the story behind it...
"Blonde."
I don't know what crazy shit is going through my head, and it seems Vi doesn't either, because she looks at me funny, like I've just spoken in tongues.
"What?"
I stir my coffee, trying to play it casual. "My hair. I want to dye it blonde."
Violet stares at me, the way she does when she knows something about me that I don't want anyone to. "It's hard on it. And you just dyed it back from the red..."
"I don't care." I bite my lip, staring into my spoon, at my distorted reflection. "I wanna do it. Tonight."
Violet starts to argue again, but Jonas, who's tending bar tonight instead of Sybil, has come to stand before us. I think he sees an opportunity; I know he likes me, but I ignore him as much as he can, so he looks for reasons to make me pay attention to him.
"I'll help you do it." He grins at me, eager. "Just gotta wait til my break."
Well, why not? "...Are you sure you can..?"
"You kiddin'? I've been bleachin' my own since I was seventeen."
It looks good enough. Professional, even. I nod. "Kay, cool. Thanks."
Thirty minutes later, Jonas, Violet and I are all in the bathroom. Supplies that we went to pick up while waiting for Jonas are spread across the sink. Jonas and Vi both have rubber gloves on, and are toturing my head in ways I wasn't aware was possible. The peroxide stings and itches, and I'm not allowed to touch my head at all. They've gone all out, decided to put a cap on me, and are pulling strands through with what looks like a knitting needle; that's the worst part. Every time they pull, I shout. Every time I shout, Violet reminds me in a vaguely piercing tone that I'm the one who wanted to do this.
"Yeah," I pant. "But you didn't tell me you were gonna be doing..... that."
Jonas chuckles. I kick him in the ankle.
"Ow! I'm gonna have bruises there, kitten."
Violet chimes in, airy. I wonder if she's popped something while I wasn't looking. "If we just bleach it all, it's going to make you look like a whore instead of a pretty little cheerleader-"
"I thought those two were synonyms for one another." I smile up at her, and she leans around to give me a glazy-eyed, narrow look that usually makes me want to kiss her. She knows it, and appears expectant. But I don't, not this time. I can't. Of all the people to fall off the wagon with, Violet, I know, would be the worst choice I could make.
She bites her lip and stands up straight. I feel a pang of guilt, but she's an ice queen in half a second. "You want highlights."
"I'll take your word for it."
Two hours later, there they are. I'm blonde. Dark, golden blonde. It looks perfect. I look perfect. I look like a sun goddess cheerleader popular sunshine girl. I hate it. I look obvious. Everyone is gonna know what's up. Tears well in my eyes, and Jonas squeezes my arm, staring transfixed. Violet gives my reflection a 'told you so' look.
"You can't fix it for another few weeks. Your hair will fall out."
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. I don't want Ty to see, and I REALLY don't want Drew to see, but tomorrow is the 4th, and I'm going to have to spend it with them. Fuck.
I leave Jonas to his bartending, and Vi to her coke, though both of them offer to hang with me a little longer. As with most nights in the past few weeks, I'd rather go home and cry.
Why do people like me do this shit? Why do people, as a whole, act so STUPID, when it comes to love? Why the fuck did I think that a new haircolor was gonna make me feel any less screwed, any less not-good-enough? I don't know.
Sometimes I think I'm going to spend my whole life learning everything the hard way.
I don't know what crazy shit is going through my head, and it seems Vi doesn't either, because she looks at me funny, like I've just spoken in tongues.
"What?"
I stir my coffee, trying to play it casual. "My hair. I want to dye it blonde."
Violet stares at me, the way she does when she knows something about me that I don't want anyone to. "It's hard on it. And you just dyed it back from the red..."
"I don't care." I bite my lip, staring into my spoon, at my distorted reflection. "I wanna do it. Tonight."
Violet starts to argue again, but Jonas, who's tending bar tonight instead of Sybil, has come to stand before us. I think he sees an opportunity; I know he likes me, but I ignore him as much as he can, so he looks for reasons to make me pay attention to him.
"I'll help you do it." He grins at me, eager. "Just gotta wait til my break."
Well, why not? "...Are you sure you can..?"
"You kiddin'? I've been bleachin' my own since I was seventeen."
It looks good enough. Professional, even. I nod. "Kay, cool. Thanks."
Thirty minutes later, Jonas, Violet and I are all in the bathroom. Supplies that we went to pick up while waiting for Jonas are spread across the sink. Jonas and Vi both have rubber gloves on, and are toturing my head in ways I wasn't aware was possible. The peroxide stings and itches, and I'm not allowed to touch my head at all. They've gone all out, decided to put a cap on me, and are pulling strands through with what looks like a knitting needle; that's the worst part. Every time they pull, I shout. Every time I shout, Violet reminds me in a vaguely piercing tone that I'm the one who wanted to do this.
"Yeah," I pant. "But you didn't tell me you were gonna be doing..... that."
Jonas chuckles. I kick him in the ankle.
"Ow! I'm gonna have bruises there, kitten."
Violet chimes in, airy. I wonder if she's popped something while I wasn't looking. "If we just bleach it all, it's going to make you look like a whore instead of a pretty little cheerleader-"
"I thought those two were synonyms for one another." I smile up at her, and she leans around to give me a glazy-eyed, narrow look that usually makes me want to kiss her. She knows it, and appears expectant. But I don't, not this time. I can't. Of all the people to fall off the wagon with, Violet, I know, would be the worst choice I could make.
She bites her lip and stands up straight. I feel a pang of guilt, but she's an ice queen in half a second. "You want highlights."
"I'll take your word for it."
Two hours later, there they are. I'm blonde. Dark, golden blonde. It looks perfect. I look perfect. I look like a sun goddess cheerleader popular sunshine girl. I hate it. I look obvious. Everyone is gonna know what's up. Tears well in my eyes, and Jonas squeezes my arm, staring transfixed. Violet gives my reflection a 'told you so' look.
"You can't fix it for another few weeks. Your hair will fall out."
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. I don't want Ty to see, and I REALLY don't want Drew to see, but tomorrow is the 4th, and I'm going to have to spend it with them. Fuck.
I leave Jonas to his bartending, and Vi to her coke, though both of them offer to hang with me a little longer. As with most nights in the past few weeks, I'd rather go home and cry.
Why do people like me do this shit? Why do people, as a whole, act so STUPID, when it comes to love? Why the fuck did I think that a new haircolor was gonna make me feel any less screwed, any less not-good-enough? I don't know.
Sometimes I think I'm going to spend my whole life learning everything the hard way.