11
I wake to the sound of screaming.
My head shoots up from the pillow in fright. Aimee is sitting up in bed, both hands on her head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, my words filled with panic.
She moves her hands away from her head and turns to me, eyes drowning in tears.
It takes me a second to register—but then I see it.
The left side of her hair has been cut off.
My stomach roils when I see all the loose hair scattered on the pillow, quilt and bed sheets.
“What the f**k!” I mutter; too shocked even to console her.
Aimee leaps out of bed, hysterically. “We’re leaving!” she screams, throwing a handful of hair at the wall.
“Calm down, Aimee,” I say, following her out of bed. “Tell me what happened?”
“You know exactly what happened, Matt,” she sobs, storming towards the door. “This f
