Thick fog blanketed parts of the city that day. The day Elly's life would change in ways she could never imagine, despite her creative imagination. Her hyper, over-active one she fostered through art. Painting, drawing, and more recently, photographing every little and large moment one could capture on camera.

She first got into photography thanks in part to her mother. Elly stumbled across an old photo album while helping her dad clean out the basement. They were a bit short on cash, so they were looking into selling some stuff they didn't need anymore at a garage sale. If not, they could always donate the findings to the less fortunate. But she had big dreams for the basement. Her own vision. Elly wanted to clear out everything, renovate the space, and rent it out to a couple or even a family. Maybe a young couple also short on cash or a new family with a kid. Unfortunately, the Clarkson family was in no position to redo an entire basement.

The album entranced Elly for ages. Her mom had to come down and tug at Elly's arm to get her attention. Food was cooked, waiting on the table.

Elly spent the evening flipping through the photos over and over again.

That's when her life started to change. At the time, it changed for the better.

One day not long after, she met a boy in her photography class at the local community college. Interestingly enough, he initially took more interest in her than she did for him.

They took turns posing as models for each other's work. Elly's portfolio had many pictures of him in it. Likewise held true too. He got rid of the other photos he took prior to meeting her, storing them away somewhere as an archive. He replaced old photos with new ones, pictures of her. Elly's pale hands. Her long legs. A shot of her face from the side with the sun in the background.

They spent a lot of time together. More and more time in fact.

It got to a point where Elly saw less of her mom and more of him. They weren't officially dating. At least, that's what Elly told herself. He never made a formal proclamation to be her boyfriend. And she was okay with that. For a while.

Every occasion the two went out somewhere, they both brought a camera along.

Until one day he didn't.

They were at the movie theater. Not exactly the perfect place to take good photos and silly selfies, but bad circumstances never stopped them before. She purchased the tickets, got the popcorn, and ambled over to him. Elly noticed something that made her pause right away.

"Where's your camera?"

"I left it at home," he mumbled.

Elly didn't think too much of this at the time. After all, he was human. People forget stuff every now and then. She didn't press him about it. They used her camera instead. She took all the pictures that day. Pictures of him mostly.

By this point, she was still using her mom's old camera. When Elly found some free time, she organized all the photos she took in her room, scattering the pictures on her bed. But Elly had been saving up. She landed a part-time job at the local grocery store. It wasn't exactly her dream job, but the manager paid her slightly above minimum wage. If she saved up for the next several months, Elly would have enough for a decent camera. She aimed to get one before the end of the year. Before his birthday. It would be a nice gift for both of them. Not just her. He didn't exactly have a good quality camera either. His father died in a motor vehicle accident several years ago. Since then, his mom had to work two jobs in order to take care of three kids—him and his two older brothers.

Turns out she would never get a chance to surprise him with the new camera.

Elly worked her tail off and eventually purchased one. But in the end all the camera did was collect dust in the corner of her room.

She spotted him at their garage sale. The family finally managed to clear out the basement. The weather was surprisingly warm despite it being near the end of the year. The clouds made way for the sun in the sky. Its rays beat down on the pavement.

"Hey!"

He turned, ever so slowly.

She jogged over to him with a grin on her face. "I was thinking—"

"Elly, I have to go."

"But you just got here."

"I'm leaving for good."

"Where's your camera?" She didn't know why this question popped into her mind or how it even spilled out of her mouth. But it bothered her too much to see him without one.

He didn't meet her eyes. "I'm not interested anymore."

With that, he walked away without another word.

Elly didn't know what exactly he was referring to. Was he not interested in her? In photography? In something else entirely?

She never got an explanation. She didn't even get a goodbye.

No matter what she did, he didn't reply. She called him first on his cell phone and then at home. She got voicemail both times. Then she decided to send him an email. Nothing. By then she hadn't expected a reply.

Elly refused to look at the pictures of him and her together. Some days she had the greatest urge to delete every photo on her camera, even the ones he wasn't in. But she couldn't bring herself to do anything.

After the garage sale ended, Elly ran to her room and stared at the new digital camera on her dresser well into dark hours of the night. She wouldn't get rid of it, not after working half a year just to buy it. But Elly didn't feel like using it either.

