Mirror, mirror on the door, who is it you're waiting for?

The move went well. Smoothly. He guessed that was good. Nice.

House moves don't always go wrong, nor do they go right every time. Ornaments can break. Sofas can sometimes not fit through doorways. Televisions, expensive and massive and slim, can be dropped. Shit happens, on occasion. He, Cassidy, had changed address multiple times. Usually, it was a voluntary adjustment. Leaving home. Upsizing. Downsizing.

More than once – twice is more than once – it hadn't entirely been his choice.

Relationships are like house moves. They can be costly. Awkward. You have to be careful with the knicks and the knacks. Make sure they're handled carefully. And don't be clumsy with the larger items, lest they're broken beyond repair.

Cass had done his best, both times, to handle things with care. The first time, he'd achieved it. His ex and he were still friendly. Not friends, but they could still speak with a measure of platonic warmth. Neither had dragged the other through a mire to coat their reputation in dirt, not that there was any. The love had faded, that was all. They were too different. It happens. They realised things had come to an end on holiday in Berlin. There was an emptiness in the air between them where, once, there had been passion and tenderness. On their return, they'd split their possessions and she helped him find somewhere else to live. Eventually, he found someone else to love, though without her aid.

But that was then. Now, Elise was not Lucy. She had all the qualities he loved about her, plus some he didn't. Not listening to his opinion, but taking notice of everyone else's. Holding on to an argument for months until such a time when it might be useful to throw into another one. Elise was the only girlfriend Cassidy had ever really argued with. She seemed to enjoy it, or needed it.

She seemed, also, to take it personally that he didn't like Valentine's Day. Who didn't like Valentine's Day? What sort of person doesn't like Valentine's Day?

Cassidy didn't. Both his parents had died on that day, or rather on that date, three years apart. A stroke and cancer. Was death romantic? Was romance romantic anymore? Cass wasn't sure. Not that he wasn't attentive, loving or caring. He was. It was just that day. So, perhaps, Elise deliberately chose them for the mighty kick off that prompted his relocation.

She didn't help him move out. She didn't split their possessions. She threw what was his, or what she said was, at him. He told her he was leaving. She yelled 'Good!'

They didn't speak again.

His relationship had slipped through his fingers, crashed down the stairs and landed in a pile of broken promises and splintered hopes by the front door.

So, he'd moved. The house was old. It had a dusty smell that welcomed him as he entered. He wondered if he'd paid extra for that. He hadn't noticed it before, when he came to look before buying, though he did have other things on his mind. He'd just wanted somewhere, that was all. Decent price in a decent area. His needs were few, so it didn't have to have the latest kitchen. A large back garden wasn't essential. More rooms would mean more cost to heat and clean and furnish.

This house suited him. He would discover its foibles, if there were any, once he was in. He'd sort them accordingly. Decorating or fixing. Cass wasn't adept at either, but he liked to learn and the Internet had been his saviour on many occasions.

The foibles were, luckily, few. The light fitting in the kitchen needed replacing. Bulbs blew immediately the switch was... switched. A simple job. The seventh and ninth steps of the stairs creaked, seven more than nine. He would live with that and was sure, quickly, he'd not even notice. The bathroom suite hadn't aged well. He imagined it had adorned the Ark and Noah had sold it on eBay or Facebook, hence it being in his house. But, it was serviceable. He could bath, if not shower. The toilet flushed better than his last one.

There were three bedrooms. One of the smaller two was half the size of the other, but that still made it large enough for a double bed and wardrobe. The main bedroom, which he naturally used, would fit a double or bigger. It already had a wardrobe.

If the bathroom had belonged to Noah, Cassidy thought the wardrobe must have been Adam and Eve's and stood beneath an apple tree in The Garden of Eden for the First Couple (sorry Mr and Mrs President) to hang their leaves in. He'd never seen one so old. It was so big it would never have fit through the door, let alone up the stairs. It must have been built in the room. Maybe it was, actually, Noah's, and he'd had some spare wood.

All varnish had long since disappeared, leaving the wood looking naked but needing clothing. It was wide, wider than Cass's outstretched arms, with a pair of central doors that split the front in four, leaving a panel on either side that contained inner shelves. The doors themselves had, perhaps, been ornate in the past. With all the wood now being bare, any markings were little more than shadows across the surface. Echoes of a glorious former life.

When Cass opened the wardrobe – he may as well use it – he expected the inside to be covered in a thick layer of dust. Old things attracted dust like decaying carcasses attracted maggots. They were inevitable and you knew you'd have a hell of a cleaning job to do. He was surprised, therefore, to see there was none. The shelves, base, top of the doors and top of the wardrobe itself were spotless. As clean as if they'd only just been wiped. Even the mirror hanging on the inner back was completely clear of marks. Not a single fingerprint or smudge abused the glass. If it hadn't been so obviously old, it could have been new.

Cassidy was one to roll with Life's punches. Whether emotional or, much more rarely, physical, he suffered then put them behind him. He was able to compartmentalise them, locking them into little boxes he'd file mentally away. He could then look back with minimal pain and maximum relief. His parents' deaths. His brother's abuse. The car accident when he was a teenager that left him with headaches for months and a slight limp he still carried. All, and others, were now behind a mental door only unsealed when something else needed putting away.

Like his relationship with Elise.

He'd need a bigger box for that. Maybe a new room, one for itself.

Maybe one as big as the wardrobe.

As he was filling it with his clothes, he chuckled to himself. It was the start of his healing. A touch of humour to help choosing and opening the box. A joke to give a hand with ramming the memory and pain in.

As he was hanging the last shirt, a grey one he'd worn only once and didn't particularly like, but kept just in case, he looked at the mirror. It was an odd place to hang one. Why would you put it at the back of a wardrobe? Once clothes were in, it'd be hidden, so redundant. He wasn't likely to remove all his clothes, not that there were many, just so he could see himself dressed.

Oh well.

No.

Oh, wait...

The mirror he'd thought was perfectly clean wasn't. There was a mark. Something only seen by a random glance of light from his watch face and his position leaning slightly forward, blocking any other light out. Cassidy was disappointed. It was only a smudge, like the oil from the side of a sweaty hand., but it tainted something he'd unconsciously taken to signify he could cleanse his life. If a mirror, hanging forgotten in a wardrobe probably older than Cass himself, could remain spotless, then there could be hope. The blemish was a stain on his optimism. A darkness that, if left unchecked, could spread and consume him.

No.

No!

Compartmentalise. That's what he did. That's who he was. So, the mirror wasn't fully cleaned. Never mind. The previous owner of the house did a decent job, so he couldn't complain. They missed a bit, that was all. He could easily have done the same thing himself. Would have, he supposed.

He hung the shirt and closed the doors. The house was his now. Not for the first time, he was starting again. Time for a celebratory Jack and Coke, or the discount supermarket version of JD he had to resort to.

It had been a long few weeks. A longer few days. Now he was settled, he felt it was catching up with him. He was exhausted, the stress hitting him hard and fast. He'd forgo the drink, take a hot bath, and see if a good night's sleep would refresh him. Within the hour, he was asleep.

https://youtu.be/4kExdn3LkEg

Well, here's the first chapter of MirrorMirror!

So, as I said, this was going to be about 2,500 words long, and is currently (as I'm writing some tonight, so it'll be longer) almost 38,000! And there's lots more to go.

I do hope you're going to enjoy this story. I'm really enjoying writing it, and seem to be eager to get back to Amy and Cassidy and discover what's going to happen next - as I'm not entirely sure myself 😂 

Oh, and don't forget, MirrorMirror is...