Page 54 of Hate You Most

Dakota’s answer came easily, like she didn't have to think about it. “Three years.”

“And before that?”

“Another apartment that was much smaller. And closer to the rink.”

Viktoriya nodded slowly. “Do I… like it here?”

She barely made out that Dakota smiled at her in the darkness. “You did.”

She did. Viktoriya absorbed that.

She closed her eyes and let the quiet wash over her. For a few moments, she almost felt normal. Like this was just a strange detour from her real life that she could step back into at any moment.

Almost.

CHAPTER TWELVE

October 26th, 2022.

— Dakota Sanchez apartment. Detroit, Michigan.

There were no mirrors in the bathroom.

The space above the sink where a mirror should have hung had been replaced with a small shelf with a flower and cactus. The outline of where it had hung was clearly visible, as the white wall was slightly lighter there.

Pictures being removed from the walls made sense, she wasn't supposed to be overwhelmed by new information too quickly while her brain was healing. But the mirrors too—the only logical explanation Viktoriya's mind could conjure was that she must be unpleasant to look at after the accident. The doctors had avoided the subject and Dakota had never mentioned it. And without a mirror, there was no way to confirm how she looked.

Viktoriya stood in the bathroom for a long time. Eventually she undressed and turned on the shower. The water came on with a steady hiss and steam began to fill the room almost immediately. Viktoriya stepped under it carefully, letting the warmth soak into her shoulders, down her spine. She closed her eyes. Tilted her head back and tried to focus on the sensation of the water.

Her hands moved over her body automatically as she washed. She traced her collarbone, her arms, the curve of her waist. Everything was familiar. The same as it always had been, as far as she could tell. Then she reached her thighs, and large still-healing scars trickled down on both sides. It wasn't painful but they would forever remain on her skin, serving as a reminder.

She opened her eyes and tried, once, to catch her reflection in the chrome of the faucet. The image that stared back was warped and fractured, a blur of skin and shadow that was distorted and looked nothing like it should. Viktoriya closed her eyes immediately.

By the time she stepped out of the shower and managed to wrap herself in a fresh towel, her thoughts were spiraling. She got dressed without looking down too closely, her fingers trembling slightly as she buttoned her shirt.

When she finally left the bathroom, she caught Dakota waiting for her in the hallway. Dakota’s eyes flicked over her for a second.

“There are no mirrors in the bathroom,” she told her.

Dakota only bit down on her lip in response.

Viktoriya shook her head. God, Dakota couldn't even say anything in response.

“It is because I am ugly now, yes? After the accident.” Viktoriya asked and realized she couldn't keep her voice steady.

Dakota shook her head immediately. “No. God, no.” She took a careful step closer, like she was approaching a fragile and hurt baby deer. “It's not because of how you look,” she said softly. “You're—there's nothing wrong with you. The doctors don't want you focusing on yourself too much yet. They said reflections can… trigger things. Confusion. Stress.” She stood still, hesitated slightly. “I didn't want to risk it.”

Viktoriya closed her eyes and breathed out. She needed to be honest with Dakota, and tell her what she needed, or she was going to lose her mind. “I need to,” she said and did her best to remain calm. “I need to see myself, or I will go crazy. I don't know what I look like.”

Dakota nodded once, like she'd made up her mind then.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Then we'll fix that.”

Before Viktoriya responded to that, Dakota turned and walked down the hallway. Her footsteps faded, followed by the soft sounds of a door opening, something being shifted. Viktoriya stood frozen in the bathroom doorway, heart beating too fast for no clear reason.

When Dakota came back, she was carrying a mirror. Not full-length, just a simple and cheap rectangular one.

She didn’t meet Viktoriya’s eyes at first.