“Kiwi, I won’t allow you to continue being a hermit; you’ve been on Christmas break for more than a week and still haven’t left this room. Have you even been eating? You need to leave the house, see the sunlight. Yesterday was Christmas. I think you should treat yourself to a spa day! I know it’s scary, with all those people going missing, but there is a nice nail salon just around the corner,” My aunt tells me, clearly sick of my reclusing in my bedroom.

I don’t argue because I owe it to her to be respectful. After all, I would be homeless if she hadn’t taken me in. I simply grab a jacket, my wallet and my Barbie dolls, then exit the house.

I am shocked by how cold it is outside. The cold impacts me strongly since I am so thin. There is nothing to keep the chilly air from consuming me. Shivers ripple through my body, like a warning signal that I must get inside soon, or I will freeze. I pick up the pace, my Christian Louboutin heels clicking loudly on the cement sidewalk. I pull my white designer coat on tighter, hoping that the tiger fur lining the inside would warm me up. Sadly, I think tiger fur is meant for looks only, not insulation. I round the corner and spot the nail place ahead. It’s uninviting and a little scary looking, with its lack of windows and blood red bricks. On either side of the salon are alleys as dark as a funeral dress. I become uneasy and almost turn around, but instead speed to the building and through the front door.

The inside is shockingly different than the shady exterior. The walls are white with tiny gold decals spread throughout. Those two colors are all I see, except for the black that the workers wear. Who knew that such a classy space could be inside this creepy building?

“Hello, miss,” I hear a voice behind me say. I turn around and see a tall, gorgeous woman in her mid twenties. By her black dress and shoes, I can tell she works in the salon. Through her red lipstick coated lips, she says, “Can I help you?”

I tell her that I would like a manicure and pedicure, and she asks me if I know their prices. I reply saying that I don’t really care; I brought plenty of money. She responds with a satisfied smirk, as if my answer is exactly what she wanted to hear. She instructs me to pick a nail color from their endless wall of OPI polishes. I pick a deep purple, like my Barbies’ dresses and Justin Bieber’s favorite color.
“Well, let’s find you somewhere comfortable to sit,” she tells me after hanging my coat in a closet and pouring me a sparkling pink lemonade. She guides me to a soft, cozy chair with a foot bath attached. I slide off my heels and place them next to me.
“I love these shoes,” the worker says to me, while straightening my shoes so that they are parallel to each other and the chair. I notice that she has the same ones on, and we both giggle. “I’m Rose, by the way.”
“I’m Kiwi,” I say, smiling genuinely for the first time in a while.
She asks me about my strange name, and I tell her that my mom used to be a big hippy who refused to name her children something common.
“She was right; that’s not a name I hear everyday. Is she still a hippy?”
“She passed away last year,” I tell Rose as she scrapes the dead skin from my feet. “My whole family did.”
“Kiwi,” she says quietly, her dark eyes full of understanding. “I know how you feel. My family members have all passed away too.”
I clutch my dolls tightly, ecstatic that I have had the chance to meet Rose. This connection is what I need. I haven’t ever met someone who is in the same situation as me. Since I know she understands what I’m going through, I feel much more comfortable. We talk for hours while she beautifies my hands and feet. She tells me about how she is struggling with major debt and a spending problem, and I tell her about my loneliness and Justin Bieber infatuation. I even tell her about my dolls and how they’re the sole remnants of my past life, my life with a family. I am typically shy, but something about her is inviting. I feel invincible with her, like all the bad in life means nothing. She is irresponsible with money, but an amazing person. She knows how to connect and make me feel better than I have in a long time. I trust her. Sadly, the bonding comes to an end when she finishes painting my fingernails.
I walk to the front desk with her, where she tells me how much I have to pay. I hand her the three hundred dollars my mani-pedi costs, noticing how pretty the purple polish makes my small hands look. She passes me a receipt after neatly placing the money in the register and tells me I better be back soon. She gets me my coat and holds my Barbie dolls while I put it on. I generally never allow others to touch them, but for some reason, I trust her. I thank her again before exiting the door to brave the cold walk home. The bell jingles as I leave.

I am walking past one of the alleys when I hear the jingle of the door again. I turn around to see Rose trotting happily towards me. I must’ve forgotten something, I think as she skips over to me.

“Long time no see,” I say with a wave and a chuckle. She laughs too. She’s close enough that I can feel the heat of her breath mingling with the frosty air surround us. I glance into her gloved hand and see not a forgotten possession of mine, but a blood crusted hammer. I feel lightheaded and confused. It must be the cold…I must be seeing things. I look back into her eyes, hoping to meet the safe eyes that welcomed and understood me in the salon. She stares deep into my eyes, and I see that the darkness is no longer loving. Just like that, she goes from a best friend to an adversary. The transition is flawless, like it’s been done before. She doesn’t break the eye contact, only continues the fierce, menacing glare. I try to back up, but I am frozen. Numbness grips every part of my body, and I cannot move. My Barbie dolls fall to the ground and sink into the snow, disappearing into the cold blanket. I so desperately wish to follow them into hiding, but I am unable to shift. I don’t know whether it’s the cold or my fear paralyzing me. Either way, I am useless. I helplessly watch as she raises the tool above my head. I’ll be with my family soon, I think. As she brings down the hammer, I force myself to look at her one last time with a scowl that could kill.

