50. 50 - Ryder
I jerk awake, my hand moving automatically to the spot where Zella should be.
It’s cold.
Awareness is immediate, and I swing my legs out of bed with a curse. The sound of running water comes from the bathroom, and I pull the door open, dread swarming me.
My heart constricts. “Little thief. What are you doing?”
Zella’s eyes flick to mine in the steamed mirror. “It has to go,” she rasps.
She savagely yanks another piece of hair. Tears track down her face, and I dart to the shower, turning off the hot water.
“Little thief. Princess.” I try to stop her, but she pulls away from me, ripping more hair out of her head.
She’s breaking my fucking heart. At this point she’s more hair than anything else, her cheeks sunken. She’s a walking shell of the Zella we knew before.
“Stop,” I say firmly. I cover her hands with mine, and she struggles, a sob breaking free from her chest as she weakly tries to pull away. When I don’t let go, she collapses into me, her tears soaking my chest. Carefully, I cradle my arms around her.
“Please,” I beg. I’ll pray to whoever the hell I need to to help her. “Talk to me, little thief. What’s going on?”
“I can’t look at it anymore,” she sobs, and as much as my heart breaks, it lifts, too. Because she sounds normal, not the zombie-fied Zella that flinches at shadows and weeps in her sleep.
“Okay,” I breathe. “You want it cut, we’ll cut it.”
I coax her out of the bathroom, and Maverick jerks awake in his chair. Enzo watches us, his eyes hooded, as I sit her down on the bed. She buries her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking and her hair loose around her face.
“Get me scissors,” I say over my shoulder, meeting Maverick’s eyes. He hesitates, but comes back with a pair in his hands.