Page 34 of The Deceptions
“You know me so well,” I snort.
Truth is, I can't stop myself from investigating everything I see. Maybe it's connected. Maybe not. Or perhaps there's more weird shit happening in this town. Or maybe I’m trying to distract myself from what I’m about to do. It’s not every day a dead person can confront their past head-on. But that’s my mission.
“All right. You ready?” Jordy asks, wiping his hands. “I'm supposed to work my magic and transform you. Like your own personal fairy godmother.” He grins, jumping to his feet and gathering a black duffel bag.
I sigh, staring at the future dead on.
Now is the time. I'm about to do the unthinkable.
Now is the time to cut my hair, lock my feelings away, and face my past while pretending to be someone completely different. If that’s even possible.
I swallow hard, getting up and going to stand in front of the bathroom mirror with Jordy on my tail. He doesn’t say a word, opting to stay silent. For once.
A woman stares back at me with deadness in her eyes. There’s no light, love, or any normal sort of emotion. Not anymore. Just the husk of a girl who once had dreams to live her life to the fullest under no man’s rules.
I lived by my own set of rules. Until it was all taken from me.
Slowly, I run my fingers through my long brown locks, which reach the middle of my back. I’ve grown it out, only trimming the ends to keep it alive for the last five years.
They took my name. My face. My voice. My fucking life. But this? My hair? They didn’t take this from me. It’s been with me since that night. Like a companion hanging on to the bits of my past I couldn’t–wouldn’t—cut away. It’s the constant reminder of how they used it against me in my time of need.
A reminder for so much more than that. It fuels the revenge coursing through my veins. It’s the reminder that I survived. All of me.
I swallow hard when my fingers hit the bald spot near my left temple. Where the fire ravaged through our home and seared my flesh, taking some spots of my hair with it.
My hair is more than hair. It’s the reminder of my survival. That I came out on the other side a new person.
I cry out, begging with all my might for them to stop yanking my head back by my hair.
“Your time has come, Little Viotto. You’re paying for your crimes,” Franco says.
“No!” I shout, crying harder when Huxley’s grip in my hair tightens, making it impossible to move away from the blade pressing against my throat and slowly carving its way across my flesh. I’m forced to stare into the eyes of my boyfriends. My best friends. As their father ends my life.
And they help him.
Jordy doesn’t say a word when I pick up the large scissors lying on the bathroom sink. He doesn’t make a peep when I suck in a breath and snip the first pieces off, watching as they fall and scatter on the ground at my feet.
He doesn’t console me or hold my shoulder when the tears slip from between my lashes, dripping down my cheeks. He doesn’t make fun of me when sobs wrack my body and my weakness comes to the damn surface.
No. His lips don’t move an inch, because Jordy knows it all. He’s heard the night terrors. The cries for my mother and sister. The frustration. Everything.
Jordy simply watches with tears brimming in his eyes as I cut piece after piece of hair.
“You do the back?” I question softly, not bothering to look at him as he takes the scissors from me with a nod.
“Anything for you, Liv,” he whispers, lifting the long strands left at the back of my head. “You’re brave for this. You know? I wouldn’t be able to step foot back in my hometown after…” He shakes his head, not wanting to relive his own tragedy.
That’s the thing about the two of us. Hell, about everyone who comes to Veritas. We’re like wounded strays with no names and families to rely on. Veritas becomes that for us. Our partners become our everything.
“How can I pull this off, Jordy?” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut as he continues to cut my hair.
Doubt seeps in from every corner, infecting me like a sickness eager to take me down.
“Like you always do, Liv. You’re the most badass bitch I know,” he says softly, setting the large scissors down and grabbing a small pair, snipping again. His fingers work through my shorter strands, styling them into a shaggy style. The hair still covers the tops of my ears, but the air brushing against my neck has shivers working down my spine.
It’s so strange not to feel the tension on my scalp or the strands at my back. It’s all gone. Everything is gone now.
“What if I’m not strong enough?” All the vulnerabilities living inside me come to the surface.
