Blaze

13. Before Dawn

Snip!

Strands of hair fall loose, limp, and silky. They pile onto the ground. They seem to lilt according to my breath (or maybe, just maybe, they're trying to latch onto something with nonexistent arms as they drop).

Like leaves.

I think there used to be a season where leaves fell.

"Almost done," I say, softly. Austin is quieter (and considerably less hairy) than before. We've settled into the bathroom for this task. He's not facing the mirror, and his eyes won't meet me, so I have no way of knowing what's on his mind. But I can guess. By the tension in his shoulders. The nothing on his face. His posture on the chair. The way his feet tap a rhythm.

Snip!

Another strand falls. I'm not doing a good job. I've created an uneven brown mass on top of my brother's head.

The scissors are rusty and don't like to cooperate. I force them to open. To close.

Snip!

"Auz?" I ask.

"I'm fine." He only stiffens more. "It doesn't hurt."

Heat presses against us. Air moves like warm, stale breath. I look at the dirty tile on the bathroom floor for a long, strange moment. Force the scissors to open. Force the scissors to close. Eventually my hand starts to throb—numbing.

There's one snip! left. One rude strand that chose to be noticeably longer than the rest, dangling down the side of Austin's face. Covering his ear. I could cut the strand off right now, but I don't.

Austin speaks when I don't snap out of my trance. (He sounds like he's speaking through a wall.)

"I said it doesn't hurt."

One night. That's what she agreed on, but only because Austin insisted, the way only he knows how, just before we came to get this deed done. I'm to spend one night here.

I'm to leave in the morning.

---

Facing the wall, Jackie stood behind Mother after Austin left. Looking at the silence he left behind.

Mother was empty.

Lips carved into a thin, thin line.

Skin like earth so dry someone had stepped on it and it had cracked.

Eyes burned white by the sun.

"Thank you."

She seemed to forget me as I spoke—only to remember, at last, when I quieted, and dismiss me anyway.

"Cameron."

Jackie's the one who threw the voice after me.

"Yes?"

"I—"

She swallowed, painfully, and nearly closed the door instead. The room had four walls—how thick were they?

"This isn't right," she said. "Not for any of us. It isn't fair."

An obvious thing.