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There were many things Rumi wished she could change about herself.
Number one had to be her demon side, obviously. For now, the problem was somehow solved as her marks didn’t need to be hidden under hot, heavy clothes and the purple, disgusting lightning trails were now faded to iridescent ones that changed slightly to other colors like a mood ring, as her girls called it. She still wished her skin wasn’t marked, for it to be as smooth and delicate as Mira’s or for her only marks to be like the freckles Zoey carried on her face and shoulders.
Number two was her scars. Demon hunting for sure was not for the weak and Rumi was not the only one who bore scars that needed makeup - Mira and Zoey did as well. She remembers the day a demon took Zoey by surprise and tore the skin of her back as if it was butter and now, two thick, weirdly healed scars went down her shoulder to her spine, the show costumes needing adjusting to keep the marks hidden to avoid talk. Mira had a very similar one on her left hip, long enough to reach her lower belly, a scar both Rumi and Zoey loved to kiss and lick when they had the chance.
Rumi had her fair share as well all over her body, yet her mind wasn’t on those but the thick white, clean horizontal lines all over upper thighs and insides of arms that could only be resulting of one thing, it was unmistakable, a stupid habit that started when she was an angsty pre-teen and lasted for long, pained years until she finally managed the need and buried it forever. The ugly scars that stayed, though? Thick and long, hard to hide, always there and a clear reminder of shame and pain she was forced to look at everyday when changing and showering. She had to be extra careful when the girls convinced her to finally go the bath house for the first time and she almost slipped on the wet floor with how fast she got in and out of the tub and if they did notice the despair in her act, there was no mention from that moment - though it was, in fact, mentioned when they first had sex somewhere in the middle of their real, delayed hiatus, clammy skin drying a thin layer of sweat under the air conditioner and stained with kisses and love bites, the three fast breathing on top Mira’s undone bed.
Rumi knew what Mira’s long fingers were curious about when they kept stroking the rough skin of her upper thigh, pads rubbing so softly against high feeling scars before even having to look at her hand. “When was this?”
Zoey got up on her elbow with a curious and careful look on her face, her gorgeous wide eyes shining stars in her searching stare, the free hand warm resting against a patterned belly. Rumi thought that, when the moment finally arrived and she had to explain herself, her hands would start sweating and shaking in shame, but she felt incredibly safe to talk about it when her girlfriends looked at her with so much love and tenderness, genuinely wanting to know.
“I was a teen,” her fingers found the smaller scars on the inside of her biceps, now half hidden by colorful patterns that moved between lilac and pink. “Thirteen, I think. Not much to say about it, just… It felt right at the time, the one thing I really had control over my own body and these scars felt so human, nothing like… Patterns.”
“Do you still feel like doing it?” Zoey’s voice was small and careful, palm now rubbing circles on her belly like she was comforting a cat. It was so, so endearing and loving, her hands not really that smooth from the years playing instruments but still comforting and plenty warm.
Rumi shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. Her hand cupped her chubby cheeks, and pulled her closer to peck her adorable, button freckled nose and cheeks a few times, turning her head next to do the same to Mira’s beautiful face. “No. Never again.”
Number three was the unknown girl that looked back at her everyday in the mirror, built after a mother she barely knew and molded into a shell of a person she never was with the expectation of filling someone else's gap on earth.
For example, when Celine looked at her, she saw Rumi’s incredible, talented mother and her shameful demon father.
When Rumi looked at herself in the mirror, she didn't know who that girl was looking back at her.
That was the reason why she held a scissor in her right hand, the other gripping her braid forcefully until her knuckles were white. The braid wasn’t really her choice, but she got used to it after having to swallow the pill of being forced to live in the heavy shadow of her mother and Celine twisting her hair into it since she was a little kid, except she wasn’t her mother and she knew very little of her.
She barely remembers taking the scissor from the sink drawer nor bringing it to her hair - she was scared that, if she put a single thought on what she was about to do, she’d give up without even wanting to, ‘cuz what if the girls didn’t like it? -, but she did remember feeling the cramps in her hand with the strength she had to put in pressing the scissor blades again and again on the heavy braid until it cut through the thick, purple hair that resisted the cut until it finally came off on her hand.
For the first time in so long, she looked at her reflex and didn’t feel that tightness on her chest - she saw herself, Rumi, and no one else. She didn’t look like her mother anymore, didn’t remind herself of someone she didn’t want to know.
The beeline she made to the living room where Mira and Zoey piled up under blankets on the couch to watch whatever sea life documentary the younger one found was fast and excited, hands still carrying the heavy braid and the scissors.
Zoey looked up from the TV, her big brown eyes shone in mirth and opened wide just like her mouth, the loud gasp she let out echoing in the room. She jumped from the couch and ran to Rumi, hands messing her now short hair excitedly. “Ru! You’re so pretty!”
“Holy shit,” Mira took longer to reach her, taking her sweet time absorbing and savoring her girlfriend’s new look. “You’re hot as fuck.”
Zoey nodded, her cheeks adorably flushed.
“Can you help me cut it? I can go to our stylist after the hiatus but I want to enjoy it for now.”
“Of course, babe.”
So she found herself sitting on a stool in the bathroom, Mira behind her after making her wet her hair on the sink, scissor and haircomb in hand while carefully evening the strands. Zoey was propped up on the sink with swaying legs, Rumi’s braid on her hand, carefully tied to avoid loose hair everywhere.
“You have so much hair,” the braid felt actually pretty heavy in her hand and so thick her fingers barely curled around it. “How did you handle this much hair? Didn’t it give you migraines?”
“Sometimes it did, especially on stage since it had to be super tight,” Mira tilted her head to the side carefully, quiet as she aligned the strands. “And it has to be braided when I go to bed as well or it would turn into a tangled mess.”
“Well,” Mira messed with Rumi’s hair for a bit, humming to herself seemingly satisfied. Holding the hair comb and scissors on the same hand to let the other find Rumi’s chin to tip her face back and give her a little kiss. “Now you can just get up in the morning and be ready.”
“Thank you.” smiling, Rumi got up to see herself in the mirror. Zoey, still sitting on the sink, leaned her cheek on Rumi’s shoulder, her eyes looking at her in the mirror as well.
“So?” Mira joined them, resting her chin on top of Rumi’s head.
Her hair was even shorter now, soft bangs framing her face and the longer piece on the back barely reached her shoulder.
It was perfect. For the first time, she was just Rumi, shadow of no one but herself. Her smile was so big it made her cheeks ache.
“I love it.”