She looked at herself in the mirror, the scissors lying in the sink still warm from their use. Dana didn't recognize the figure in front of her; it was her intent. Her black hair, the soft tresses which once tickled the skin at her midriff, was now lifeless on the wood-paneled floor.
Alan stood behind her as she ran her hands over the cropped hair. What was once long and luxurious was not short and silky. "It's different," he said. She was silent. "Is this way of escaping the fact that she's looking back at you right now, that you look even more like her since she went through chemo?"
"She never cut my hair. It wasn't becoming of a lady."
"It's rebellion then." She sent him a reproachful look. Alan of all people knew what she'd been going through these past few weeks, and it was a surprise he wanted her around after the funeral at all.
"Reminder." His hands touched her shoulders. She was somewhat comforted from the rare gesture, half expecting him to turn and leave. His hand was on her back, soothing circles into her tense muscles.
"It's hopeless to try and fight your emotions on the matter."
"I want her back and I don't." He was taken aback. She's been crying for days, weeks, and she was telling him something nobody else would ever know. Cancer, she thought, was unforgiving. She may have been a terrible person to let her personal life--letting Alan extort her in order to keep her mother's business up and running--but she was glad her mother was dead. She was selfish, but he was a bastard. She cut her hair to remind herself that her mother was gone.
"You'll make up your mind soon about that. I'll have Eve clean this up. Lets get brunch." She nodded and went to dress. Alan was going to be the strong one again, like he always was. The life she once had was over, everything important to her was gone, and she only had to move forward. The opinions of others didn't matter now that she was alone with Alan the Bastard.