To Heal is to Feel

Repeat

"So, I was thinking maybe it's time for a hair cut." Mama says as she pours some black coffee into a dark purple mug.

"Sure, mama." I take a sip of the stainless liquid. I don't really care for my hair, mama was the one who cares for it.

Does it make me lazy for appearance? Perhaps it does. But when she brushed my hair, used gentle hands to move it on my shoulders, she cared for me.

I finish my breakfast. Two eggs and an avocado, what I used to eat, besides cereal, before the world ended.

I follow mama to the restroom where she helps in lifting me up on the sink. I rest my legs inside the bowl and watch her through the mirror as she gets what she'll need.

She drapes a white towel on top of my shoulder, pulling my hair gently on top of it. I watch her as she uses a spray bottle to damp my hair.

"I'm surprised Jessie hasn't asked to cut your hair yet. Have you met her?" She's quick to ask after mention the woman's name, I shrug because she starts to chop my ends to snips.

"No, I have not. Do you like her?" I ask, because if mama doesn't like her , she won't let me like her. She nods,

"Very much so. But you'll soon sniff out her husband, he's an asshole. He hits her, and the kids." She says it so simply, so matter of fact that I almost am convinced she doesn't care.

"That's one problem I didn't have with your-" she stops, the bit of hair in between her fingers dripping water onto the towel.

I don't question her about the odd words. The distant look in her eyes making her look ten years older.

"Anyways, Deanna is hosting a greeting party later on today. You'll see them there." She comes back from the distant curse.

She sets the scissors down next to me, grabbing a brush and oils. She makes me hold the oils as she begins the comb my hair with a wooden brush.

Slowly, as if she wants to take as long as her hand muscles let her. I enjoy this mama.

"A greeting party? Are we going?"  I ask mama, titling my head forwards as much her hand wants. She doesn't say anything for a while.almost too concentrated on my hair to reply to my question.

"Hell yeah, Deanna always makes sure there's a great deal of rich people champagne. Besides, the whole thing is for you and those people you came with." She shrugs, running her rose oil soaked finger through my ends.

I try not to read too much of how she said you and those people you came in with. There was a bit of familiar jealousy, spite.

Something sweet but comforting rang through the air. Mama throws half of my hair onto my shoulder and my nose catches a whiff of what was smelling.

My hair.

"Okay." Mama says, wiping her hand on the towel she took from my lap. She motions for me to get off of the sink, I do.

I do with caution as to not let the dagger hidden between my skirt and belt. I grab my crossbow and arrow, clipping them back on.

I follow her into her , what I'm guessing, is her room. Her room that she shares with her fiancé...

"Where's your fiancé at mama?" I ask rather boldly but lowly.

I look around with bouncing eyes.

There was a bed in the middle of the room, its headboard backed into a light orange colored wall. A pretty fuzzy rug laid out on one side of the bed, mama goes and sits on that side. It must be for her.