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“And… there! Finished.”
With the last twist on the silvery-white hair that seems to curl in all the right ways in his hands, and putting a cheap tie on it, Ethan shifted slightly from his seat on the stool, checking his work on the other's hair. Alexander sat there, motionless for a moment, before reluctantly turning his head to look at the cop. His expression—unreadable as ever—remained stoic for a moment or two, before he slowly stood up.
“...How do I look?”
He mumbled, observing as his long hair that reached his lower back, fell with grace the moment he straightened up. The loose braid felt comfortable in his head—not suffocating nor irritating in his scalp—just gentle, as one is with Ethan's hands.
“You look great! Now your hair won't be in the way when you eat.”
Truth be told, Ethan does have a point. Every time Alexander eats on his table in the cafeteria during the afternoons, his hair seems to act like a curtain that covers his face—effectively making a mess when he eats. Ethan's solution? No. Not just give Alexander a hair tie and move along with their day. Instead, he offered to do it for him. Ethan brought a pack of hair ties—not the one with offensive features that can potentially cause harm—but one that's just enough to efficiently keep Alexander's hair from his face most of the time.
“... How…”
Alexander paused for a moment, as if testing the waters; seeing just how much he can ask the other before enough is enough.
But then he remembers that it's Ethan.
Ethan wasn't like any of the officers that watch over his cell.
“Yes?”
Ethan looked up at the other, his posture relaxed in his seat, even as Alexander stood towering above him like a potential threat.
“... How do you know how to braid hair…?”
Alexander finally asked after a moment, and saw just how fast Ethan's expression faltered. That happy-go-lucky smile that seemed to charm people into letting their guard down when he sees them as harmless—at least by conclusion—suddenly becoming crooked enough that you see that glint of something other than calm composure, reflecting in those blue eyes.
A beat. With Alexander thinking he ruined the mood. If he messed up, and had to deal with another officer that isn't Ethan and they're actual assholes, he might just lose his mind. His stability—that small percentage he had of peace with the officer was genuine. So if he lost him, he might lose his chances of getting out of that cage earlier than expected.
He had to apologize and get back on his good side.
“I- I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that, I just-”
“I have a niece… back in my older brother's house.”
Alexander tensed up for a moment, before his body—which seemed to react like taut wire preparing for danger—slowly relaxed, with his gaze meeting the cop's figure as he fixed the small, clear plastic box, where a bunch of other hair ties is neatly organized.
“When… When I was still living there… I learned to take care of her hair. Her mother… died early, so no one else can teach her those things.”
Ethan then looked up to meet Alexander's eyes, his smile's brightness and determination recovering slowly—even if it wasn't as fiery as before.
“It's been awhile since I saw her… I'm sure her hair’s grown longer by now! So, when I come back to see her, I want to make sure my ability to braid never rusts so I can do it for her again.”
Alexander's eyes never left Ethan's. There was always something in them that made him not want to. Something that made him see himself in the other. Like an unspoken understanding. Their eyes, despite the same shade of blue—reflects on each other without washing each other out. Like when the ocean meets the sky, or when what's beneath the Ice is water that keeps it afloat.
He sees the other as the other sees him.
After the silence that felt like forever rests between them comfortably, Alexander finally turned away —his hair swaying with him as if it had a personality of its own. And with a subtle smile, he finally replied;
“... So, I'm just a lab rat in replacement of her?”
There was a subtle tint of playfulness behind the deep baritone of his voice as he spoke, one from his quietness, and the other for who he truly was. He left Ethan in a stuttering mess as he denied it too quickly—attempting to defend himself and failing on multiple tries. Still, Alexander gave him time to simultaneously recuperate from his Trial-and-error, while he himself went to his cell's small, compact bathroom—to see how he looked in the small mirror inside, that was purposely placed in a frame with no sharp features to avoid being used in violence.
Ethan's right.
He did look great.
And as Ethan's voice blurred in the background, Alexander found himself wondering…
Would the officer continue doing his hair in the future up until the last of his time in prison?
That was 5 years ago.
And Alexander hated how bitter it tastes in his tongue now.
Alexander staggered inside his bathroom, his body heavy with grief. Standing in front of the mirror, his gaze drilled daggers into his own reflection with something close to anger. Not just to Ethan, but to himself.
How could he have let that happen…?
How could he have allowed himself to trust someone? especially one who's meant to be opposed to his upbringing?
Of course he can't trust a goddamn cop.
It all made sense now.
Ethan Collins wasn't a genuine man.
He was pitying him all along.
He hated it. Hated everything about it. Hated how his head hurt at the idea that he allowed a man like Ethan to touch him with faux gentleness that couldn't even reach his heart—even if he tried.
