Page 62 of Bound by Affliction
Everything feels right in the world, except maybe myhair.
* * *
“Are you sure about this?”I ask Bristyl very timidly as she holds my hand, walking us into the Do or Dye Salon in town. A salon. With me. And my hair. I’m not sure about this one bit. I’ve thought about cutting it and dismissed it quickly because I don’t like anyone touching my head. It’s still a rule when I work with Princess, and Green has come to learn not to gothere.
She squeezes my hand. “Yes.”
This is probably true, but I look like a busted up Barbie doll that got into one too many fights with a pair of scissors. Believe me, I performed enough ‘haircuts’ on my dolls when I was a kid that most ended up bald or with one lonely strand on theirhead.
I can hide the patching parts by pulling it back in a low ponytail, which has worked for a quite a while. But it’s growing out and getting harder to hide the shorter pieces sticking out. It’s been a couple of months since I came to Georgia, and I love it. Being with Green, going to school, and seeing my best friend a lot has been wonderful. Slowly, I’m coming into my own. Some days are good, some days are not so good. Some days the nightmares show up while others are peaceful andresting.
If I could erase it from my mind, that would be ideal, but it’s notpossible.
“Come in!” a very flamboyant woman says, ushering us into the door and to a seat like she knew I was coming. My guess is Bristyl calledher.
“I’m Lexa! And Bristyl has told me all about you!” She pulls out my ponytail then inspects my hair. Embarrassment floods me, and instantly I want to pull it back again and get the hell away from there. It’s hard enough coming out in public; then to be looked at like this, it’s too much. Not to mention the stares from the others in the place. Peopling isn’t my thing. It’s getting better, but not like this with my huge flaw like a spotlight onme.
I grip the chair. “Maybewe…”
“Ahh, ahh, ahh,” she says in a singsong voice. “You keep your little behind in my chair and let me work mymagic!”
I look to Bristyl, who is smiling in encouragement at me, and all I want to do is get up and run away from this. Far, far away. Who says I can’t try cutting my own hair. The Barbies’ weren’t that bad. Oh hell, who am I kidding? Either this or buzz it, and I don’t want to do that because I will always have scarsthere.
Princess tells me every day that I need to be proud of them, and I’m working toward just being comfortable with them. Pride, I’m not sure willcome.
Lexa is surprisingly gentle as she combs through the tangles, going bit by bit around my head. My reflection stares back at me in the huge mirror, and I see a woman who is trying desperately to get something good out of this life. I see a woman who fought to stay alive when she really just wanted to die. I see a woman who slept for weeks with absolutely no recollection of anything that happened. I see a woman who isdetermined.
The stylist grabs her scissors, the light reflecting off the blade. I flinch as they come close, remembering the knife that punctured me everywhere. Flashes go on repeat, and I try desperately to push them away. That isn’t mylife.
“I’m sorry, dear, are you okay? You’ve turned as white as asheet.”
Bristyl comes up, turning my head and getting eye level with me. “She’s just cutting your hair. She knows if she cuts any more than necessary, I’ll cuther.”
The woman laughs loudly. “Don’t I knowit!”
Sucking in a deep breath and finding my resolve, I nod to her and watch as what’s left of my long locks fall to the floor. She has my chair turned now so I can’t see what she’s doing, but the feeling isn’t bad. If I’m being truly honest, there’s a bit of excitement there. Like this woman is getting rid of the physical reminder of what happened. It’s almost like a cleansing, like what Green did to mybody.
As she snips away, Bristyl stays in my line of sight, and I feel great comfort from that. It could be minutes or hours I sit in the chair, I’m not sure. And quite frankly, I’m pretty sure I didn’t breathe the entire time. When the lady says, “Let’s take a look,” and turns my chair around, I feel that pit of the unknown dippingdeep.
She turns my chair, and tears fall from my eyes. My hair is short, but about three to four inches in length. It’s styled in a way that looks super easy and makes all the mismatched pieces flow together, looking like they belong in those exact spots and this wasplanned.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say in awe, my hand gliding through the short locks but not feeling the patches. The soreness has gone away, but it’s still odd putting my fingers through it. Since it all flows, I’m not feeling the different lengths as I go. “Thankyou.”
“Oh, dear! Anytime, anytime.” She pats my shoulder. “You give that hair some time and it’ll be just as long as it wasbefore.”
The tears spill over my eyes. It’s like reclaiming another part of myself. Damn, I loveit.
