She doesn’t shut the door but pulls it behind her giving me a little semblance of privacy. But I hear her pacing. When I turn off the shower before she comes back to help me dry and then dress in my favourite oversized hoodie and sweatpants Margot must have brought from home.
I do better than okay, all things considered, until Iris starts helping me comb out my long, tangled hair. With the first tug of the comb on a knot, I drop into the moment he wrapped his fist around my hair. And then I’m thrown back into the fear that held me tight.
I guess I make a noise, but I don’t remember making one.
She takes hold of the situation. “It looks like a bun day to me.” She drops the comb, so it clatters loudly into the sink in front of me before twirling my long hair into a messy bun before she twists it under itself to keep it in place. “Right, there we go, all done. Now let’s get you back in bed.”
After one pull of my hair all the progress I thought I was making goes. Iris leaves me, tucked under a pile of blankets along with a promise she’ll be back with toast and a mug of sweetened tea.
The door barely shuts behind her, and I burst into desperate action, searching my bag for what I need.
I don’t know when I stop cutting and start staring at the mirror without actually seeing myself. Similarly, I don’t know when Iris finds my makeup bag upended across the floor and me with a pair of nail-scissors hacking into a fist full of hair. I expect a lecture, or to get rushed back into bed, but she does neither of those.
Iris grabs the plastic seat from inside the shower and makes me park my butt on it. Without saying a word, she pries my fingers open to remove the scissors from my hair before she walks out of my room.
I jump a mile when she reappears, holding up a large pair of stationery scissors. Her hands brush over my shoulders in a reminder that she’s behind me, and then she gets to work and I watch in the mirror as she cuts my long hair to shoulder length.
Once done, she drops the scissors into the sink before using a towel to flick off the long chunks of hair that are scattered everywhere, sweeping everything out the way. I go to say something, anything, but she stops me by swishing her hands through the back of my hair like a real stylist.
“Goodness, Miss Heidi, I think I have to say, I love your hair this short. It suits you. Maybe book a time with your salon in a few days, I had a bit of trouble getting the layering right at the back.”
And a strangled laugh bubbles out of my mouth, which she ignores.
“You must feel like a million dollars, all that weight off your shoulders, hey? Now you need to get your butt back into bed or I will get my old, skinny ass kicked to the roadside.”
My strangled laugh turns watery. She’s right though, I feel lighter.
“Now, despite you looking like a new woman I’m still thinking we’ve done enough. I’d like to tell the people waiting to speak with you that you’re done, but you’ve had a look of determination in your eyes since you woke up. Which I wholeheartedly support, but this needs to be about what you want. Okay?”
I lean around her to see Bradley waiting on the other side of the door.
And she’s right about it being enough but wrong too. Since I’m on a roll I go with it. “I think I want to get that done too.” My voice is croaky but she passes a bottle of iced water and waves me on until I take more than a few sips.
“Whatever you think best, dear,” she says quietly. She goes to step away but I make a lunge for her hand, locking down the twinge of protest from my body.
“Thank you. What you did before helped me more than you know.”
“A hair cut between us is an easy task. We were merely doing what needed doing. Now, I’m not one to beat around the bush, so if you’re telling me you feel good enough to do this, then of course I’m here to support you. I will give them a stern talking to about how long they can spend with you though. I don’t want you going backwards in terms of your healing because other people can’t wait.”
She pats my hand, ending any thought I have of arguing before she leaves. The door closes behind her, but she doesn’t move out of the way. I can see her speaking with Bradley but can’t hear a word she says. Whatever it is, it must be as stern as she said it would be because a reddening hits his cheeks while his eyes flare slightly. He drops them down, agreeing in a hurry.
And then he enters. Not acting at all like an Alpha that just got schooled by Iris the wonder nurse. He’s straight down to business too.
“Heidi, your lawyer is here, and the detectives on your case. If you don’t want them, I can get rid of them. If you’re okay with talking to them, Douglas wants to come in first for a quick word.”
I nod my agreement, and Douglas suddenly appears, he stares Bradley down until my bodyguard gets the message and returns to the corridor. Douglas doesn’t say anything about my appearance although he also doesn’t hide the rage that fills his grey eyes. A moment later though he locks that shit up tight.
He sits on the edge of the bed and rubs my knee. “You actually don’t need to do this, Heidi. I can do all this due process on your behalf, but I think what they share with you will be good closure. As your attorney,” he pauses until I look up and hold his stare, “but more importantly, as your friend, I’m advising that you do this.”
For someone who often feels pretty alone, the world keeps reminding me there are people that care for me. I manage a confident, “I trust you.”
“I know you do, sweet girl. Now, let’s get this done,” he moves back to the door and opens it. As though an ant farm has been opened up, a group of three officers swarm in. Thankfully, they read my discomfort and stand against the far wall while Bradley takes one side of my bed and Douglas the other, forming a protective barrier.
“Your lawyer has advised us on how to speak with you. Instead of my normal approach to an interview, your lawyer suggested I keep it to facts,” an older gentleman says, not moving away from the wall. Without waiting, he continues. “Can I come near and show you a photo.”
“Of?” I ask, dropping my hand over my stomach to stop the rise of anxiety threatening to appear.
“An Alpha.” His eyes keep moving around, so I can’t read it as a challenge. His voice stays even, reinforcing that I can ‘trust’ him. “I’d like to see if you recognise him.”
