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Cut

Summary:
Leah didn't know how healing cutting you hair could be.


Notes:


1. Chapter 1

Rating 5/5   Word Count 526   Review this Chapter


Ever since I was small, my hair has been my defining feature, the thing I rested my beauty on. While all the other little girls on the reservation wore their hair up in braids or pigtails, mine fell in thick waves to my waist.

When I hit my teens, I began using all types of shampoos, conditioners, and gels to enhance it. My father made jokes about how much time I spent in the bathroom, and my brother complained. My hair set me apart from all the other girls.

So what the hell was I doing in here in this tiny bathroom, a small pair of scissors in my hand? All Sam’s fault, I thought grimly.

He had loved my hair. I could dimly remember the feel of his fingers, winding themselves in it. Whenever I had joked about cutting it all of, he had looked horrified, told me I never could.

What I was doing here was more than just a hair trim. It was, in a strange way, ridding myself of him. Sam had liked it, so it had to go. I wanted all physical evidence of our time together gone.

I sighed. If I didn’t do it now, I would lose my nerve. Slowly, the scissors came up and I cut a tiny piece. I squeaked, shocked as I watched it float slowly to rest on the floor.

Sam isn’t here, you coward. He left. And anyway, its just hair. It’ll grow. I told myself this firmly as the scissors went up and began to snip, snip, snip, cutting away quickly. My beautiful hair fell to the floor in thick chunks, settling around my feet.

Son enough it was all over. Tentatively, my finger found the back of my neck. It was bare.

That’s when I lost it, months of pent up sobs escaping my aching throat. I curled up on the ugly green tile of the bathroom, putting my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming. I don’t know how much time passed, only remembering the tile feeling refreshingly cool against my fevered skin.

***

I rose shakily from the floor, feeling sick as I turned to look in the mirror. I was prepared for what I was going to see but still let out a small gasp. My gorgeous hair, my pride, was all gone. It came only to my ears, cut hastily, the ends ragged.

I smiled bitterly, triumphant. ‘See Sam? All gone!” No man could twine his fingers through it now!

The smile faded from my face. There was no real victory in it, only an acute sense of loss. I was still alone, still broken. It had been silly to think that chopping off all my hair could remedy that, make the memories disappear.

The worst part was that no matter how hard I tried, I could not bri9ng myself to hate Sam. Or Emily. The hate was more for myself, whatever part of me that lacked the mystical connection that Sam and Emily did. And anyways, you couldn’t hate the thing you loved most, could you?

I knelt on the floor gathering the pieces of my hair and my life; dusting the strands and my memories into the trash.