Watching Your Ruin Through My Mirror

My family didnt just punish me for being too sharp, too honest. They erased me. For a decade, I was exiled to a locked-down industrial processing facility far out in the Arizona desert.

It wasn't enough to make me wear a chemical mask for fourteen hours straight, seven days a week. Even off the line, I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone. It was their definition of 'tough love': "Cure that venomous tongue of yours, and learn to shut up."

Day after day, year after year, I lived the same monotonous loop, not even allowed home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. In the tenth year, desperate for the bus ticket back East, I took a triple shift for the foremans son who had a feverseventy-two hours straight on the line.

The machinerys roar was the last thing I heard before I collapsed. The fever, combined with the extreme exhaustion, permanently ravaged my vocal cords.

The day I received the medical report, my brother found me. Spencer rolled up in a gleaming Rolls-Royce, looking pristine in a bespoke Italian suit.

Ashley, he said, his voice dripping with condescension. Ten years. Mom and Dad say the punishment is over. Are you finally rid of that temper?

Come home with me, Sis. The family is having a proper reunion this year.

I stared at him, my mouth opening, but no sound came out.

...

I was wearing the factorys threadbare canvas coat, permanently permeated with the smell of cheap oil and chemicals.

Get in. What are you standing around for?

Spencer frowned, his perfect features momentarily marred. Ten years, and youre still so vacant? Cant you even greet someone?

I looked at him, my throat feeling like a wad of ice-soaked cotton was lodged deep inside. I wanted to call out, Brother, but my vocal cords produced nothing more than a raw, hissing whisper of air.

Fine. I guess the ten-year fix worked. You finally learned to be quiet. He gave a short, cruel laugh. Your mouth used to be a toxic waste pump. Guess silence really is golden after all, huh?

I silently opened the door and curled up against the far corner of the back seat.

Spencer caught my eye in the rearview mirror. Fasten the seatbelt. And please, dont rub against the upholstery. I just had the car detailed.

I looked down at my handsthick with calluses, the nails packed with black grime. They trembled as I reached for the buckle.

Click.

The sound was shockingly loud in the luxurious silence of the car.

Listen up. Mom and Dad invited all the relatives over for dinner tonight.

You need to behave. Dont bring that gutter attitude you used to have.

He paused, letting the silence fester. This decade was your own doing, Ashley. Dont come home playing the victim. We did this for your own goodto temper you, so you dont embarrass yourself when you finally marry.

For my good?

Throwing me into a sealed facility, confiscating my ID, cutting off all contactthat was for my good? Forcing me to breathe in caustic agents for fourteen hours a daythat was for my good?

For ten years, Id existed like a ghost in a machine.

Because I was muted. Truly, completely muted.

Ashley! Im talking to you!

His voice snapped. Are you deaf and dumb? Cant even let out a grunt?

I steadied myself, turned, and locked my dead gaze on him.

Fine. Play your little game.

Lets see how long you can keep the act up.

You have another coming when we get home.

The Rolls-Royce glided into the familiar, exclusive Kensington estate. Spencer pulled into the drive and exited immediately, not bothering to wait for me.

I pulled out my single piece of luggagea tattered, canvas utility bag, a gift from a kind co-worker, holding everything I owned.

Oh, Spencer is such a success! I hear the companys IPO is right on track!

Richard is such a great father. Two accomplished children. What a fortunate man.

Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, saw me and her smile froze, replaced instantly by a look of undisguised disdain.

Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence. The eldest daughter is back.

That single, barbed announcement hit the living room like a power outage. The excited chatter stopped cold. All eyes swiveled to me.

Still remember the way back, do you?

My father, Richard, set his expensive china cup down. Ten years. How was the reflection?

I stood in the grand marble foyer. My worn sneakers, still dusty from the industrial zone, stood out against the polished floor. I wanted to change shoes, but of course, there were no slippers waiting for me.

Ten years. This house had long ago purged any trace of my existence.

I simply kicked off my sneakers and stepped onto the cold marble. The chill shot straight up from my soles to my skull.

Ashley, come here and let your mother look at you.

My mother, Victoria, didnt rise. She merely waved a hand, the gesture resembling one calling an errant stray.

A bit thin. But much calmer now.

That wild look is gone. Good.

