it gives off a nice glow, and its light bounces off my eyes and makes them sparkly when I look at myself.

But since I’m only checking my hair, I stay in the downstairs bathroom. Cara, my roommate, did my hair for tonight’s party. She’s waved it and put product in it to make it bounce. As I look at myself, I notice how the front frames my face perfectly. I shake my head to see it bounce and then smile, showing off my perfect teeth and my deep dimples that Cara told me are very pretty. I marvel at my reflection for a moment before I hear my name.

“Vanity! I swear to God I’m going to leave you.”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” I yell back and make my way to the front door of our apartment. Cara’s waiting for me with a bored expression.

The taxi halts, after coming out, I wait for Cara, who pays the driver. Though the house was on the sixth floor of the apartment building, music streamed through open windows and was heard from below. I look up and my eyes catch sight of the setting sun reflecting off the Empire State Building far away. Cara often says how beautiful it looks during this time of day, which angers me, because how can a building be beautiful? Walking up to the doors, I stop to check my makeup in the sideview mirror of a car parked in front.

“Are you kidding me?” Cara exclaimed as I finish and walk back to her. “You’re insane.”

Shrugging, I say, “I just want to look good.”

Cara shakes her head in exasperation.

It takes us five minutes to reach the apartment, and the entire time I was aching to see what I looked like. The humidity outside could have ruined my makeup and the burst of air conditioner while walking into the apartment building might have made my hair frizz up. The elevator ride was awful. My reflection contorted on the closing doors as if I was standing in front of a funhouse mirror, making me more nervous than I already am.

We reach the apartment and enter, the door left unlocked. Cara sees our friend, the birthday girl, in a crowd of dancing people. Making our way there, I spot a group of boys and lock eyes with one of them, but I feel like he’s looking at me strangely. I couldn’t be imagining this, there’s definitely something wrong with the way I look. We reach our friends and the first thing I ask for is the bathroom, not caring for formalities.

The loud music muffles as I shut the door. I look at the mirror and notice that the lighting in my bathroom is awful. It makes my under eyes look darker and my skin looks a little strange. I lean in closer to get a better look. My fingers pinch my cheekbones to let a little color in. They rub the dark circles to try and even out the concealer I applied earlier. I pinch and pull and pick at every little imperfection my eyes find. Until I accidentally poke myself in the eyes. My head jerks from the impact, rubbing my eyes and warily opening them again, black and white dots appear in my vision, but as it clears I notice I’m no longer in the bathroom. I’m in a dark room, facing the bathroom, across from where I just stood. Hands outstretched, I reach into the bathroom, but my palms are hit with the feeling of glass. I hear a knock, presumably from the door in the bathroom, but it sounded far away, and echoed around me. As the door opens, I see Cara walk in with a confused expression, but then turn to the mirror.

“Cara! Oh thank goodness!” Though she’s looking in my direction, I feel as though she’s looking past me. She reaches into her purse for a hair clip, tying her blonde locks back. I knock on the glass, “Cara! Cara, help! Please! Cara!” My heart drops. There’s no way this is possible. Am I in the mirror? I slam my hands again and again, soon turning into fists, until one final blow shatters the glass. The shards shatter on the ground as I drop to my knees, tears streaming. My reflection is seen in the broken pieces, crooked and twisted into a horrific image.