“Where are we?” I ask Green as we pull up to a tall apartment building, and I swing off his bike staring up. It has five floors, and I hope it has an elevator. A resident there who went and got groceries would have a hell of a time making those flights with their arms full.

“When I came to Florida, I had a place here. Now”—he dangles out some keys—“we have a place here.”

“No way!” Excitement bubbles through. The clubhouse is great and all, but I’m more than ready to get out. Mostly, I stay tucked away in his room except when I work with Princess or when Bristyl is around. But two weeks in a clubhouse with people always coming in and out is a bit much for me. I’m comfortable for the most part, but after having my own space for so long, I’m ready.

We haven’t talked about a place though, but it proves once again how Green watches me, knows what I need, and takes care of me. Loves me unconditionally. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of having in a man. Strange how people meet and the situations that bring them together. If I wouldn’t have gone to the rally, I never would have met Green. Yes, the situation is fucked up, and I’m not saying I’d ever want to go through it again. It’s about finding the light and shining the positive on it.

His grin is so damn sexy. “Yep. Had the brothers bring some of my old stuff out of storage, and we’re set.”

I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight. His heartbeat thumps in my ear, and the rhythm is music to my ears. “Thank you.”

“Baby, know the clubhouse wasn’t ideal for the past coupla weeks, but this place had someone in it. It’s not the same one I had, but similar. It’s now ours until you figure out what kind of house you want. Then we’ll move there.”

I feel like an ice cream cone on a hot day. “I love you, Green. So damn much.”

“Love you too. Let’s go check out our new place.”

Nothing ever sounded better. Another new start. The slate wiped clean and only the future to love each other.

* * *

“Hey!” I greet Green as he walks in the door covered with grease and smelling like an engine. The smell is like home. Him. Perfect.

He dips down placing a kiss on my lips. “Gotta clean up.” Green takes off down the hallway of our place while I stare at the computer screen.

I’m easing back into life. Online classes. Even being out around people, I’ll fully admit I’m skittish. Grocery stores, gas stations, restaurants… all of them are normal everyday things. Except when you’re not so ordinary and in a new world, but I’m trying.

Anne, who Green still doesn’t like and I can’t blame him, gave me the names of some therapists here in Sumner. Two were men, and they were out. I just feel more comfortable with women and luckily there was one. She had a waiting list, but with Anne’s help, I got in about three weeks after moving into our new apartment.

Margot Shaver and I have only had a few meetings, and we’re still feeling each other out. It’s hard to relive the story of what happened to me, but luckily Margot read all of Anne’s notes and didn’t put me through too much of it.

One thing we did discuss was school. Going back to classes every day and sitting in the classroom overwhelmed me. The thought of having my back to people in class and watching everyone’s movements didn’t appeal to me. She suggested online classes, and right now I’m enrolled in three. Everything I do is over the Internet, and it’s a great alternative until I can get my head screwed on straight with having lots of people around.

Even the clubhouse and being around all the people is too much. I meet Princess, do my thing, and then come back here. She always invites me to stay for lunch or something to keep me there, but it’s become a small joke that I decline.

Green comes into the living room, no shirt, sweats hanging off his hips, and a towel that he is rubbing all over his head. He’s utterly delectable. “Is it bad that I want to come over there and bite you?”

He removes the towel on a smile. “Long as you’re not biting my cock, we’re good.” The towel goes around his shoulders. Never thought that small movement would be hot, but hell it is. Who am I kidding? Anything this man does is hot, sexy, and beautiful at the same time.

Placing my finger on my chin and tapping it a couple of times, I say, “Hmmm. I was thinking about that actually.”

Green scoops me off the couch and sets my computer on the coffee table, then sits back down with me on his lap.

“What’d ya do today?” he asks, brushing my hair behind my ear. I fully admit to being self-conscious about my hair, but when he does sweet things like that, it warms me everywhere and the fear disappears.

“Studied for a test coming up next week and started my paper on Aphrodite, even though she was a bit devious bartering to be named the most beautiful woman. Who knows if she really was, but it’s been interesting reading about her.” I rest my head on his shoulder, my face in his neck, smelling his clean scent from the shower.

“Greek Gods, huh?” he starts. “Who needs an old god when you have me?” His fingertips find my stomach, and he starts to tickle me. I cry out with a smile as he doesn’t stop. We wrestle just a bit before he eases off.

“Didn’t say I wanted one of them. Just that I’m studying them.”

He grips my neck and pulls me in for a kiss. “Just makin’ sure you know who’s in your bed.”

