Page 3 of Implode

“Now, let’s discuss color,” the stylist says, smiling at me in the mirror.

“What’s wrong with my color?” I ask, holding up a lock of my own hair to examine the shade. I have dark hair that I assume came from my biological father who is Filipino. He’s also credited for giving me my slightly darker skin tone that makes me look golden all year round. But all of this information is speculation. I never met the man and, without anything short of a miracle, never will.

“Have some trust in the expert,” Blake scoffs. He turns to look at the man wielding the hair tools and makes a gesture toward me. “Sorry, she’s very much a work in progress and has deep-seated trust issues.”

I snap my fingers. “Hey! I’m right here, you know!”

“Obvi, Claire Bear, that’s why I didn’t even try to whisper.”

“I think just some auburn highlights would really bring out the beauty of your eyes. Make them”—the stylist smacks his lips at the same time his hands mimic a firecracker—“POP!”

“Ummm, I don’t know,” I say reluctantly.

“That’s why we are here to help you make these lifestyle decisions,” Blake says, as if I’m deciding on which college to attend or something equally as important.

My mouth tips down into a frown. “This just seems highly impractical and totally out of my budget.”

“My treat,” Blake says, rubbing my shoulders from the salon chair, while the stylist digs through booklets and fake hair swatches until he finds the color he is looking for.

My eyes meet Blake’s with confusion. It’s not like he is rich or anything to be able to afford paying for these deluxe treatments.

“I found myself a Sugar Daddy, and he is loaded in more places than one,” he says, filling in the blanks. “If you know what I mean.”

“When?” I ask. Last time I noticed, Blake was very much single.

“Yesterday morning. On a dating app.”

My eyes narrow at him. “Blake…”

“It’s legit this time. No catfishing. No bait and switch. No fakeness. Promise.”

“So you met the man?” the stylist asks, narrowing his eyes at Blake, who is growing annoyed over our interrogation.

“Not yet,” Blake says. “But hey, this isn’t about me today.” He smacks his hands together and returns his attention to our reflection in the mirror. “Give Claire the works. A new chapter in her life deserves to be rewarded with a new book cover.”

It takes about four hours to get my hair cut, highlighted, blown dry, and styled. Neither man allows me to see the finished result until the big reveal time. Blake even snatches my phone out of my hand so I can’t use the front camera to sneak a glance.

“Drumroll, please!” the stylist cheers, hitting his workstation with his hands to produce a drum sound.

Blake spins me around in the chair to place me directly in front of the mirror.

“Wow!” I say, looking at my finished result. My hands go to my hair that is now slightly below my shoulders. Soft layers add some volume and drama to my otherwise flat look. I am styled with loose curls. I can’t believe that just a little color and a new cut could cause this much of a difference. I definitely feel lighter. Free. And my eyes do stand out more with the auburn streaks. “Thank you!”

“You look amazing, Claire Bear. Simply amazing.”

My face can’t stop smiling. Blake was right—as per usual. I needed a change. As we handle the bill, Ethan and his ex-wife walk into the shop hand in hand. I turn my head to try to hide behind my new waves but it is too late.

“Well, this is awkward,” Deena snips, making a face.

“Only because you’re making it that way with your inability to keep your face from turning ugly,” I state coldly.

“How does it feel to be second best?”

“How does it feel to be attaching yourself to a lying narcissist?” My eyes meet Ethan’s swollen ones. I got some good hits in on him, that’s for sure. He looks like he is trying too hard to use makeup to cover up the marks.

“Stop following us, Claire,” Ethan hisses.

“I was here first, you idiot.”

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