Thinking about it now…
Ethan's a pretty good liar.
The smile, his softness, it was a charm no one would think twice to trust. It was a trap, wrapped in righteousness and heroism of what makes him a saint.
He didn't see Alexander as a friend, nor an equal.
He's seeing him as someone below him. Pitying him of what he was now and the monster he's become. After all, it's easier to be gentle when someone can’t leave. The world saw Alexander as a threat, and Ethan knew it was a weakness. So he exploited it by trust. And that trust was a collar on Alexander's neck to keep him behaved. Ethan only grew close to him to use him. For what? A promotion? To show the world that he could tame a murderer?
It doesn't matter.
The scissor felt warm in his grip from the heat searing through his hand. The sharp, metallic part of the scissor reflected him like a mock—or maybe temptation. Like an urge to do something… to inflict. Destroy. Hurt.
The sickly paleness of his body now makes him hyperaware of what he's capable of doing. The dark bags under his eyes, the redness and swelling that surrounded icy blue orbs…
He looks like a corpse. How long has he been crying?
“You think he's your friend?”
Andrew's voice played on his head like a broken recorder. Parasitical. Haunting. Like a memory that wouldn't fade even if he tried. No matter how much he shook his head, no matter how much he cried it out… Alexander couldn't shake his voice in his head.
Andrew was just looking out for him, or at least that's what he'd like to believe. All his life, Andrew only wanted what's best for him. Every prison visit, every advice… It's Andrew who looked out for him while he's inside. He'd never lie to him or let him down.
So… why?
Why is his voice eating him from inside out?
“I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Alexander.”
“Ethan was never a good friend. He cut me off for no reason in the past, too.”
“It's just who he is. He likes to see people below him. Befriends those who need him, and likes a sense of control. When you're finally capable of standing up on your own, he'll see you as a nuisance—a threat. For your own sake, distance yourself from him. I don't want you to get hurt or be like him.”
“You know I'm doing this for your own good… right?”
Why? Why is it so hard to believe…?
Why can't he wrap his head at the thought that everything about Ethan was never truly real?
6 years. 6 whole years of co-existence with Ethan.
How could he have not noticed?
His hands moved in a daze of grief, dancing with exhaustion from all the sleepless nights he could only silently cry on.
And worse?
He could still feel it.
His hands, fingers in-between Alexander's hair as he combed it, intertwining skin through his scalp. The softness of his callused fingers—a reflection of hard work for his career, a passion that bloomed from a seed planted in his head from an offer of stability—against the white hair of a man with blood that stains their hands, yet Ethan…
Ethan held him with the same hands that gave him nothing but hope. A cell that felt warm, almost like home. Stories from the outside world that made him feel like he's in it. And interactions that made him feel normal, instead of a murderer or a prisoner.
So yeah, maybe it is hard to believe.
But the evidence was solid—a slap in the face of betrayal wrapped in cold concrete and tongue full of lies.
And just as easily as trust is broken, and ties cut short,
Alexander found himself cutting what's left of what haunts him—the last bit of connection between his head and the reason it felt like it's on fire.
The sound of the scissors’ metal overlapping in a snip echoed through the bathroom walls. His hands trembled as he grabbed a fist of his hair and cut it impulsively—clumps and clumps of them falling off the blue tiles like a feather swaying in the wind of the wings that flies freely. His eyes pooled with overwhelming tears, his hands becoming more urgent and his movements becoming more careless.
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
“Your hair is so soft, Alex.”
Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
“Take good care of it once you're out… okay?”
Every sensation that once felt gentle, now felt like a crawling parasite inside his head—nails digging into his scalp like it physically wants to crack his skull open and stitch itself onto him forever, a memory that will never not let him go.
Make it stop.
‘He didn't betray you. You betrayed us.’
Alexander's reflection was like a critic of his own—a demon he'll never win against. The mirror glared back at him, even as he froze midway cut… Emotions overwhelming his head—Targeting his biggest fear, Insecurities, and weaknesses he never realized existed.
‘Do you never learn… Alex?’
Stop it.
‘I've always been with you… in your head, in your mind… ‘
‘I thought you would've learned better by now.’
Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
‘You look at me with hate, but you don't do anything to shut me up. All you do is hurt us, disappoint yourself, and blame people for what you do.’
‘And now… you're free from that cage.’
‘But you'll never truly be free from the hurt you caused yourself.’
‘All because you let that happen.’
“FUCKING STOP!”
