Short Story: That's Not What I Said. Comments

Started to write this just generally but completed it for a short story competition at college.

She walks past the mirror and catches a glimpse of what the world is about to see. She turns, cringes and wonders why the pristine crystal glass hasn’t yet cracked at the sight of her imperfections. To the visible eye, there are none, just the pain that seems to haunt every corner of her face. She does not see what they see. She sees harsh, painful, unfair memories etched into the delicate, young face that stares back at her. He does too. He tries not to let it show but she knows it. She knows him. There is pity in his harshly reflected bottle-green eyes that he cannot hide. He says he still loves her; says he never stopped. But with her self-confidence now lower than the bowels of hell, nothing he says will reassure her it is still the truth. How can he love such damaged goods?
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