A/N:
I over-analyse things. Thinking about Alice's hair one day, and how it came to be that way, resulted in this chain of thought. Combine that with the weird angsty mood I sometimes get in with fics, and behold the result.
I'm fully expecting some flames. Perhaps it's not exactly canon, but it all makes sense in my head.
After I finished writing, I realised that it's kinda inspired by the movie 'The Magdelene Sisters', and the book 'An Angel at my Table', the autobiography of Janet Frame. So props go to both of those.
Warning: Dark themes.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
***Ribbons***
They have forever questioned my attachment to all things fashion. They don't understand -- they'll never understand what it's like to be me. Even now, I can hear them waiting downstairs, grumbling about how long I have been in the bathroom primping. They just don't understand.
Until James came strolling into our lives, my past was blank. As much as I strained to remember, all I came up with was darkness. After his revelation, however, I had more to go on. I had a starting point to research my history - research which has become an impetus for flashes of memory.
***
I am being brought out of the darkness. The roar of an engine makes me think that it is a vehicle or some kind. That is unusual in itself. I've only seen a handful of automobiles around town. Two large men, dressed in uniforms, are dragging me towards a large, foreboding brick building.
***
I stand, shivering and naked, in an empty room. Time stands still -- who knows how long I have been in here, or how long I'll remain. A guard enters, banging the door loudly. He pulls out what looks like a fireman's hose, and turns the water on. He sprays it directly at me, the ice cold stream feeling like knives being plunged into my fragile skin. I cry out in pain, but my cries go unheard.
Suddenly, the stream of water ceases, and my skin throbs with relief. I am staring in fascination at the redness of my flesh when I hear the door bang closed again. I am alone.
By the time the guard returns, I am almost dry. A slight buzzing is sounding in my brain. It disconcerts me. I hope that it is not a precursor to a vision. That is the last thing I need when I'm trying to prove myself sane.
I am broken from my examination of the sound by white powder being thrown over me. Lice powder, I presume. I splutter, and fall to the floor.
***
The metal door crashes closed in front of me. Three thin streaks of light are all that guides me. The simple brown sack of a dress they have clothed me in is much too large, and smells of urine. My skin is itching already after only wearing it a few minutes.
My hands grasp at my hair. My formally long flowing locks are gone, shorn unceremoniously from my head with a blunt blade. No care has been taken on length - some sections are close to four inches, and some are cut less than an inch from my scalp. I must look quite a sight.
I curl up into a ball, sobbing quietly. Yes. I am glad I don't have a mirror. For surely I look like a patient in an asylum.
***
I swipe my fingers quickly through the tub of hair-gel, and smooth it through the last section of hair, spiking it carefully. I push it slightly further back, hiding the small patch where my hair is practically non-existent. With one small bobby pin, the longer lock camouflages the area perfectly.
These recent decades have been relieving for me. Now, it was seen as normal, fashionable even, for a girl to have cropped hair. But for years after my change, I struggled daily with sideways looks. In the 40s, when every woman wanted to look like LaurenBecall, I resorted to wearing a wig -- and a rather unrealistic one at that. Throughout the years, I tried to convince myself that I didn 't care what some inconsequential humans thought of me. But deep down, not only did their judging looks cut me to the core, but I would become angry that Icouldn't just grow it out like anyone else.
I reach for the hair-spray, and create a larger hole in the ozone layer with the amount I spray over my creation. There is no way I will allow for my style to fall while at school. Not like it did when we were living in Maine. Who would have thought that teenage girls could affect a vampire in such a strong way? But yes, their torments still ring loudly through my picture perfect mind. Oh, how I wished I could just rip those petty little girls apart limb from limb.
"Come on, Alice!" Emmett calls from the living room. "We're going to be late."
I sigh at my reflection. "I'll be there in a minute," I yell back, knowing full well I could have spoken at a normal decibel, and they still would have heard me. The yelling, however, was cathartic.
I look over my outfit carefully - no more brown sack dresses for me. My white blouse has contrasting red stitching adorning it, and I smile. The perfect accessory. I scramble through my drawer of hair pieces, and pull out a long red ribbon. I tie it around my head like a headband, leaving the ends to trail down my neck. It sets off my blouse perfectly. Now, even if the hair spray fails, the bald patch will be covered by the ribbon. I push my shoulders back, confident in my appearance finally.
Footsteps approach, and the bathroom door creaks open slowly.
"Alice, darling? Are you okay?" Behind me is the only person in the world I have explained my obsession to. He understands completely my need to make up for the lost time I had, even before I really knew why I did it, and to never have to be reminded of the horrors I experienced in my long-gone human life.
"Yeah," I smile at him. "Nothing was sitting properly for a while there. I've fixed it now."
He nods sympathetically. "You look like a catwalk model," he croons.
I sigh once again. "Sure. And what happens in thirty years time when this look is passe? When it's like the thirties again, and short hair has to be perfect and even?" I hate that my past is such a large part of my future, and even more that I continue to dwell on it. Yet I can't stop myself.
Jasper's arms wrap around my waist, and he places a kiss on the ribbon just above my bald patch. "Huh... we could become hermits in the wilds of Canada somewhere, and stay at home, just you and me, until the fashion changes? Would that be so bad?"
I smirk at the intonation behind his tone.
"I've been through worse," I admit, and let my body relax into my husband.
"We'll work it out, honey. We always do."
He was right. With his support, my carefully constructed facade can hide my many insecurities with ease.