It had taken the glaziers almost two days to install the
massive mirror above Scott’s bed, but he thought the effect had been worth the
wait. He was fastidious about details, and this one was the
final item he needed to cross off his list. A train rattled in the distance,
annoying him slightly. What was the point in choosing the perfect
location if the location happened to be shared by a train?
He’d waited five years to complete the House of Mirrors. He’d
observed as his hair had leaned towards that shade people called “silver fox”,
but hadn’t accepted that. Imported hair colour treatments once a week saw his
black locks kept in check.
Mostly it was quiet in the valley, and he liked that. The
city was too crowded for him; the crowds of people unsettled him, but up here
in the hills that rolled like sculpted breasts into the horizon he was content.
The home gym was one of his favourite places to be, watching
his taut muscles heave against the strain of the weights, a towel catching the
runnels of sweat as they dripped down his slick chest. He preferred to push his
body hard, and, in summer, would strip completely. His eyes fixed on his own mirrored
eyes in silent communication.
He remembered the time as a teen that his parents had sent
him for therapy. They’d been worried that he had no friends, but they didn’t
know about the power of reflection. Narcissism: that was the word the
psychiatrist had mentioned in his report. Scott had laughed, a laugh he had
practised in the shower that very morning. A laugh that was scathing, derisive.
His parents hadn’t asked him to do any repeat sessions.
They’d asked him once or twice about girls, but he’d never
seen the point. His space was his own, and the thought that lace underwear would be left lying around in the bathroom along with balms, lotions and the general detritus of femininity was too much to contemplate. Scott kept the few Scandinavian
toiletries that he had in one cupboard. They had very strict production
controls in the Scandinavian countries.
He was still sweating after the workout, so he twisted the
mother-of-pearl handles on the hot tub and sank into the foam, eyes closed. Every
pore felt alive as he worked a straight razor across his chest and belly,
slowly down to his legs, every hard contour. The hairs collected in a container
that whirled in the water, keeping his body clean while he relaxed. After a
half an hour, he rose, dried himself and walked to his bedroom, naked.
Scott thought back to the thoughts of girls again as he lay
on his bed, looking up at the mirror on the ceiling. He sighed. The bottom left
corner of the mirror was slightly lower than the top. He’d have to get the
glazier back in. A low rumble signalled the last freight train of the evening. The
vibrations travelled through the house, gently shaking the mirrors he’d placed
on every wall.
The mirror above him made an odd grinding sound. It sagged down and he watched as the eight steel bolts slowly slid in unison out
of the plaster.
As the mirrored Scott grew bigger in an instant, Scott
smiled a wet smile of longing.
“Tonight you’re mine, completely” he thought.
****************************************************************************
This post was written as part of a tandem
blogging experiment. EIGHT other bloggers have used the same title as a prompt,
and their work will go live at the same time. None of us have seen
anyone else's posts yet, so each will take a unique angle on their blogs. Take
a look at their creative efforts at blogging “Tonight you're mine, completely” and like,
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