Page 78 of My Heart To Heal

After saying goodbye to my friends, I sit on the sofa with my head in my hands. He wanted to killher. I’m sure of that. Her feet were pretty much off the ground as he squeezed her throat, and the sight of her like that, his hands on her the way they were, will haunt me for the rest of my life.

The soft click of the door leading to the hallway that houses the bedrooms and bathroom has me looking up to see Missy approaching, not wearing the pajamas I got for her, but wearing one of my t-shirts and some shorts.

‘Do you mind?’ she asks as she approaches, pulling at the shirt as I ignore the strained sound of her voice. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and she has on the fluffy socks.

‘Not at all.’ I open up my arms to her and she sits on the sofa, then leans into my side.

‘I can’t talk anymore,’ she says softly, and I don’t say another word. Instead, I lift up my cell and play some music through the speaker system I paid way too much money for.

‘I’ve got you, Miss,’ I say, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of the head resting against my shoulder. ‘Whatever you need, I’ve got you.’

Waking with a start,I reach out into the empty space next to me. Missy was there — when she asked me to hold her, I led her to my bed and did just that. I pulled her body against mine, covered us with the blanket, and let her cry until her sobs softened and sleep took her under.

Her soft breath pulled me down with her, her warmth impossible to ignore, and I slept soundly until that warmth disappeared, and I woke up cold and alone.

‘Missy,’ I say into the dark as I sit up, my eyes adjusting. ‘Miss?’

Silence. She’s not here.

Pushing up out of bed, I search my place, but there’s no sign of her. Did she go home?

The idea makes me feel sick. I want her with me. I want to keep her safe, and I want to know she’s okay.

Heading out into the hallway, I knock softly on her door. No answer. I lean my head forward, resting it against the cool wood of the door, then I hear thefaint sounds from downstairs like someone moving around, and I know where she is.

Finding myself entering the salon from the stairwell entry, I freeze when I see her sitting at one of the stations, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, her cutting scissors in her hand, her gaze fixed on her reflection.

‘Missy, honey, what’s going on?’

She startles slightly at my voice, but her attention remains fixed.

‘It’s as if it’s burning.’

‘What is?’

‘My hair.’ She inhales sharply, and I start to approach slowly and quietly. ‘When he burned his name into my skin, it hurt, but I didn’t cry. He wanted me to — maybe if I had, he would have stopped — he would have got what he wanted and stopped, but I refused to give him that.’

I stay quiet. She’s not looking at me, just staring at her reflection, clutching the scissors, and I know she needs the freedom to just talk this out.

‘Once he was asleep, passed out drunk, that’s when I cried. I hid in the bathroom and cried as quietly as I could so that he didn’t hear me. I cleaned it and applied ointment and a dressing. I still feel it, you know, the pain. Not really, obviously, it’s just a memory of the pain, but it’s so real. Every time I see it, I feel it all overagain. That’s why I hide it because letting other people see would make that pain so unbearable, and I don’t know how I’d cope with that.’

‘Missy…’

‘And now it’s my hair. He always pulled my hair to get me to look at him or to drag me to where he wanted me. I never thought too deeply about it until you.’

I swallow hard as she glances up, and I meet her gaze in the mirror.

‘You touch my hair with so much affection. Even when you pull it, it’s with this gentleness, this desire that made me feel like a goddess. He erased all that tonight, and I can’t shake it off this time. The way he grabbed my hair and yanked it as though he wanted to rip it out has tainted all of it. I feel like there’s an imprint, a burning mark left behind.’

Tears roll down her cheeks, and I approach slowly, coming to stand behind her and reaching out to grab the hair tie from the glass shelf in front of her. Without words, I pull her hair into a low ponytail and reach my hand forward again for the scissors from her hand. She raises her gaze to meet mine once more, and I bend down to kiss the top of her head.

‘Let’s cut him out then.’

She nods once, her bottom lip trembling as I bring the scissors to the top of the hair tie and cut.

Missy’s hair falls loose as I cut, uneven strands that sit just below her jaw and she brings her hands up to cover her face as she cries.

‘Come on, honey,’ I say, holding out my hand in front of her and as she raises her watery eyes at me, I smile softly, and she takes my hand.

---