A Fractured Fairytale

Chapter 7-Because why not?

An ache hobbled its way along my back as I sat crossed-legged on the end of my bed, the hairdryer almost burning through the burgundy sheets. The short tassels on the towel, resting around my neck, brushed along my bruised shoulders as they soaked up the drips from my wet hair. The room was incredibly cramped and only just had enough room for two single beds for me and Phoebe. With two bodies in a tiny room, it was so hot and the heat seemed as if it swirled around me on purpose.

 

The room owned a smell, which was impossible to identify, but was the opposite of home. A sort of musty scent gathered beneath my nostrils, blocking out any other fragrance which came in contact with my nose. Wooden beams ran along the sloping ceilings, the perfect place for spiders to craft their webs. A dusty brick wall lay unpainted, opposite my bed, as if someone had died halfway through painting the room. It made me shudder and the thought walked into my mind and stayed there.

 

I ran my hand through my newly washed wet hair, only for it to stop at a clump of knots, unable to journey any further through my tangled hair. You would of never guessed that my hair was streaked with blonde when it was bone-dry because when it was wet it appeared a dark brown, curling at its frayed ends. The teeth of the comb wrestled with the stubborn knots, as they remained tied.

 

I balanced the hairdryer awkwardly in my palm, trying not to scorch my skin in the process of finding out how to switch it on. Drying your hair was a simple thing but without mum I was incapable because she always did it for me. I could of let my hair dry on its own, but my fringe was sodden against my forehead and the drips formed damp patches on my pyjamas which was annoying.

 

I stared at my reflection, irritation shining across my face. Sadness framed my eyes as they dampened with tears of frustration and leaked down my face, only to merge in with the drips from my hair. I needed to learn how to tame my emotions, master how to prevent everything spilling out, just like mum did. Otherwise they would come and take me and Belle away. I didn’t know who my father considered as ‘they’ back then, however it sounded as if ‘they’ would bring danger to the family and I couldn’t be responsible for the chain breaking, the chain which held our family together. I would never be able to forgive myself.

 

 I figured that the hairdryer wasn’t on at the wall and as I leant forwards switching on the hairdryer, the unbearable heat licked my palms, burning them like a flame would to paper. I hurled the hairdryer off of the bed in shock and it landed with a thud, still whirring its consistent drone. I examined my blistering red hands in disbelief; the burns were more wounds I could put towards my collection, along with the bruises from my fall.

 

The soft yellow light from the hallway lamp blended in with the light flooding through the gaps in the blinds, which my eyes had adjusted to perfectly. The rectangle of light blaring into the room from the hallway was suddenly cut off and the room was stunned into an abrupt darkness as I looked up to see a figure standing wearily in the doorway. Her short hair matched the colour of her shadow and her pale lips eased into a warm smile as she pondered over whether she should come into the room or not. Her smile was a smile I knew so well. Phoebe. Her eyes glinted with concern and a worried expression was scribbled across her face, only this time I didn’t have the power to erase it. Wrapped around Phoebe was a fluffy dressing gown, coloured a calming lilac. As Phoebe walked gracefully into the room, her dressing gown swayed with her, which I couldn’t help noticing. As she sat beside me, the bed dipped slightly, cupping her body, even though her weight was similar to a feather, it was so light. She spoke, her words so soft, they seemed to float out as if they were merging into a lullaby. “Do you need help? With drying your hair I mean.”