Can You Keep A Secret?

4. Serena: Monday 1st Of September

I hate Mondays. Out of all the days of the week, Monday was the one I loathed the most. The alarm ringing on my phone was blaring loud enough that it could probably be heard on the street. Turning over the comfortable bed, I switch it off. Both my body and mind feel relaxed; something rare that I haven't felt in a very long time. I check the time on my phone: 6:15. Perfect. Early as usual. I stand up and walk over to the window, opening it to bask in the fresh air after the rain. The sky is a dreary gray, mirroring my mood of the day. Being preoccupied was the least.

I kneel down onto the cold marble tiles and retrieve my trust sports bag from its hiding spot under the bed. With a swift motion, I unzip the bag and retrieve the carefully packed toiletries. My bare feet make their way to the bathroom room. I step in the bath and feel the warm water cascade over my body, easing any tension in my muscles as I luxuriate in the soothing heat.

Sitting on the couch, I watch as my mom braids my hair while humming my favorite song. The gentle tugging of her fingers and the soothing melody put me in a state of tranquility. "You look like a princess now," she declares, showing me my reflection in the mirror. My short brunette locks cascading over my shoulders. I had to admit that sometimes I wished my hair was a different color, but if there was one thing my mom always taught me, was to embrace my uniqueness and stand out from the crowd.

"Mommy," I speak up, my voice hesitant. She looks up at me, tilting her head in curiosity, pausing on the melody of her song. "I don't really like the color of my hair," I admit, feeling a twinge of guilt for not liking something she loves. But to my surprise, she doesn't get upset or a bit sad. Quite on the contrary, as if she had been expecting this moment.
"Then let's change it," she says with a wide smile. I can't help but feel relieved and grateful for her understanding.

"You're not mad?" I ask, searching her face for any sign of disappointment. "Mad? Why would I be mad? I'm happy that you're speaking up for yourself," she exclaims, tickling me and peppering me with kisses. We both laugh and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

"Wait, what color do you want?" she asks, pausing our tickle fight. I put my hand on my chin, pondering the perfect shade. I didn't want to be like every other girl with blonde, brunette, or red hair. I wanted a color that represented me and my individuality. And then it dawns on me, the books my mom used to read me about fierce warriors with black and silver hair.

"How about silver?" I suggest. She grins even wider and quickly dials our hairdresser's number. "Hi Ellie! Do you have any availability for one more client today?" I can hear Ellie's muffled response and my mom nods in satisfaction. "Perfect, we'll see you at 3:00," she says before hanging up. We both squeal in excitement, our bond growing stronger with each passing moment.

As the warm water from the shower envelops me, I can't help but feel a sense of peace washing over me. As I step out, droplets of water cling to my skin, leaving a trail as I make my way to the paned mirror. I barely recognize myself, but I take a moment to clear the foggy surface and am met with my dark silver hair. Memories flood my mind, but I push them away and focus on the present. I take my time combing and drying my hair, preparing for the day ahead.

My uniform is neatly laid out on my bed, a reminder of the new beginning that awaits me. I take a moment to admire the dark clouds outside, a symbol of the changes to come. As I carefully slip into my uniform, I can't help but feel a sense of anxiousness knowing I'm going to be studying in one of the best schools in town.

The books on my shelves are all related to school, a constant reminder of my chosen course in psychology. I scan them, searching for the perfect one to take with me, but realize I don't have all the necessary information yet. As I reach for a book, I catch it just before it falls to the ground. It's titled "Diaries of a Serial Killer" by author Stephan Sparks. The title piques my interest, but I decide to leave it for now, placing it back on its spot. Moving on with my morning routine.