Ashes Under Another Name

Monday, February 3rd, 2020 At the start of it all, I couldn't face the mirror. Every time I looked at my own features, I saw him there. Blonde hair. Dark eyes so deep they nearly looked black. I draw in a breath, keep my eyes shut for a second longer, reach for my hairbrush and let the truth settle. I swallow hard, following my hand as the brush moves. My reflection looks right back at me, taunting me. "You must be twins." I shut my eyes, steady the rise and fall of my breathing, and begin at my roots again. Then I grab the hair tie laid neatly on my dresser. My fingers tremble, the way I pictured my brothers' doing before he ever pulled the trigger. I flinch when I catch myself in the mirror. Catch him. "If your hair were shorter and your face less feminine, you'd be his double!" It takes me three tries before my high pony feels even halfway right. A knock lands on my bedroom door and I jolt. "Savvie? It's getting late. School starts soon," my mother says, her voice wavering behind the solid wooden door. I knew she was nervous. Starting over at a new job was never simple, especially if she had no idea whether her coworkers had already heard about her. "That's her. Dark Lennox's sister. And that must be her mother." "I'll be ready in five." I pause for an answer, the kind she used to give. My mother never used to end a sentence without sweetheart or honey tucked into it. That wasn't how things were now, though. I had to keep that in my head. A moment later, her footsteps retreat from the door, and I finally let out a relieved breath. My parents watched me more carefully now. They never said it outright, but I knew trusting me didn't come easy anymore. After we moved into this house, the very first thing my parents did was take the deadbolt off my door. "We need to be a bit more honest with one another," my father had said to me, patting my head the same way he'd done ever since I was five. I wanted to remind them I'd always been open, that I wasn't the one who'd torn everything apart. But over the last few months, I'd learnt that keeping quiet was usually easier. I lace up my shoes and straighten my school blazer in the mirror. Making sure I never really meet my own eyes, I pick up my bag and pull the door open. Dad is the first one I see, seated at the dining table with the paper in his hands. He bites into his toast, then peers over the top of the story he's reading. He gives me a thin smile, the best he seems able to manage these days. "Morning, Sav." "Morning, Dad." I take a fruit bar for myself, the wrapper crackling before I toss it in the bin. Dad doesn't even lift his eyes from the paper. That's how different everything is. He used to shoot me a stern look and tell me to eat something healthier. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Savannah," he'd say, putting extra weight on my name. My mother rushes into the kitchen with a bobby pin between her teeth and one high heel in her hand. She drops the car keys into my palm, kisses dad on the head, and slips on her shoe before we head for the front door. The summer heat hits my face hard, and I squint against the harsh light. The door bangs shut behind us, and I press my nails into my palms to stop myself from jumping. Everything felt harder now. We hurry to the car, mum blasting the air-con the second the engine turns over. She backs out of the driveway, and then we're off. Starting over. "The police rang last night," she says, stopping by the stop line where our new street runs out.