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"What were you thinking?!"
Lucy’s past embarrassment. She doesn't hide from Norrie who climbs through her bedroom window almost tripping on her way in.
"I wasn't exactly doing much thinking, Norrie.” Lucy muttered, “And be quiet!”
"We’ll that's fucking obvious." Norrie laughed quietly. The girl hastily pulls off her shoes before approaching Lucy. The bed creaks as she crawls on, sitting on her knees in front of Lucy.
Norrie gently takes the younger girl's head in her hands, twisting it to the side to survey the damage.
Lucy's usual long, frizzy hair now sat at different lengths. The cuts are choppy and angled. It’s… Something. Thankfully, Lucy did not touch her bangs.
“What did you use?” Norrie marveled at a certain section where bits appeared to be sawed through, “A kitchen knife?”
Lucy rolls her eyes. “It’s not that bad.”
She wraps her hands around Norrie’s wrists, subconsciously thumbing the veins. She ignores the way her cheeks burn.
“Whatever you say sweets” Norrie teases softly. “Please, never go into hairdressing.”
Despite it all, Lucy jokes back. She fights hard to keep the serious frown on her face. “But it's my life’s dream!”
She tries so hard, but Norrie's cackle is contagious and Lucy tends to laugh when she's nervous.
“You poor thing” Norrie cooed. Her hands slide from Lucy’s hair to her cheeks, squeezing them together.
Before she pulls back completely, Norrie’s movement falters when she finally focuses on Lucy’s face. Her teasing demeanor immediately faded.
Lucy lets out a sigh. She knows her eyes must still be a bit swollen, her entire face pinker than usual. But, she had hoped it wouldn't be noticeable.
With Norrie’s wrists still in her hands, she slightly pulls them down and turns her face before Norrie gets a better view.
“It’s alright.” Lucy shoos away unsaid words away, “Really.”
She hesitates to look back up at Norrie but does so anyway.
While Norrie was the most outspoken person she knew, Norrie never needed words to reach Lucy. She had a way of saying everything she needed to with the tilt of her head, or the scrunch of an eye. And vice versa.
Are you gonna tell me?
Norrie doesn't let up, her face firm but eyes soft. Lucy bites her cheek and doesn't let herself look away.
Do I even need to?
There’s a stretch of silence before Norrie lets a long breath out through her nose and looks away. With a sad smile, she slides off the bed, standing at the edge.
"Come on Luce,” Norrie reaches out and pets Lucy's bangs—a habit of hers, “let’s fix you up."
Lucy takes her hand as they tiptoe outside into the hallway. Downstairs, they hear Lucy’s mother snoring as the tv plays on. They walk a few paces before reaching the bathroom.
Bits of Lucy’s hair are discarded on the ground and counter from before, and the kid scissors lay in the sink. Lucy brushes some hair off the toilet seat before straddling it, facing the wall.
She feels the warmth as Norrie comes up behind her. The girl gently pats Lucy’s shoulders, “Straighten up.”
Lucy sits up with a small chuff hoping to crack through the intimate tension, but all humor leaves her body when Norrie’s hands touch her.
Norrie’s fingers are nimble from years of making salt bombs and comb through her hair with a gentleness Lucy seldom knows.
It cracks through her, and the past few hours come flashing back.
“I don't want to!” She remembers yelling. “I already risk my life doing regular jobs. I’m not doing nightwatch! Silas just died! Jo’s still in the hospital!”
Her mother’s hand had slammed on the kitchen table, it echoed throughout the whole house. She had wanted to run away, but she didn't.
“Yes. You. Are.” She gritted, “What good are you if you’re not even bringing enough to buy dinner? Am I supposed to take care of everything in this house?”
Lucy fought to hold her tongue, frustrated tears brimmed her waterline.
“You’re just like your father,” her mother continued. “taking what you want and giving sod-all in return. I do not care if you don’t want to, you don't get to choose. You are my daughter and you will do as I say or so help me God…”
Lucy didn’t know what to do with the morbid helplessness that grew in her chest. She needed to do something. Just once, she wanted to make a decision for herself. Do something for herself.
If Norrie notices (she knows she does), Lucy’s thankful that she doesn't say anything about the tear that slips down her cheek.
Instead, the older girl continues to rake her fingers through the strands for longer than both of them know is needed.
"I'll take it up right above your shoulders.” Norrie whispers finally, tracing them with her hands “That should even it all out."
Lucy hums, eyes still closed.
Unlike what Lucy had done before, Norrie takes her time with her hair, each movement thought out. She cuts her hair sections at a time, pinching parts of her hair between her pointer and middle finger carefully to keep things even.
Unlike what Lucy was unable to do on her own, with each snip Lucy feels the weight in her chest let up. As strands fall to the bathroom floor, so does her anger, her frustration; her hurt.
Lucy reels at the feeling, letting out a heavy sigh.
Before she knew it, Norrie was gently nudging her to turn around.
Lucy wipes her eyes with a sniff and faces Norrie still straddling the toilet seat. Lucy's gaze stays on Norrie's face as the girl takes a small step back to regard her work so far.
"Almost done," She tells her. Lucy gives a weak grin.
Lucy continues staring as Norrie continues snipping away. With her eyes, she traces the slope of the girl's nose and the arch in her top lip. She commits every freckle to memory, making up her own constellations to come back to.
When Norrie catches her eyes as she finishes up, Lucy doesn't look away.
You’re staring.
I know.
Norrie tucks a strand behind Lucy’s hair before pulling her up to her feet.
Though taller, Norrie still needs to peek from behind Lucy’s head to see their reflections in the small bathroom mirror.
“What do you think?” She prods. “I think it suits you.”
Lucy pretends to be pondering her new haircut and not completely immersed in the way Norrie's cheek presses against the side of her head. Her hands twitch at her sides.
“I like it.” She says.
When she actually takes herself in, a soft gasp leaves her lips. The girl staring back at her looks… like her. Really her.
“I really like it,” Lucy says again, sincerely. She catches Norrie’s eyes in the mirror with a smile.
Norrie's arms snake around her and Lucy turns in her hold. Her head fits into the dip of Norrie’s shoulder like it was moulded for her. She inhales warm spice and hints of citrus.
“Stay over?” Lucy whispers, “It’s past curfew and mum won’t be up till noon, the earliest.”
The older girl presses a kiss to her temple, “Okay.” Lucy wants to chase after her when she pulls away.
First, they clean up. Lucy brushes the stray hairs off of her shirt and Norrie grabs a broom to sweep the cut hair into a pile.
While Norrie dumps the dustbin, Lucy returns to her room and grabs a sleep shirt and shorts for her—ones they keep here for sleepovers. Lucy takes the wall side, a known traveler in her sleep. Her legs tangle with Norrie’s as they slide under the covers.
The bed is small, but that's how they like it.
Like just any other night, they lay facing each other. Lucy watches Norrie watching her, her eyes boring into hers.
“Thank you,” She whispers.
Norrie smiles, sliding her hand onto Lucy’s cheek, they snuggle closer to touch foreheads.
“I love you too.”
They shift so Lucy's comfortably tucked into Norrie's chest. She draws random shapes into the older girl's shoulder, and Norrie twists a strand of Lucy’s hair with her finger.
Lucy, feeling lighter than ever, falls asleep soundly.