Fragmented ✔️

1. Saffron

Happily ever afters were for the foolish. Something make-believe so we didn't feel so alone. But I learned a long time ago that eventually everyone leaves and everyone lies.

Just take this box of hair dye, for instance. The dye that lasts forever. What a load of bull! Nothing lasts forever. Not even the stain of dark chocolate tint seeping into the grout of my mother's pristine white bathroom. I could forget all about it and still scrub the area with bleach until the smudge faded to nothing.

The timer rang and jolted me away from the imperfect blemish on the floor. I hurried into the shower, carefully wiping my itchy forehead with the back of my hand so I didn't discolour my nails any further. As the water ran through my strands, I glanced down and watched the dark swirl of colour disappear into the drain. My ash-blonde locks veiled in darkness, much like the old Beatrice. I closed my eyes as the spray washed everything away. I can't keep pretending to live when I should be the one dead.

The scissors shook between my fingers as I grabbed a fistful of hair and the skin at the base of my neck tingled. No going back now. I blew a ragged breath out and lopped the section above my fist, all while squeezing my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I released a strangled cry. Oh my God, what have I done? I wiped the mirror with my towel and leaned in to get a closer look. My waist-long hair rested above my shoulders in uneven clumps. Tears obscured my vision as I attempted to rectify my recklessness.

With trembling hands, I repeated my actions to the other side. "It's okay," I murmured to the girl staring at me. "I can fix this. I can fix this." But could I really? After all, I ruined everything, and this was just another thing to add to my long list of fuck-ups. My armpits stung with an unwelcome prickle with each snip of the scissors.

"All okay in there?" my mother asked, her calming voice muffled through the door.

Out of instinct, I held my breath. As if breathing would give what I had done away.

"One minute." I combed a section forward to reach the back and slammed the comb down after struggling for a few seconds. Biting down hard on my lower lip, I resigned myself to the fact I couldn't hide away forever and I might as well face the music. "Actually, Mum? Can you come in and help me?" I shouted, wiping my eyes and nose on the back of my hand.

The door creaked as she pushed it open and gasped. "Bea! Your hair! What have you done to your hair?"

"Blame the scissors," I half-heartedly quipped, trying to hide my embarrassment. That disappointed crease was pressed between her brows and my heart sank. I didn't deserve her, and was letting her down once again.

"Scissors, right-" She picked up the discarded box of hair dye and studied the colour. "This is quite a drastic change. Dr Westcott advised you to talk through any changes with him. Did you ring him?"

And that's when the guilt slapped me hard around the face. Dr Wescott! When would this man stop being part of every aspect of my life? Couldn't they see I was trying to accept the hand I was dealt? The hand I had really dealt myself with one stupid decision. A decision that meant I was here while my best friend wasn't. But what my mother couldn't see was that I needed the change. Maybe that way, I wouldn't disappoint them. It was the least I could do after they let me move back home after quitting my job.

"It's just hair." And I was sick of looking in the mirror and seeing failure. "If you won't help, I'll do it myself." Straightening my shoulders, I lifted the scissors back up.

My mother twisted them out of my clenched fist and pushed me down to sit on the closed toilet lid. "Of course, I'll help. All I want is to help you." Her last line, barely audible, caused the knot in my stomach to grow. I wanted to reassure her, tell her she was, but the words never came out.