il-lu-sion (n): a deceptive appearance or impression

Illusions are what the entertainment industry is built on and I’ll be damned if mine isn’t one of the best out there. It’s so good that I even almost manage to fool myself sometimes.

Almost.

“Optimistic, self-assured, laid back, easy going, up beat.” These are just a few of the words that always seem to be associated with me. Sounds like a great person right? Too bad that’s just the illusion talking. I mean, sometimes the difference is so drastic that I feel like I’m two completely separate people; or that they’re so mixed together I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Even around my members, these four girls who have become my world, the illusion never fully fades. (It never fooled her but she goes along with it for my sake). They still have expectations for me; otherwise the questions come and I don’t have any answers for them.

By the time I’m finally alone in my room the mask slips off almost immediately. The lips that have been pinned upward all day drop and my shoulders slump. I kick off my hightops with more force than necessary and yank off my shirt to toss into the laundry crate in my closet. I go to shut the closet door but stop when the image my full length mirror that hangs on the inside catches my attention.

I try to avoid mirrors as much as I can but being an idol, staring a mirror kind of comes with the territory but rarely do I ever actually look because it’s always the same. I start up at my face and work my way down, making a mental list of all the flaws. For starters, my llama face. I don’t even remember how or why the comparison started but once it did, it stuck. I’ve tried to make the best of it, even incorporating it into my SNS names with no success. It still makes my stomach churn. Cheeks that are too big, flat as a board, no curves to speak of. Not that I particularly want them but sometimes I feel that if I looked more “womanly” I wouldn’t feel like such a freak…stuck in this whole ‘not quite a girl yet not quite a boy’ space. It’s marketed as part of my charm but to me it’s anything but that.

A cold pair of hands on my shoulders shatters my concentration. I tear my eyes away from the mirror only to lock eyes with the owner of the hands. Krystal.For a girl that appears so cold to others, there is so much warmth and affection in her eyes that it almost hurts to meet her gaze.

I break eye contact unable to suppress the feeling of shame that comes with her seeing me in such a state of weakness. Looking down and staring at the floor I feel her hands trail down my sides and, upon meeting my waist, they reach around to secure me in her embrace. I don’t fight it. She holds me tight to her, lips pressed to my bare shoulder, and doesn’t say a word even as the hot tears start trickling down my face. She asks no questions because she knows I don’t have the answers. The warmth she exudes melts away any remnants of the illusions and when I look into the mirror again, all I see is Amber and Krystal.

No tricks.

No illusions.

Just us.