IRIS
“I like it,” Zinnia says, bouncing a little on the end of my twin mattress. “It’s different, but good different.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, running a hand over the fine buzz of my hair.
By the time I returned to the attic the night before, the other girls had already fallen asleep.
Admittedly, this was somewhat on purpose.
I’d hidden in the bathroom, avoiding the mirror, until Violet had come demanding I leave so that she could shower.
She’d looked at me, with my newly shaved head, and smirked before shutting the door behind me.
I’d crept around the cabin for a while, hiding from everyone, not ready to acknowledge the change in my appearance, until the house fell silent.
Only then I snuck upstairs and curled up beneath my blanket.
It is morning now, though—the same time we rise every day—and, of course, the first thing my three roommates notice is my missing hair.
“What made you decide to do it?” Poppy asks. She’s fixing her own hair while we talk, pulling it up into a tight, curly ponytail on the top of her head.
I shrug. “It was getting too long. I got sick of it being in my way.”
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
“Ugh, I feel that,” Zinnia says. “I hate dealing with mine most days. Maybe I oughta shave it, too.”
Poppy laughs. “You ain’t brave enough to do that.”
“I am so!” Zinnia bounces up onto her feet, hands landing defiantly on her hips. “And I bet I’d look real good with a buzz cut, too.”
“I bet you’d find out you got a funny-shaped head,” Poppy retorts.
The sisters begin to bicker, tossing little jabs at each other while they dress for the day.
I turn to look at Rose, still sitting on her own mattress, knees pulled to her chest. She’s said nothing thus far, but her green eyes are on me.
My chest tightens, my insides squirming like a nest of snakes.
What if she thinks I’m ugly?
It’s a shameful thought. One that proves every point Sol made last night.
I have been far too attached to my hair.
It’s been a security blanket, but it had also been tied to my sense of self.
I’ve been more vain than I realized. So it’s good he asked me to cut it.
It’s good that I’m being forced to find my identity and self-worth without this one, small aspect of my appearance.
But still, I am afraid of how Rose—especially Rose—will look at me now. And I know that that’s wrong, because I shouldn’t see Rose as any different from the other girls. And yet …
Her expression is contemplative as she watches me, but otherwise she is unreadable. I shift nervously beneath the weight of those eyes and continue to run my hand over the soft fuzz on my scalp.
“I know it’s patchy,” I say, trying to point out the flaws before she can, as if that’ll make the pain of her judgment any easier. “I’ve never used clippers before. It— I know it doesn’t look great.”
Rose cocks her head. “I don’t think it looks bad at all,” she says. “Just gonna take some getting used to.”
“Yeah. It, um, it didn’t really look like me in the mirror when I was done.”
She grimaces. “I’m sure that must be strange. Especially to feel that way after you made the decision to do it.”
It’s not a question, but it is. She suspects the lie. And the fact that I’ve been dishonest with her causes the vise around my heart to grow tighter. Still, I have no choice but to nod.
And, in a way, this was my decision. I could have said no. I could have walked away from the trial, from Sol, from this home and this family. But I decided to cut my hair instead. I made the choice.
“Well, you still look like you to me,” she says, stretching her leg out to nudge me with her socked foot. “You’re still beautiful.”
A sudden rush of heat fills me, warming my cheeks and causing my palms to bead with sweat. I want to turn away, to hide my blush from her, but I find I’m unable to break the eye contact. Like Medusa, Rose’s gaze has turned me to stone, pinning me to the spot.
“Th-thank you,” I manage to say with an embarrassing stammer.
I’m not sure how long we remain there, eyes locked on each other in tense silence. But the spell is eventually broken by Zinnia, ending her squabble with Poppy to turn and face me.
“Iris?”
“Yeah?” I say, quickly snapping my gaze away from Rose to look at the younger girl. “What’s up?”
“I was thinking, now that you changed your hair, do you want me to do a new drawing for you?” she asks. “To replace the one I did for your anniversary?”
“No,” I say, before I’ve even really considered the question. But I feel a sudden sense of possessiveness over the pencil drawing stored beneath my mattress. I clear my throat. “No, I wanna keep the original. Thank you, though.”
Zinnia shrugs. “Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind though.”
But I know that I won’t.
I don’t have access to any photos or videos of myself anymore.
Sol encourages us to destroy them when we first arrive at the cabin, the first step to letting go of our painful and troubled pasts.
Zinnia’s drawing is the only image I have of myself the way I see me.
The way the people I loved before everything fell apart knew me.
And even though I know that it’s wrong—that if Sol knew about the drawing, he’d likely tell me to let it go, too—I can’t bear the thought of losing it.
There’s a loud series of coughs somewhere below us, followed by slow, sluggish footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Violet appears in the doorway. Her skin looks flushed, and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her arms are wrapped around herself, like she’s trying to keep warm.
“Y’all are taking way too long to get moving this morning,” she scolds, the impact slightly undermined by the chattering of her teeth.
“Sorry,” Poppy says, despite her being the one of us who is the closest to being ready for the day. She’s already dressed, just searching through our piles of clean clothes, clearly hopeful she’ll be lucky enough to find matching socks. “We got distracted by Iris’s new haircut.”
“Hardly an excuse when there ain’t food on the table yet,” Violet says.
“You okay, Violet?” I ask. “You don’t look well.”
“Real kind of you to point it out,” she snaps before immediately having to turn away and cough into her elbow.
After a couple of minutes, she lets out a shaky breath and looks at us.
“Now hurry up. Lily’s sick, too, so, Zinnia and Rose—y’all gotta cook breakfast. And, Poppy, we got a bunch of laundry that needs to get done today. ”
“I’m on it,” Poppy says.
“I’ll help you,” I tell her.
“No, you won’t,” Violet cuts in. “You and Sol are heading into town. Right after breakfast.”
“Lucky,” Zinnia says, pouting as she pulls Rose’s red hoodie on. It’s too big for her, too, though it doesn’t look nearly so long on the girl’s lanky form.
I stare at Violet, confused. “I’m not old enough to go into town,” I say, as if she doesn’t know this. “If I get caught, I could get sent back—”
“I’m aware.” Violet’s voice is raspy from the cough, but it doesn’t hold the same relaxing, tingly quality that Rose’s does.
Instead it’s like a cheese grater scraping against her throat—and then my skin as the harshness is turned on me.
“But neither Lily nor I are in any condition to go. So you’re going. ”
“I wanna go into town,” Zinnia whines. “I’ll go if Iris won’t.”
“No” is the only response Violet gives before she’s coughing again. Then, face still in her elbow, she gestures at me. “You got shopping to do. Wear something with big pockets.”
Rose glances at me, one dark eyebrow raised.
But I don’t meet her gaze. I’m too busy staring at Violet’s hunched, retreating back as she leaves the attic.
I have no idea what to say or think or do.
As far as I knew, leaving the hollow wasn’t even going to be an option for a while.
And, unlike Zinnia, I’ve been mostly fine with that.
On the bright side, though, I’m not thinking about my hair anymore.