She gave the camera to her mom instead.

"Me or her?" Joanna didn't mean for the words to come out sounding so harsh, but she needed to put her foot down. For once.

His mouth opened. "Uh."

"Come on, Al. You're killing time here." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Can't you two just get along?" He shot his arms out in front of him on the table. "This isn't fair. It's like asking who do I save if my mom and my girlfriend were both drowning." Albert knocked on the wooden table because he was superstitious.

She shook her head. "It's not fair. That's life. And I'm not your mom or your girlfriend, am I?"

"You know what I mean."

I know because I'm your best friend."

He looked like he was about to say something, but he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. "I can't choose."

"You're just being difficult now." Joanna stood up and turned to leave. He was surprisingly fast considering he had fifty pounds on her. She moved like a dancer.

He griped her arm. "Joanna, please."

"I'm done." She shook her arm, trying to get him to release his hold on her.

Somehow he managed to get in front of her, blocking her path to the door. There wasn't another exit nearby.

"I just want to know something." Albert chewed on his bottom lip. "You might not want to hear this...but I'm gonna say it anyway."

"Just spit it out."

"Is this because you don't have a boyfriend?"

Her gaze met his. She shoved him so hard he nearly fell backwards. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm serious." Albert reached for her arm, but she pulled back, out of his reach. "It's just you've never mentioned, you know, a boy."

"Because it's none of your business," she spat out.

A number of patrons had their eyes trained on him. He didn't need to look to know. Albert dragged her out of the coffee shop and into the streets. Once outside, she began hitting his hand.

"Let me go."

HIs eyes scanned the street, left and right. He couldn't meet her gaze when he said the next words that came out of his mouth. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

She froze mid smack, her hand in the air.

"You knew I'd choose her."

The little girl wanted to leave, to get out. And she didn't want to look back or regret her past. But she would leave on her own terms, so she settled on waiting until she could.

The house she grew up in was enormous. It didn't feel that way.

She said house because it was just that. A house. Not a home. Never will be one.

She couldn't wait until she was old enough to get away and go somewhere far from here. But she had no means to leave. She didn't have a penny to her name.

She thought university would provide the perfect chance for her escape.

Instead, she had to stay while she watched all her friends pack their bags and leave this hellhole of a town. A big enough town that no one knew everyone but small enough that word got around fast.

So she had to bide her time and keep her mouth shut.

Every day I wish I had ended my existence way back when. But I'm a coward.

I know people who hate my guts. I don't blame them. I hate my guts too.

I still remember that day even though years have passed.

There were two girls. She thought she stood a chance at being friends with them. They were out of her league. At least, she didn't sink to their level and bring others down.

We all like to think we're good human beings. The truth is, we aren't. I'm no exception.

The child cried so much at night. She cried herself to sleep, and even though she hoped the next night would be different, every night was the same.

She hated the school and everyone in it. The teachers said nothing and did even less. They minded their own business. All the adults huddled around, talking to each other. The teachers shared stories and jokes much like the students. Students and teachers alike smiled or laughed while a fat girl on the playground silently told herself not to cry. At least not in public.

Don't show weakness.

I'm not sure why I thought crying equated to weakness.

I'd blame society for it. But I can't blame anyone or anything more than myself for blindly accepting what people say. As if I couldn't see with my own two eyes. Like I can't think for myself.

I still don't know how she never let on that something was wrong. That girl who was me but isn't. I'm not that girl anymore. I tell myself this because if I didn't, I'd still live my life the way she did. In fear.

She was a great actress. She could wear many faces and fool just about everyone. But when she looked into the mirror, the eyes looking back saw through the façade.

I love that girl, but I hate her too.

She was so much stronger than I gave her credit for. She cried, but she fought every single day. She fought off their ugly words and fended off low blows.

I admire her. I don't know how she woke up each morning, got out of bed, and faced hell, knowing she'd have to do the same tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

I wish she had someone. I wonder if she felt the same way back then and wanted a person to talk to. She was a lot of things, but dependent wasn't one of them. I know she took pride in being independent. She wanted people to need her more than she needed them. And eventually, she got her wish.

