Page 25 of Endless Love

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In the morning,Ivan wakes me up a little bit later than yesterday. “So far, so good,” he says tiredly, and I can’t help but notice that the dark circles under his eyes look deeper today. “No sign of anyone closing in on us. Or, alternatively,” he adds, as if he can’t let me get too relaxed, “they’re just waiting for the right time.”

“So, what?” I sit up, rubbing my hands over my face. “Getting back on the road?”

“We’ll stop at a store first. And somewhere for clothes. We’ll get the things we need, toiletries and maybe some decent food, and—” he pauses, pressing his lips together. “Dye.”

My stomach tightens at that, and I want to argue, but I don’t. I know it’s a stupid thing to be upset about. It’s hair—it will grow out, and grow back, and whatever I put in it now will be gone eventually. But like most women, I’ve always been picky about my hair, and I’ve gone to the same stylist in Chicago since I was a freshman at Northwestern. She’s always done the same thing for me, perfectly—lowlights painted on by hand, perfectly scattered throughout to make my hair look dimensional, the same cut?—

The same boring thing, every ten weeks.The thought crosses my mind as I splash water on my face in the bathroom again and rub toothpaste over my teeth. The same cut and color,just like most other things in my life. A routine that I’ve never shaken up.

Everything around it is awful, and difficult to reconcile, but this?—

Maybe box-dyeing my hair a new color isn’t the worst thing.

I try to keep that sliver of positivity as Ivan and I go to the first store we find that has clothes—a Ross—and then to a Walmart to get toiletries and some food that isn’t deep-fried or pre-frozen. Some cut-up fruit, some sandwiches with cold cuts, a half gallon of milk, and some cereal cups. Ivan buys one of those insulated bags to put all of it in, enough to last us a couple of days. The fruit looks so good after two days of fast food that I want to eat it in the middle of the store.

The last aisle we stop in, after getting toothbrushes and floss, some drugstore skincare products for me, and whatever else we can think of, is the one with the hair dye. I look at the rows of boxes for a long time, as Ivan picks up one that promises to turn me ash blonde.

“That’s going to make my hair orange.” I swallow hard, picking up a box labeled ‘Cherry Cola.’ “What about this.”

“I don’t think it’s different enough.” Ivan lets out a sharp breath. “Adding a little purplish-red tint isn’t going to make you look like someone else.”

“I could dye it blue.” I laugh, picking up another box. “Semi-permanent.” I have a feeling it will wash right out, but the suggestion is more to lighten the mood than anything else.

Ivan picks up a box of medium red. “This?”

“It’s going to look awful. Like Ariel.” I wince, turning it over to see what it says brown hair will change to. “I’m not suited to be a Disney princess.”

Ivan sets the box down. “No, you’re not very princess-like.”

I think it’s a compliment. The way he says it makes it sound like one. And I suppose this could have been so much worse, if Iwere the kind of woman to throw tantrums and complain. Since I yelled at him that first night, before his brothers showed up, I haven’t shouted again. I will, at some point, I have a feeling—I can feel it pressing behind my ribs, all of the anger that I haven’t let out because I keep thinking that it won’t do any good. It won’t change anything.

But it will burst out, eventually. Something will make me snap. But until then, I don’t know what else to do besides keep bottling it up.

I’m definitely not a princess. I don’t think I’ve been inside of a Walmart since I was a college freshman and it was the only place we could get snacks after one in the morning when Jaz and Zoe snuck weed outside of the dorm. I didn’t smoke, of course, because it could have gotten me into trouble, so I was the one who drove us to get the snacks.

Now I wish I had. I wish I’d just done it, so I could have laughed and been silly along with them, walking up and down the aisles buying ice cream sandwiches and popcorn and taking it all back to the dorms while giggling the whole way, instead of being borderline annoyed because they were high and I was sober, and I wanted to go to bed.

I might never see either of them again, and I wish I’d taken more risks, when I had the chance.

Before I can think twice about it, I reach out and grab two boxes of the ash blonde, dumping them into the basket.

“Let’s go,” I tell Ivan, striding past him to the checkout line.

12

CHARLOTTE

By the time we get to the shitty motel we’re spending the night at, basically a cut-out copy of the ones we’ve stayed in before, the bravado I had at the store has deserted me. I walk into the small bathroom with the two boxes of hair dye, look in the mirror at my thick, dark brown hair that I’ve so carefully taken care of all of my life, and promptly burst into tears.

A few minutes later, I hear a soft knock at the door. “Charlotte?” Ivan’s voice carries through, and I wipe my hands across my face, not wanting him to know how upset I am.

“I’m fine.” My voice comes out a little cracked, which makes it pretty clear that I’mnotfine, but I don’t take it back. Even if he can tell that I’m crying, I don’t want to admit it.

I should say something else. I can feel Ivan on the other side of the door, waiting for something else. But I can’t think of anything to say, and after a long moment, I hear him walking away.

I wipe my face again and start going through the motions. I wish I had my cell phone to put music on to distract me, or that I didn’t mind Ivan watching me do this so that I could open thedoor and listen to whatever is on TV, but instead, I just clench my teeth and bulldoze my way through it, feeling a little dizzy from the bleach fumes halfway through. By the time it’s done and I turn on the hot water to wash the first round out, I start to wonder if the combination of steam and bleach is going to fry more than just the ends of my hair. By the end of the second, I’m coughing a little bit, and my eyes are watering.

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