And here is part two.

I get out of bed at some ungodly hour after another night of no sleep. Maybe if Dimitri were here it would have been different. I thought about getting up and crawling into his bed about a million times, but I didn't want to risk waking him up.

I walk to the bathroom, glancing at a clock on the way.

5:18 AM.

Ugh.

I turn the shower faucet on. Hopefully a hot shower will not only wake me up and keep me awake, but also help release the tension in my muscles. I take my clothes off and get into the shower, letting the scolding hot water work its magic. After a few minutes of just standing there under the stream I grab some shampoo and start lathering my head with the jasmine scented goodness.

It only takes a few seconds for me to break down and cry.

My hair.

My beautiful hair.

It's started.

I've known for a while. The signs have all been there. The hair on my pillow when I get up in the morning; the hair in the drain after my shower.

It's never been this bad before.

Clumps of hair are just falling out as I wash my hair and rinse it.

It's time. I can't hide this anymore. I can't deny it, either. It's time for it to go.

Looks I really am going to be showing off my marks after all.

I finish crying and get out of the shower, putting on some random clothes I pull from my bag, and finish getting ready. For the last time I brush my long, perfect hair, trying not to pull too much out in the process. I put on my jacket, throw my hair up into a hat, and I sneak out of my room careful not to wake up my Russian in the next room.

The shops at Court have really weird hours. If Moroi are awake, then all the businesses are usually open. I stop in a café and buy water, asking the guy behind the counter for directions to the salon. I find it easily enough; it's just in the front of the next building over. Not to my surprise there are quite a few Moroi women sitting around inside waiting for some kind of hair or nail treatment. They've just got to get that done before their long and busy day.

I walk up to the counter as an attractive guy walks behind it. He isn't anywhere near as attractive as Dimitri, but he's very nice to look at. "What can I do for you?" He asks me, flashing a big grin in the process.

Breathe, Rose. It's just a haircut. You can do this. "I need a haircut," I inform the man. "I was just wondering if I could get penciled in for an appointment today."

He turns to the computer on the counter and presses some keys on the keyboard. "I have an opening right now, actually, if you're interested." He smiles at me again.

"Yeah. That'll work." I smile at him, just because he's being friendly to me. I think I need a friend right about now.

"I'm Ambrose, by the way," he tells me as he leads me towards a salon chair.

I take off my jacket and put it on an extra chair. "I'm Rose." I take the stupid hat off and place it on the jacket.

"It's nice to meet you, Rose." I sit in the chair and he puts that weird cape thing on me. Breathe, lungs, just breathe. "Your hair is so beautiful," he mutters to himself. "How short do you want to go? Just a couple inches? Or…?"

"Shave it."

His eyes widen. "Excuse me…?"

I point to my head. "Shave it. All of it."

"Why?"

I can't say the words. Not even to a total stranger. I run my fingers through my hair, collecting a large clump of hair. "It's either shave it or let it all fall out."

I'm waiting for the inevitable look of pity to come crashing onto his face, but it never does. In fact, the smile on his face just gets bigger. "I will make you look fantastic."

My heart starts to race as he washes my hair in the sink. By the time he has it up in a ponytail I have to internally scream at my lungs to remind them to work. Ambrose, of course, notices this. "You're going to be fine, Rose. You'll look stunning no matter what." He even winks at me and I can't help it but laugh. "Do you want to save your hair? A lot of people who can get wigs made of their own hair. You have enough here, you should be able to get a decent wig."

"I don't need a wig." And I don't. Besides, it'd never stay on anyway. "Can it be donated to someone who does?"

He keeps smiling in his reassuring way. "Of course."

He starts distracting me with small talk so I don't even notice when he starts cutting. I let him distract me; otherwise I know I'll be a total mess. No one needs to see me like that, especially not strangers. His distractions work until he gets the electric trimmer out.

There is no going back now. It's happening.

Why am I so scared?

Ambrose hesitates. "I can-"

"Just do it." I close my eyes so I don't have to watch.

A little while later he says, "I'm done." I open my eyes.

I'm bald.

I can… I can live with that. After all, it's just hair, right? Who cares? Not me.

If I don't care, then why do I feel the need to cry?

"What do you think?" Ambrose asks as he takes the cape thing off. He looks as if he genuinely needs my approval.

I smile at him. "It looks fantastic. Thank you."

He grins back at me as he walks me out. "How much do I owe you?" I ask, grabbing my wallet in the process.

"It's on the house, Rose. That smile on your face is good enough."

"No. I want-"

"Your money is no good here. But, if you really want to do something, you can have dinner with me tonight."

"Tonight?" I try to raise my eyebrow and like always, I fail. "You want me to go to dinner with you tonight?"

"I do believe that's what I said. Yes."

I would never consider that in a million years. He's nice and all, but… no. "My plane leaves tonight."

He raises his eyebrow effortlessly. "Lunch, then?"

"Can't. I've got a thing." The look he gives me kind of reminds me of Adrian. "Victor Dashkov's trial's today."

Something clicks in his head. "You're from St. Vlad's."

