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By the third blow, the world tips, and everything grows blurry. I attempt to reach out for something to hold on to, but the blood dripping into my eyes from the gash to my brow prevents me from focusing on anything other than passing out.
“Everything was perfect until you came along and ruined it!”
Bang.
“This is your fault, you bitch!”
Bang.
Each knock against the wall has my grip on reality fading, and it won’t be long until the darkness pervades me. And I welcome it.
“He thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Well, we will see.”
I brace for another blow, but instead, all that comes is the sharp slicing of scissors cutting. At first, I have no idea what she’s cut because I don’t feel any pain. But when I sag forward because the pressure in my head is no longer, I realize that’s because myhairis no longer.
I slump into the wall, splaying my hands against it to support myself from falling, but Zoey is on me like a rabid dog, hacking into my hair and cutting it away while I detach myself from my body, helpless to stop her.
She came here to take my beauty, and she isn’t leaving until she’s satisfied she’s won. Her maniacal laughter has me closing my eyes, wondering what happens when merely cutting off my hair isn’t enough. The blood pouring from the wound on my forehead trickles into my mouth as I gasp for breath. I’m growing accustomed to the metallic burn.
At some stage, I collapse to my knees, head bowed as I cradle my waist, but that doesn’t deter Zoey. She continues mumbling to herself while slashing away at my hair. When she cries in victory minutes later, I know that she’s done.
“Much better,” she sings with one final slice.
I’m too far gone to care what comes next. My soul and body are finally defeated by this cruel world. If she were to take those scissors and pierce my heart, she’d be doing me a favor because at least in death, there will no longer be pain.
But she doesn’t show me the mercy because killing me would be easy. Instead, she exits the room, leaving me to deal with the aftermath alone.
With trembling fingers, I attempt to gauge the damage, and when I’m met with uneven, frayed clumps of hair, I realize it’s worse than I thought. The coagulated blood has sealed my eyes shut, but I don’t need to see it. The remaining strands of hair barely cover the back of my neck. She missed a few locks which fall around my face, but the only way to fix this mess is to start afresh. To shave it all off.
“A????!”
His voice shouldn’t soothe me after everything I’ve seen, but it does. In this dark, cruel world, he is the only light I have.
“What happened?” The panic is clear as Saint runs into the room and drop to his knees in front of me.
He attempts to raise my chin so he can see the damage, but I curl myself into a ball, shielding my face into my palms.
“Let me see!” he demands, but I shake my head, ashamed of what he’ll see.
The fact clumps of my hair litter the room doesn’t leave him guessing to what happened. But my bloodied hands point at something a lot more sinister than me deciding to cut my hair because I needed a change.
“Who did this to you?” His voice is murderous, and I suddenly want to save him the pain of knowing his sister is the antichrist reincarnate. So I remain silent.
He places his hands over mine, his touch filled with desperation and fear. “Please, let me see.”
“Go away,” I whisper, but he inhales sharply, hinting that isn’t an option.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he presses, drawing me into his chest, and God strike me down, I go willingly.
He rocks me gently, allowing me to weep, not for my hair—because that will grow back—but for my soul. What has happened to me? How can I allow those hands to touch me after everything I’ve seen them do? I may have been able to admit my feelings for Saint, but that doesn’t make me feel any less ashamed for them.
“I’m sorry you saw me do…that last night. I wish you didn’t have to see any of this,” he says with his lips pressed to my head.
More tears follow, flowing a deep crimson to reflect the heartache buried deep within. “They’ll be here s-soon,” I manage to get out between stilted breaths as I bury myself deeper into his chest.
Saint said my room is under surveillance. No doubt, Zoey convinced Alek’s men to turn a blind eye for five minutes while she wreaked havoc.Her time is up, though, because when we hear footsteps pound down the hallway, it’s time to slip into character.
“???? ???!” Panicked, Alek bursts into the room. I can only imagine what he sees.
