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I suck in a deep breath and sit up on my sofa. It’s all because of Autumn’s scent coming from my bathroom. Mae is another grey. A confusing smell. An in-between that I should stay away from. Yet, my feet carry me to her. There’s no fighting this itching urge to be near her. It’s almost as persistent as the demons’ voices. Almost.
When I open the door, Mae doesn’t acknowledge me. She’s staring in the mirror. Her gaze void, like an aimless ship without an anchor. Her less-bruised hand tightens around scissors. An unnatural shade of white covers her knuckles. Her other hand clutches a handful of silky blond strands.
“Grandma used to comb my hair.” Mae’s voice is low, strangled with emotions. Does she even realise that she’s talking to me? “She used to tell me tales when doing it. The longer my hair was, the more story time we spent together. I never cut my hair or dyed it ever since. It represents my love for Grandma.”
“Why would you cut it then?” I look at her through the mirror.
Her lips tremble and the blueness of her eyes dampen with unshed tears. “He pulled me by it... he... he put his filthy hands on it.” Her voice breaks, but she shouts the last words. “He sullied it! I need to get rid of his dirtiness!”
My teeth grit. Hampton needed a slower, more painful death.
I put my hand over her trembling one. “Let me do it.” It takes her a while to release the scissors. “Memories are what you choose to remember. You can always omit the unpleasant ones and remember your grandmother’s touch.”
She says nothing. Doesn’t even spare me a glance. Her gaze seems to find an inexistent point in the space much more interesting.
I grab a blonde strand. It slips between my fingers as if escaping its fate. I hold it to my nose and inhale the rich citrus. My goodbye.
I open the scissors when Mae shifts away. “Stop!” She brushes past me, scurrying out of the bathroom.
My lungs extend, untying the uncomfortable knot in my stomach.
I stand there for a minute, staring at my reflection.
There’s definitely something wrong with me. Why the hell would I be that relieved when she didn’t cut it? Or when she didn’t mention I also dirtied it when I touched it? Or when she showed her inner fighter after a whole week of being a shell?
“Who are you?” I whisper at the face in the mirror. He looks like Aaron Rhodes but he’s also everything but him. He’s not a soothing black, he’s a confusing grey.
Where are my demons when I need them? Why are they leaving me with a foreign version of myself? Do they not fear the consequences?
This me is dangerously unpredictable. I shouldn’t be left alone with Mae. One more look into her eyes and I don’t know what I would do.
I need to get the hell out of here.
With one last glare at the foreign version, I stride back into my room and straight to the door. I will not look at Mae, neither address her. I need a quiet place to regroup my thoughts, take Jet and—
A heavy sigh draws me to a halt. My gaze zeroes to the girl who’s messing with my mind. Why am I letting her wreck with my logic?
Who the hell is she?
Mae sits on the edge of the bed, her soulless blue eyes staring at nothing. They’ve become a disgusting copycat of my targets’ dead eyes. I don’t like that. A desperate need impels me to fix it. As if I caught Dylan’s unexplainable urge to wipe the look in his victims’ eyes.
Only difference: she’s alive.
I’m the worst at dealing with people. And yet, something needs to be done.
I dial Kane. “Bring Jet and Silver in front of my quarters.”
After throwing the phone on the chair, I march to my walk-in, yank my suit off, and put on my horse-riding clothes in record time.
When I’m back in the room, Mae chances a little glance my way. Her usually morbid curiosity dies in a split second as she focuses on an unseen point on the wall.
“Up, mouse.” I use my tenacious voice as I stand in front of her. “You’re coming with me.”
A rebellious determination flashes in the depth of her gaze. The moment disappears as fast as it came. Her eyes go back to their virulent dullness. She stands and follows me outside. Her steps lethargic. Her face an unemotional veil. Like one of Father’s obedient slaves.
Screw that. This isn’t the Mae I’m used to. If she doesn’t fall out of this state, I must use the shock element to straighten her behaviour.
“Where are we going?” Her voice is firm and unwavering.