I guess your brother was right. That place certainly knows how to whip someone into shape.

My brother?

It was my beloved brother who suggested sending me to hell?

Mom, shes perfectly docile now, Spencer said, strolling over and resting a possessive hand on my shoulder. Didnt argue once on the ride. Quiet as a lady.

Is that so? Good. Then our tough love wasnt wasted.

Since youre fixed, you can stay home. Run errands for Spencers company. Do some low-level administrative work.

Just dont go out and embarrass the family.

Administrative work? I had been an honors student with a full scholarship to a top-tier university. In their eyes, ten years of suffering only qualified me to fetch coffee and file papers?

Spencer leaned in, his voice a low warning in my ear. Dont push your luck. All the relatives are watching.

Just then, my Aunt Candace approached, a handful of mixed nuts clutched in her hand.

Oh, honey, is that Ashley? Why are you dressed like that?

You look like you just stumbled off a freight train. When was the last time those clothes were washed?

She dramatically covered her nose and stepped back two paces.

What is that smell? Its awful.

The surrounding relatives began to whisper, their eyes narrowed in judgment.

A lost cause, really.

How did the Kensingtons produce a daughter like that?

Thank God Spencer is the successful one.

I stood at the center of the glittering room. On the back of my hand, a blister from the day before, courtesy of a hot piece of machinery, had split open during my nervous fidgeting. Yellow pus mixed with blood seeped out, a white-hot agony.

No one noticed.

My mother, clearly sensing I was an embarrassment to her facade, stood up with an impatient sigh.

Alright, thats enough. Go wash up and put on some clean clothes.

Mrs. Gable, show her to the guest room.

The guest room? What about my room? I glanced up at the window on the second floor that used to be mine.

Oh, that room is Spencers private collection now, my mother dismissed, waving a hand. You werent using it, so it was just wasted space.

The guest room is fine. It gets good light.

I had lost my voice, and now, even my last physical foothold in this house had been completely erased.

I was shown to a small room next to the housekeepers pantry on the ground floor. Mrs. Gable tossed me a bundle of old clothingher leftover cleaning uniforms.

Here, Miss Ashley. Make do. Your things were tossed ages ago.

The Mistress says to help in the kitchen after your shower. Were short-staffed for the New Years Eve party.

I took the clothes, which reeked of mothballs, and retreated to the bathroom. Hot water cascaded over me, stinging the small, unhealed cuts and scrapes.

I looked at the person in the mirror. Straw-like hair, sunken cheeks, and dull, vacant eyes. A vicious red scar circled my necka result of clawing at my own skin during the delirious fever.

I opened my mouth, facing the glass, and tried to force a sound.

Hhhaaah.

After the shower, I left the work uniform untouched. Instead, I pulled my one decent item from the utility bag. It was a cheap, red synthetic sweater, bought for me by my co-workers.

Ashley, theyd said. Wear red for the holidays. Its festive.

I put it on. It was scratchy and itched my skin, but it gave me a fleeting warmth.

Mrs. Gable was directing a few temp staff in the kitchen.

If you wont talk, then work, she ordered.

Peel these. And be quick about it.

I silently squatted and picked up a peeler. This motion was second nature. On the assembly line, every movement had to be timed to the fraction of a second. Slow down, and the line supervisor would scream until your ears bled.

I mechanically skinned potatoes, listening to the laughter and accolades echoing from the living room.

Spencer, I hear you bought your parents a seaside condo?

Yes, well, they worked hard. Its time for them to relax.

Such a devoted son! Unlike that other girlten years and not a single call.

Dont mention her. Bad luck.

My fathers booming voice cut in. Its a good night. We wont discuss that rebellious daughter.

Come on, everyone, have some more champagne.

My knife slipped an inch. The sharp blade sliced a neat cut into my fingertip. Blood bloomed instantly.

I didn't pause. I lifted the finger, sucked the metallic tang of the blood into my mouth, and kept peeling.

One, two, three

I didn't stop until the entire basket of potatoes was done. My hands were wrinkled and ghostly white from the ice water, the cut on my finger weeping white.

Good. Now take this out.

Mrs. Gable pointed to a platter of glazed ham she had just finished.

Careful. Dont drop that. The platter is an antique.