The sound of glass shattering was abrupt and loud, echoing almost in every corner of the spacious villa. Alexander's fist hurts, the fragments of the mirror flying everywhere for just that mere second, but his thoughts quieted down, and his reflection wasn't looking at him with raw anger anymore.
Just tired.
Just swollen red eyes that makes him feel even more pathetic, and even more shameful.
How long is he going to cry for a man that pretended to care?
“Xander!? Is everything alright?”
The familiar voice of a younger man replied at the sound of his outbursts, making him feel even worse.
What is he doing…?
He's free now.
He should be spending time with his family.
“Xander— O-oh…”
He turned to face the voice that now felt closer. Closer than he'd ever wish he was.
“Blake…”
“Oh my god!”
Blake practically ran in big steps just to get to Alexander faster, the hall separating him from the bathroom felt longer at the sight of the other's state, even when it was just a few feet apart.
“Xander! W-what happened to you!?”
His voice cracked, but his eyes never showed tears. He couldn't. It'll hurt the people around him if he tries. And Alexander could only wonder how much this poor boy in front of him was repressing, for all the worry he had caused him.
Was he ever a good guardian…?
“ … I'm sorry.”
And just like that, Alexander crumbled. He fell on his knees with a loud thud, his heart heavy as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He's tired… he's tired of waking up everyday only to cry. He's tired of looking at the mirror and not being able to see his reflection without feeling the need to be ashamed of what he did to himself. He's tired of feeling like a burden to everyone around him, that even his mind continuously criticizes him in a way that kills him inside. He's tired of not being able to forgive himself for what he did to a man that deserved it. And most of all… he's tired.
He's tired of trusting the wrong man with the words he wanted to hear.
“You didn't mean to hurt anyone. You just had to. You didn't deserve this.”
And now… he can never believe it again.
He will always… be a murderer. No matter what he does.
“Xander…?”
Alexander opened his eyes, not even realizing he closed them. He slowly looked up, feeling Blake's heartbeat on his cheek. How long has he been on the floor, in Blake's arms?
“Blake…”
“I'm here…”
Blake smiled, the one that trembled. And Alexander could only feel bad for making him feel worried sick about him when he knew damn well Blake can't cry without consequences. He could all but hug him tighter, relishing on the warmth of the only boy he knew he could trust freely. Despite the broken parts of him that says never again.
“I'm sorry… Blake…”
“Shh… I'm just glad you're okay…”
His last words had a broken tone—a whimper betraying his worry in the mask of relief. What if Blake thought he was going to die? He had probably worried him so much…
“Let's just- Let me see your hand, okay? You're injured.”
Like a reminder that Alexander is still of flesh, that was the only time his knuckles started hurting. Maybe it was from the haze of his mental breakdown, or maybe it's because his internal pain overrides his physical pain, but Alexander didn't feel his body until Blake mentioned it on cue. He feels numb, and tired. Like the calm after the storm. But he knew it's only a matter of time before the next one comes along.
After a while of excruciating minutes that felt suffocating for them both, The two found a stray of stability amidst, and recovered from the horrifying situation they had just experienced in the moment. Blake tended Alexander's injuries with shaky hands that reflected his own inner turmoil of control. Alexander's left cheek and a side near the corner of his lips didn't escape the small but sharp broken pieces of glass that flew when he punched the wall. Blake made sure to handle them all with care, even if the sting was inevitable on its own.
“Xander… your hair…”
Alexander turned his head, and was met face to face with his reflection through the now broken mirror with web-shaped cracks. His hair was a disaster, gone was the long hair a certain cop used to adore for its softness as silk. But so was the feeling like his scalp was a bunch of sensitive nerves being cut off one by one. It was a moment of relief, even if it was ever short-lived.
“That's okay, Xander… I think you look amazing.”
Blake placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, reverent and caring. His smile was reassuring, but to Xander, it felt forced—for his own good. Still, he could only sigh heavily, his mind barely registering anything through his emotional state. Everything felt unreal at the moment, and his mind couldn't comprehend anything anymore. Not the comfort, not the Betrayal he feels, not the weakness he showed, nor the cop he once trusted. All he wanted at that moment was to lay in bed, and not wake up until he's ready to face the world again.
But alas, how cruel the world is.
Not everything you wish can come true.
And amidst the now silent mind of Alexander, only uncertainty remained.
Because he doesn't really care how he looks at the moment.
It's the dread of knowing his past will return to haunt his mind again.
And he'll cry, and hurt, and scream, and allow his own head to punish him over and over…
But until then… he could do nothing but wait til’ it arrives.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day after tomorrow… maybe later.
So… even if it sounds pathetic…
“ … I don't know.”
He'll just have to wait for another one of his mind’s hell to arrive.