Careful what you wish for.

At times, people needed her, but when they realized they didn't anymore, she was expendable. Tossed to the side, kicked to the curb.

I hated that then, and I hate it now, maybe even more so. You don't get to use people like that. I wouldn't be taken advantage of again. I didn't want to be used all my life. Who does?

She was just a kid. Still, she took no prisoners. Not when she herself knew what it was like to feel trapped with four walls threatening to close in on you. If those walls in her room could talk, I wonder what they would say.

No one saw or heard what happened within those walls. But those walls witnessed nearly all of the girl's breakdowns and meltdowns.

There's a dent in the door from when her anger got the best of her and she rammed a chair leg at it.

A vanity stands next to the window. On top of it is a large mirror that faces her bed.

She stares into that mirror every day, multiple times a day. Her hair changes. Her face does too. But I doubt her feelings about her reflection do.

She obsessed over her flaws.

I don't blame her. It's not her fault.

If she had the choice, she would change just about everything. Her big nose. Her small brown eyes. Her faded scars.

Maybe she'd keep the scars as a reminder of her past. They could stay. Everything else would go.

The Chinese girl glancing into the mirror sees more than just her round face. She peers beneath the surface, below her pale skin. Buried underneath is a broken heart. And a tired soul.

Her heart beats. It continues to pump blood every minute. But the organ inside her body is incapable of love. At least when it comes to loving another human being.

She doesn't know what love is, hasn't experienced it.

This isn't love.

No one told her they loved her. She never heard the words "I love you" together in a sentence from anyone.

She didn't think twice of it until she heard someone else string those words together and say them out loud.

I love you.

She couldn't bring herself to say those words. Not even to herself.

Looking into the mirror, she saw empty eyes. She said a lot to her reflection. She never said those three words.

I hope one day she will say "I love you" and mean them too.

Until then, with each passing day, maybe she'll get closer and closer to being able to love herself.

But what's another day when she has gone nearly twenty years without uttering those three words in the same sentence? Twenty-four hours is nothing compared to almost twenty years.

She can afford to wait just a little bit longer.

The image that kept her going the night she slept on a cold, hard floor was one she imagined. An image of the future.

An older woman was reading to her child in bed. She would flip through a book and point at the pictures. She would emote and express and explain. The kid might not understand it all, but he or she would smile and laugh. Ask questions she'd have answers to.

I want that to be my future. But I need to stay alive long enough to see it happen first.

She didn't care enough back then to change what she didn't like.

Now I'm working every day, little by little. Progress adds up over time, right? The little steps I take today will seem like a lot in a few years. When I've walked for miles and covered large distances. Made ground I never thought I would. Traveled to places I didn't think I could.

She had goals, dreams.

Still, she couldn't see the end of the tunnel. She wanted to see, wanted to believe there was light when darkness surrounded her. She drowned in the darkness.

Maybe that's why growing up, she was so scared of the dark.

At night, she turned on all the lights and wanted to leave them on.

As a kid, she slept with a night light. It cast a dim, yellow glow and threw shadows against the white wall.

Somewhere along the way, she stopped avoiding the darkness.  She stepped into it. The shadows no longer frightened her.

Ever so slowly, she embraced the dark.

People say they don't bite. She can't make that claim. As a baby, she did. The little child would clamp her mouth and sink her teeth into the skin of his arm.

He bore the marks left behind by her bites.

Today, he no longer does.

Instead of biting others, she started to bite herself. Her teeth were fully grown in by then.

Her right hand grabbed her left arm. She brought it to her mouth. To stop her from screaming or crying, both even, she sank her teeth in. She didn't let go until the pain became unbearable.

Her dark eyes studied the marks left by yellow teeth. The fingers on her other arm grazed the wet skin, traced over the dark lines.

They faded, too quickly for her liking. She frowned when she looked down and saw they were gone. Her skin healed, returned to normal.

She lost track of how many times she did it. The number doesn't matter. The frequency doesn't either. What matters is that she did it. What makes matters worse is she never, not once, regretted the pain she inflicted upon herself.

After all, she created the pain on her own terms.