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“I guess it’s time to get you feeling better, then. You know the saying: look good, feel good,” she says.

“I hope it’s true,” I say as I step out of the car and head inside.

A few minutes later, my hair is washed, and I’m sitting in the stylist’s chair with Kaia looming over my shoulder. “So what are we getting done today?” the stylist asks, looking at Kaia.

Kaia, however, is looking at me.

“Whatever he wants, just not a buzzcut, please,” she says before walking away.

The stylist returns her attention to me as she runs her fingers through my overgrown curls. It’s the longest my hair has been, probably since I was a child. The way her fingers run through my hair feels so strange, yet so familiar. No one other than Theá has ever really played with my hair, so it’s an instant trigger for that memory. I guess Kaia must’ve sensed something since she immediately said no to buzzcuts. She’s probably more worried I’ll end up like Gus and Adriano.

“Hair holds memories, so I know it can be difficult to let go. But you always feel like a new person after a fresh haircut,” the stylist says. I let my eyes meet hers for the first time since I walked it.

“Never cut your hair.”

“Whatever you want, tesoro.”

The memory flashes through my head, but I shake it off. I need to find a way to move on from all of this.

“Could we do an undercut with a taper fade and then keep some of the length on the top?” I ask, and she smiles before nodding.

If hair holds memories, then that should get rid of a lot of the memories I have of her. This is the hair she would play with. The hair she would grab and pull at the nape of my neck when I moved inside her. Memories flood into my head as the hair stylist shaves the strands off.

No matter what I try, she’s in every inch on my flesh, every piece of my brain. She’s fucking everywhere, and no matter what I try to do to get rid of her, I can’t.

Chapter forty-eight

Theá

“Theá,areyoualmostready? Our reservation is for 7:00 p.m.” Noelle knocks on my door before she opens it. “Why are you still not dressed?” Her face morphs to concern.

“Sorry, I’ll be done in a few minutes. I’m just finishing up my makeup.” I plaster on a smile, and it’s just fake enough that she buys it and nods before turning to leave.

“It’s a fancy place, so dress up!” she yells over her shoulder.

I stare at my reflection again. The woman looking back doesn’t look anything like me. She’s lost weight, her hair is in braids for the first time in a decade, and she looks so unhappy.

She looks like the younger me. And the younger me is a me I never thought I would have to see again. A version of myself where I was everything but myself. Where I would put on a show and perform to meet everyone’s standards, too ashamed to wear my natural hair out, so concerned with my weight that I wouldn’t eat out of fear of gaining weight. But this time, none if it was intentional.

All it does is make me realise just how deep my father’s claws are still ingrained in me. I’m here, in this exact position for the first time in years, because of him.

I stand up to retrieve the yellow, ankle-length dress with one shoulder strap.

It’s morbid that Kaia happened to pick a dress in this exact colour without knowing how it would affect me. Even a stupid colour is ruined forever because of him. I’ll never be able to look at yellow, or even purple, the same.

The dress is baggier now than it was when Kaia and I did the fitting for it last week, and worry settles in my stomach. I have to get a grip on myself, not for my own sake, but for my sister. She’s just about started coming to terms with this change. If I even give her the slightest reason to think I’m not okay, I know things will just spiral back to the way they were when we first arrived.

I sit down in front of the mirror again, and my mood drops even further when I realise the last time I tried to look good was in France. It was for him.

I know I should want to look good for myself, but I can’t bring myself towantto look good. Because deep down, I know I don’t feel good. But I do my best anyway. Not for myself, but for my sister. To make sure she doesn't doubt that everything is okay.

I look down at the ring, and for the second time, I consider taking it off. It’s over. There’s no point in holding onto this stupid, physical memory of the time when I know I’ll never be able to live that reality again. It was a lie then, but it feels so real now; it feels like a lie to pretend it didn’t happen. To just wake up every day and pretend I’m not still in love with him.

I’ve tried to hate him for what he did, but I know deep down that’s just who Antonio is. His mamá’s words ring in my head.

“He cares so much about other people, that he’s often harder on himself if it means protecting someone else.”

Maybe none of this would’ve happened if he just chose me that night.