"Yeah." It gets kinda awkward so I turn to leave. I put a bill on the counter and he refuses it. Why do men have to be so damn stubborn? "It's your tip. Bye, Ambrose. And thanks."

He laughs. "Bye Rose."

I put that stupid hat back on and leave.

There's something outside my door.

I pick it up, not even noticing what it is, and go inside. I open the connecting door and peek into Dimitri's room, only to find him gone. I go back into my own room and realize it's almost seven. The trial starts at eight. It's time to get ready.

But I have nothing to-

Wait.

I look at what was outside my door, shocked to find an outfit fit for a Guardian. I don't know whose it is or who left if for me, but I'm thrilled.

I'm a Guardian.

A real Guardian.

This may be my only chance to wear something like this.

I stare at it, trying to fight off any emotions that pop into my head. It takes a few minutes, but finally I get rid of those thoughts.

I'll fight it. I will wear one of these again, only next time it will be mine. It will be tailored for me.

I can beat this. I will beat this.

I have to.

Excitement fills me again, pushing out my depressing mood. But it only lasts for so long.

I put on the clothes left for me but they're way too big. The pants won't even stay up and the shirt is more like a dress. Don't even get me started on the tent like jacket.

I guess I've lost more weight than I thought.

I take the borrowed clothing off, leaving it in a pile on the bathroom floor, and look at myself in the mirror.

This can't be me.

It looks like me, but it can't be.

I start at my face. The only difference from before is the color. I'm as pale as a Moroi. Then there's you know… my lack of hair. It doesn't look so bad. In fact, I kind of like it. It's a statement. It's a movement. It's beautiful.

But the rest of me isn't.

I move my eyes down and gasp. Once I was a goddess. A perfectly healthy looking goddess graced with the perfect curves. Now… now I'm definitely not that. My ribs are profoundly showing. There are a few random bruises here and there.

This isn't healthy.

Or beautiful.

How did I let myself get this way?

How did I not notice this?

I look at the pile of clothes in an attempt not to cry. I see a little piece of paper by the door.

Weird.

I guess whoever left the outfit left a note.

I pick it up and read it.

Wear your hair up.

Four words.

Four little words.

I never would have imagined that four little words could break me. I guess you do learn something new every day.

"Roza," he asks as he stands on the other side of the door, "please tell me you're in here." I don't move from the floor. "Roza?" I'm not moving. "I'm going to open this door whether you want me to or not." I don't even blink.

The door handle turns.

I can feel my heart racing.

The door swings open. He's standing there dressed in black and his duster. He looks at me and I'm waiting for the moment he runs away. I bring my knees closer to my chest absentmindedly.

He doesn't run.

I guess it's time. "I have cancer." I wait for the look of pity or the sound of a shattering heart.

Nothing happens.

He comes into the bathroom, an average look on his face and sits next to me; just like this were any other day. I put on a fake smile and hand him his note, which I still had in my hand. "I got this a little too late," I joke poorly, looking down to the floor. I know he loved my hair just as much as I did. My eyes fill with stupid tears again. Why am I always crying?

His voice is so soft I think I imagine it. "Roza." I ignore him. He shouldn't see me like this. No. He takes my hand in his and quickly says something in Russian. "Roza, look at me." His voice was soft, but demanding. It was something I had to obey. I look at him and all I see is the love in his eyes. He caresses my cheek with his hand and leans forward to kiss me. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." I start crying again, but this time wasn't due to self-pity. This time was the fault of the sweetest Russian guy I have ever met. He wipes my tears away. "Don't cry."

I somehow manage a genuine smile before kissing him. He gives me his beautiful grin and for that moment I'm okay. Nothing else really matters except his wonderful grin. I put my arm on his leg and look into his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Roza." I rest my head on his shoulder, suddenly feeling tired. I'm actually surprised that didn't happen sooner. Dimitri wraps his arms around me. "Why are you only in your underwear?" he asks.

In all honesty, I kind of forgot I wasn't wearing clothes. It's been a long day. "The clothes didn't fit me."

"What?"

I move the pile of clothes with my foot. "The Guardian friendly clothes someone left me for the trial. They didn't fit. I sort have… lost some weight."

Dimitri moves one of his arms to get a better view of my body, which won't help him since my knees are still up to my chest. "Please don't-"

"Roza, let me see."

"Promise not to make a big deal out of it."

"I'm not going to-"

I glare at him. "Promise!"

He sighs. "I promise."

I move my knees and watch his reaction. He frowns, but doesn't say anything. At least not verbally.

His eyes give him away, like always.

"I-"

I interrupt him. "I know. We'll talk about it later." He nods before standing up. "Where are you going?"

He helps me up. "I'm going to go get you some clothes." He starts to smirk. "Unless you want to go like this. I for one wouldn't mind."

I laugh a little. "But Adrian might."

Dimitri's face falls. "Clothes it is." I laugh again, a little harder, as I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. He grins down at me before leaving.

He knows.

He doesn't know much, but he knows.

He knows and he stayed.

I grin at the thought as I walk back into my room. I glance at the clock. Twenty minutes. We've got twenty minutes.

Can I handle this?

I hope so.