Page 125 of Scarred in Silence

Lucien’s gaze sharpens. “You’re not alone anymore.”

I exhale. “I know.”

Another beat of silence.

“I need them to see me like this,” I say quietly. “Not broken. Not bruised. Not brunette.”

His jaw ticks. “They’ll see.”

I glance at him in the mirror. He looks tired. Haunted. Like someone who’s lived a hundred lives in silence and survived everyone of them through sheer violence and obsession.

Maybe we’re not so different.

The bleach starts to sting. I close my eyes and let it.

Thirty minutes pass in soft whispers and the hum of the overhead fan. The stylist checks the foils, nods to himself, and leads me to the bowl. The rinse is warm. Comforting. The toner burns a little. I don’t flinch.

When I’m back in the chair, he blow-dries it smooth, section by section, until it gleams like ice under the lights.

It’s jarring.

Seeing myself like this again.

I look… dangerous.

Like a ghost that crawled out of her grave and decided she was prettier this way.

Lucien moves behind me and rests his hands on my shoulders. I see our reflection—him in black, me in white.

A study in ruin.

“You look like vengeance,” he murmurs.

“Good,” I whisper back.

“That’s what I’m bringing.”

The stylist spins me around. “You’re done.”

No. I’m just beginning.

Lucien pays—and we step back into the parking lot, the sky clouded over, the air thick with the promise of rain.

He opens the passenger door for me. I pause before getting in.

“Thanks,” I say.

His eyes search mine. “For what?”

“For seeing me when I couldn’t see myself.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t say anything. Just shuts the door gently and walks around to the driver’s side.

Wedrive off into the dark, the blonde swats softly against my collarbone, and for once, I don’t feel like I’m running away.

I feel like I’m on my way back.

I’m alive. I’m heard.