In the living room, the long dining table was laden with food. Everyone was seated except for one spacethe tightest corner, where a backless, round stool had been placed. That was my spot.

I placed the heavy ham platter in the center of the table. As I was about to sit down, Spencers voice stopped me.

Wait.

He swirled a glass of red wine. Little Sis, since youre back, dont you think you should offer a toast to your elders?

Its tradition.

My father nodded approvingly. Hes right. Its respect. You might have been disrespectful before, but now that youre reformed, you need to show some class.

Pour the drinks.

Spencer slid a glass decanter of strong rye whiskey in front of me.

I looked at the clear liquid. My stomach seized up. The facilitys poor conditions had left me with chronic, severe digestive issues. The doctor had warned me against even a drop of alcohol.

I shook my head and pointed to my abdomen.

What? Too good for us?

Aunt Candaces voice was venomous. Back five minutes and already pulling rank?

Your brother is honoring you. Dont be rude.

Spencers face darkened. Ashley, dont make me lose my temper.

Its Christmas Eve. I dont want a scene.

A scene.

Hed always hit me when I displeased him as a child. My parents never intervened, only saying, Your brother is teaching you discipline.

I took a deep breath and picked up the decanter. I poured a measure of the potent whiskey for every elder at the table.

When I got to Spencer, he deliberately held his glass high. The whiskey sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the sleeve of his bespoke suit.

Smack!

He slammed his hand on the table and rose.

Are you blind?! You did that on purpose!

You really do need a beating, dont you?

He raised his hand, ready to strike.

My mother quickly stepped in. Stop it, stop it! Its the holidays. Dont lower yourself.

Ashley, clean up your mess! Now!

I pulled a napkin from the holder and reached out to wipe his sleeve.

Spencer roughly shoved me away.

I stumbled back, hitting the corner of the small, backless stool with my lower back. A sharp, blinding pain shot through me, leaving me gasping for air.

But I made no sound.

Not because I chose not to.

Because I couldnt.

Spencer tore off his jacket in disgust and threw it to the floor.

Useless, honestly.

Worse than a waitress.

Sit down and eat. Just looking at you ruins my appetite.

I quietly righted the stool and perched myself on the edge. The bowl in front of me remained empty.

I watched them toast each other, revel in their perfect family moment. I was just a silent backdrop, there to make their happiness look brighter, their success feel more earned.

The wine flowed, and the atmosphere peaked.

My father, slightly drunk, his face flushed, raised his glass again.

To my relatives! I want to say a few special words.

His voice was loud and proud. You all know ten years ago, Ashley was out of control. A venomous mouth, constantly offending people.

To teach her a lesson, your mother, Spencer, and I made a difficult choice. We sent her away for some heavy-duty reform.

These ten years have been hard on us, too, but for a childs future, you must be ruthless!

The relatives nodded in unison.

Yes, Richard, you made the hard choice.

A fathers sacrifice!

My father smiled, satisfied, and pointed at me.

Now, you see the result! Our method worked!

Look at Ashley now! So quiet! So compliant! She does what shes told, doesnt cause a scene.

As we say: The stone must be polished to become a gem!

My mothers eyes watered with performative emotion. Yes, Ashley. Stand up. Thank your father and your brother.

Without them, youd still be rotting in some ditch somewhere.

Spencer leaned back, idly playing with a lighter, a smirk of triumph on his face.

Little Sis, say something.

Its been ten years. Wed love to hear your voice.

Even just Im sorry would be a start. Show some remorse.

Come on, Ashley. Say a few words.

Every eye was on me again.

Say something?

I wanted to say: I despise you.

I wanted to say: Where were you when I was being abused in the barracks?

I wanted to say: What were you doing while I was feverish and desperate for that ticket home?

I wanted to say: I hurt.

My throat hurt. My heart hurt more.

Spencers eyes narrowed dangerously. Ashley, dont disrespect our father.

He asked you to speak. Are you deaf? What is this, some kind of protest?

I swear, Ill send you back there for another decade.

Another ten years of that dark, dehumanizing existence? I instinctively flinched.

Speak!

My father lost his patience. If you dont open your mouth and apologize tonight, then get out of my house and never come back!

The Kensingtons dont house ungrateful filth!