The Lie in My Eyes

By Maddog

I was shaving when I noticed my eyes were looking back at me. As I generally watch myself shave, cuts down on all those knicks, ya know, that’s nothing new but today was the first day I really noticed my eyes.

I suppose it was something that Cordelia said the other day. I’d been watching her put that eyelash goop on. I was doing it on the presumption of teasing her, of course what I was really doing was using any chance to look at her without appearing to be looking at her that I could. I’d figured Angel knew why I kept looking at Cordelia and I wanted Cordelia to know why I was looking at her but I didn’t want her to know why and then get weirded out or something.

You know what I mean, right?

Why am I asking you, anyway, you’re only my reflection. The bloody reflection in the mirror that I hate. Cause I know you're not all there is.

I’d asked her why she bothered with that eyelash stuff and she said that thick eyelashes were always in. Lipstick, eyeliner, blush, they come and go, she said, but thick eyelashes are always desirable.

Me, I thought she was totally desirable even if she lacked any eyelashes at all. Nearly said that to but before I could she whirled away from the mirror and stared at me. I was so totally stunned that I couldn’t even move. Just stand there frozen in place by her nearness to me. I could hear her soft breathing and she just stared at me.

“I hate you. You’ve got such nice long, dark eyelashes. And you’re a guy, what’s the point of you having them!”

She’d declared in that imperious tone of hers. The funny thing about that tone is it works equally as well when she’d say “there are monster’s in the sewer that are trying to kill us” or “there’s a shoe sale on, I’m leaving work early”.

With Cordelia, what you see is what you get. That’s why I never understand why she always ends up running around with these shallow, Hollywood types. They’re not like her at all. I wonder sometimes if she thinks by hanging around with them long enough she’ll become like them. Become somebody with nothing inside, somebody that none of these crazy things happen to, people that just live in a TV-perfect little world.

Angel’s told me some about Sunnydale. About the Slayer, about her friends that helped her fight the assorted crap a Hellmouth spews up. About how Cordelia even though she seemed the leader of the well-dressed bitches would end up fighting on the right side, doing her part.

I mean, why’d she do that? Yeah, I know self-preservation. But Cordelia’s one of those people who’d help you bury the bodies, complain that she broke a nail and make you buy her a fat free latte. Such a beautiful woman. Such a good and caring woman.

Way to good for the likes of me, my reflection suggests. But part of me thinks that, maybe, just maybe, Cordelia feels the way I do and maybe, just maybe, mind ya, I should ask her out.

Cordelia once told somebody she was talking to on the phone that I was cute in a "sweaty, shops at Target kind of way". That was after she described Angel as "incredibly gorgeous but with kind of a dumb look in his eyes that suggested mental retardation but really wasn't". I've seen the way Angel looks during one of her mile-a-minute conversations and understand, totally, where she got that description. But Cordelia's so mentally quick that it takes a lot to keep up with her. Never understand why she downplays her intelligence.

Probably another survival tactic, I tell myself as I start to delicately shave my upper lip. Probably another way to try to fit in, to make sure she's always underrated so she'll always be able to pull a rabbit out of the hat and survive. Look at me, she seems to shout, I'm so delicate and beautiful and silly, of course I'd never be able to kick your ass and throw it into a vat of acid, no, siree, not me.

I smile to myself as I picture her with a big gun blowing away bad guys while dressed in some stunning black dress. Nearly cut my lip but I can't help the smile from spreading. Not very bright of me, I'm afraid. Now, I'm certainly no mental slouch though nobody really knows because I hide it so well. Don't hide your light under a bushel, my mother used to say. Considering some of my lights, mum, I'd do better hiding them under a ton of bricks. But maybe if I stop playing the pony-playing idiot, she'll notice me more.

Yeah, right, like there aren't tons of men out there just waiting in line for the likes of her. So beautiful, I love that cock of the head she gives me when I'm annoying her. Beautiful, intelligent, brave, she's just so damn perfect I can barely stand being so close to her in the office without telling her how much I love her.

That'd go over really well, my reflection says rather smuggly for something that's still got shaving cream all over it. But sometimes, I dunno, sometimes when I'm teasing Cordelia or we're both tag-team harassing Angel, I think that she does like me. I've seen the way she acts with other men, its like she's just going through the motions. Saying all the right things, acting like the perfect women that TV or the movies always show ya. But that's not her, she's got tons more to her and when she's talking with me she really talks. Doesn't feed my words back to me or pretend to agree with me. Maybe its because she doesn't consider it worth her while to pretend with me. But maybe she enjoys having somebody around to just be Cordelia with. All of Cordelia and all her many beautiful facets. Maybe that's why she likes me and maybe she'd consider going out with me. I'll have to think of a way to ask her. Gotta get some money together too so I can take her some place nice. But someplace different and nice, not one of those super trendy places. Some place romantic and special, someplace where…

Then I sneeze. And everything changes faster than an eye can blink. And I look at my reflection now. I look at my eyes. Part of my male vanity thinks they’re even better looking like this, the lashes even longer. But the rest of my face.

I pray to whoever is listening that I don’t catch a cold before I can tell her the truth. I don’t want to start a relationship with her without her knowing. I want her interest, her love or hate because of all of me. Then I relax and it’s my usual mug staring back at me. The eyes just stare back at me, the lie in them even bolder.