He grips my hair as he says, “I told you, you’ve always loved hairdressing, can you remember?” He pulls and it irritates my already tender scalp. “I said, can you remember?”
I nod my head even though it hurts to as he doesn’t let his grip on my hair go.
“Good.” He says that one word and I hear the snip of the scissors as he chops a chunk out of my hair. “You’re going to look pretty when I’m done with you, just like those barbie’s you used to play with.”
He picks up one of my Barbie dolls and walks it toward me, but I just look up at him with wide eyes.
“Hello, Keeley, don’t you want to play with me?” He asks in a high-pitched voice.
I bow my head and shake it, looking down at my own doll.
“It’ll be fun,” he states in his normal voice.
I shake my head furiously, ignoring him as I continue brushing and cutting away at my dolls hair.
“Do you think she likes you doing that to her hair?” He sneers, and I recoil.
“What are you doing? Get away from her,” mom says, picking me up.
He stands up and narrows his eyes at her. “I was only offering to play with the damn dolls, Kirsten.”
His sweet tone doesn’t match the look on his face and I bury my head into my mom’s chest.
“Mommy? Can I go play with Hunter?”
She places her mouth next to my ear and whispers, “Great idea, you run on over and tell Arlene to call your daddy and say that mommy needs him home. Can you do that for me, sweet girl?”
I nod my head as my feet touch the ground and I run out the door, hearing her cry out as I cross the threshold. I don’t stop running until I’ve ran to the other end of the street, to the blue house with the white shutters that is slowly becoming like a second home to me.
I don’t even knock, barreling into the living room and running through the house to the one place that makes me feel safe. I open his door and he’s sitting on his bed listening to his MP3 player. He takes in my scared face and opens his arms for me to run into. I bury my head in his chest and he strokes my hair in a soothing motion.
“Shhhh, it’s alright. I’m here,” he says calmly.
“Mommy said I need to tell Arlene to call my daddy and tell him she needs him home,” I breath out into his chest in one big rush.
He stiffens and lifts me off his chest with a serious look on his face. “Kee, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I heard pop say they were busy at the club today.”
“But mommy said-”
“How about we go get my mom to make us some dinner then we can go to the fort?” He interrupts me, instantly changing the subject, and I hesitate before taking his outheld hand and nodding.
“You fucking psychopath! You need professional help,” I shout through my tears.
“Hmm, you’re right, a professional might be able to tell me where I’ve gone wrong.” He bends down and picks up the discarded mirror and pushes it in front of my face.
“Tell me what you think.”
I snap my eyes closed. I don’t want to see the damage that he’s done to my hair. When I lived back home, my hair was a chocolate brown with a few flashes of red running through it. It was cut into a long bob with choppy layers. I wanted to get away from that image of myself and dyed my hair black and grew it out, using it much like a shield to hide myself away from people. He’s taken that away from me.
He yanks my head back. “I said look at it and tell me what you think,” he spits, crouching low near my face.
I shake my head roughly and he forces one of my eyelids open. I gasp.
“What have you done?” I cry out, opening my eyes fully.
“What? Don’t you like it?” He leans close to my ear. “Now we’re even.”
I stare at my butchered hair in the mirror being held up by his dirty hand. There’s bits cut to only about four inches short, slightly longers bits, then he’s left some of the length still on. I can’t bear to look at myself any longer, not that I can as tears blur my vision.
I sob uncontrollably, not even caring that he’s enjoying every salty tear that stings the cuts on my face. How much more is he going to torture me before finally ending it? Something tells me he’s just getting started, if there’s a way to get out of this, to end it all, I will take it with open arms.
He cuts the rope and I fall to the floor with a thud, landing in a pile of my hair. I clutch at it and it sticks to the wet trails the tears have left on my body, that bastard!
“Let’s go,” he says, but I hardly hear him over my sobs. “Don’t ignore me, sweet girl. You know what happens when you don’t do as you’re told.”
I have one last pity party before steeling myself and standing up, brushing the hair off my hands.
On the outside, I probably look like a rabid, wild animal. But inside, I’m feeling a sudden strange sense of calm wash over me. As long as I’m alive, there’s a chance I can get away. So I limp ahead of him into the room that has become my prison, and I slide down in the corner again, not giving him the time of day.