“Like I’d ever forget.” We kiss like teenagers on their parents’ couch in the basement. Just feeling each other, loving each other. It’s one of my favorite parts of the day. And Green does this every day since we moved in here and he had to go back to work. I love it. I love him.

Everything feels right in the world, except maybe my hair.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” I ask Bristyl very timidly as she holds my hand, walking us into the Do or Dye Salon in town. A salon. With me. And my hair. I’m not sure about this one bit. I’ve thought about cutting it and dismissed it quickly because I don’t like anyone touching my head. It’s still a rule when I work with Princess, and Green has come to learn not to go there.

She squeezes my hand. “Yes.”

This is probably true, but I look like a busted up Barbie doll that got into one too many fights with a pair of scissors. Believe me, I performed enough ‘haircuts’ on my dolls when I was a kid that most ended up bald or with one lonely strand on their head.

I can hide the patching parts by pulling it back in a low ponytail, which has worked for a quite a while. But it’s growing out and getting harder to hide the shorter pieces sticking out. It’s been a couple of months since I came to Georgia, and I love it. Being with Green, going to school, and seeing my best friend a lot has been wonderful. Slowly, I’m coming into my own. Some days are good, some days are not so good. Some days the nightmares show up while others are peaceful and resting.

If I could erase it from my mind, that would be ideal, but it’s not possible.

“Come in!” a very flamboyant woman says, ushering us into the door and to a seat like she knew I was coming. My guess is Bristyl called her.

“I’m Lexa! And Bristyl has told me all about you!” She pulls out my ponytail then inspects my hair. Embarrassment floods me, and instantly I want to pull it back again and get the hell away from there. It’s hard enough coming out in public; then to be looked at like this, it’s too much. Not to mention the stares from the others in the place. Peopling isn’t my thing. It’s getting better, but not like this with my huge flaw like a spotlight on me.

I grip the chair. “Maybe we…”

“Ahh, ahh, ahh,” she says in a singsong voice. “You keep your little behind in my chair and let me work my magic!”

I look to Bristyl, who is smiling in encouragement at me, and all I want to do is get up and run away from this. Far, far away. Who says I can’t try cutting my own hair. The Barbies’ weren’t that bad. Oh hell, who am I kidding? Either this or buzz it, and I don’t want to do that because I will always have scars there.

Princess tells me every day that I need to be proud of them, and I’m working toward just being comfortable with them. Pride, I’m not sure will come.

Lexa is surprisingly gentle as she combs through the tangles, going bit by bit around my head. My reflection stares back at me in the huge mirror, and I see a woman who is trying desperately to get something good out of this life. I see a woman who fought to stay alive when she really just wanted to die. I see a woman who slept for weeks with absolutely no recollection of anything that happened. I see a woman who is determined.

The stylist grabs her scissors, the light reflecting off the blade. I flinch as they come close, remembering the knife that punctured me everywhere. Flashes go on repeat, and I try desperately to push them away. That isn’t my life.

“I’m sorry, dear, are you okay? You’ve turned as white as a sheet.”

Bristyl comes up, turning my head and getting eye level with me. “She’s just cutting your hair. She knows if she cuts any more than necessary, I’ll cut her.”

The woman laughs loudly. “Don’t I know it!”

Sucking in a deep breath and finding my resolve, I nod to her and watch as what’s left of my long locks fall to the floor. She has my chair turned now so I can’t see what she’s doing, but the feeling isn’t bad. If I’m being truly honest, there’s a bit of excitement there. Like this woman is getting rid of the physical reminder of what happened. It’s almost like a cleansing, like what Green did to my body.

As she snips away, Bristyl stays in my line of sight, and I feel great comfort from that. It could be minutes or hours I sit in the chair, I’m not sure. And quite frankly, I’m pretty sure I didn’t breathe the entire time. When the lady says, “Let’s take a look,” and turns my chair around, I feel that pit of the unknown dipping deep.

She turns my chair, and tears fall from my eyes. My hair is short, but about three to four inches in length. It’s styled in a way that looks super easy and makes all the mismatched pieces flow together, looking like they belong in those exact spots and this was planned.

“It’s gorgeous,” I say in awe, my hand gliding through the short locks but not feeling the patches. The soreness has gone away, but it’s still odd putting my fingers through it. Since it all flows, I’m not feeling the different lengths as I go. “Thank you.”

“Oh, dear! Anytime, anytime.” She pats my shoulder. “You give that hair some time and it’ll be just as long as it was before.”

The tears spill over my eyes. It’s like reclaiming another part of myself. Damn, I love it.