She looks at me, puzzled, and the hammer doesn’t make contact. I guess she is used to her victims shying away from her evil, black eyes. Everyone says that eyes are the window to the soul, and who would want to see what horrors lie in hers?

“Stop it, Rose,” I spit through my teeth. “Is this what your family would want?”

“Don’t try that on me. How do you think they died, Kiwi?”

I feel sick to my stomach. I try to stutter a response, but I am too horrified to say anything remotely coherent. It occurs to me that Rose is the one who has been taking all the women in this city. I hunch over, nausea coursing through me. The only friend I have made in the past few months is insane, just my luck.

“You’re crazy,” I say, talking to her from the pile of snow I have curled up into.

“We’re all crazy. I’m just bold enough to show it, but only to people like you,” she says, actually trying to justify her homicidal tendencies.

“People who have money?” I say, gaining ability to crawl up from the ground. I am angry beyond comprehension, and the fiery rage warms me up enough to move.

“No, silly. People I like. I think it’s beautiful, the utmost expression of love. Showing you the depths of my soul, the ‘crazy’ as you put it, shows how much trust I have in you. I thought friends were supposed to know each other, inside and out. Well, this is me. I won’t apologize for who I am and what I need. You know how deep in debt I am . If I don’t pay it back soon, I will lose my home. That’s why I love working at a salon full of wealthy customers.”

“Why can’t I just give you the money?”

“Now Kiwi, where’s the fun in that?” She says, her blood red lips forming a horrifying grin. She reaches into her pocket and expertly applies another layer of the red stain to her lips, clearly needing it to be perfect. She slips it back into her designer trench coat, then straightens the collar. She swings the hammer at me, catching me by surprise. I frantically step back, but she catches me in the thigh despite that. It was a soft blow, but nothing feels gentle when you’re tiny. I groan and almost give up, but I am fueled by my anger towards her deception of me. She continues swinging, and I continue dodging. She hits me a few more times, but it’s when I get struck on my cheek that I realize this needs to stop soon. I am in extreme pain, but she could carry on forever. An idea strikes me with more force than any of Rose’s blows. It’s my turn to smile, now.

“Fine, Rose,” I whimper falsely. “Please, I can’t do this anymore. I give up. Just make it quick”

I bend over, like I am about to kneel before her, but I grab my left shoe instead. Before she can realize what is happening, I smite her arm with the heavy heeled shoe. It wasn't a hard hit, but the shock sends the hammer to the floor. We’re finally evenly matched. I bash her hard in the nose, the force starting a waterfall of blood to drip down her face, all over her lips, and into her mouth.

“How’s the color on me?” She says after spitting a mouthful of the crimson liquid into the contrasting white fluff of the snow. She reaches for her hammer, and I know I can’t let that happen. I dive down into the snow and grab it, my elbows slamming into the concrete and dragging along it. I stand up again and see blood dripping from my arm to the snow. At least I got the hammer. I forget the painful stinging in my elbows and bring the hammer down hard on Rose’s shoulder.

The contact is disturbingly soothing, a relief of all the anger I am feeling toward a person I thought was my friend. She’s on her knees now, clinging to her probably broken shoulder. I slam the weapon on top of her head again and again. She sprawls onto the ground, eyes shut and mouth bleeding. She almosts looks innocent with her eyes shut, but not enough to gain my sympathy. I see her inhale, and become furious again. Why does everyone end up ruining my life? Not this one, I repeat in my head as I beat the life out of Rose. My anger is relieved with every blow, but built back up when I think of how she used me. It’s only after it’s obvious to me that she isn’t breathing anymore that I cease my hitting.

The hammer falls to the floor as realize what I have done. I fall to my knees, my entire body shaking. Tears stream down my face as I clutch Rose’s face. This can't be happening. She was just doing what she needed to in order to get by. I sob and sob and sob. I sob as I drag her body into the dark alley. I sob as I throw her body and my now blood stained white coat into the dumpster, and even more when I see the bodies of all the missing women in the dumpster as well. I sob as I pick up my dolls. I sob all the way home as I think about Rose’s wisdom. She was clearly right in saying we are all crazy. If only we were all like Rose, conscious and accepting of our insanity. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have lost control for a few minutes. Maybe, she would still be alive. Maybe, I would be the one crammed in the dumpster. Maybe, I would have been reunited with my family. Life is full of maybes, and apparently, a lot of crazy.