Page 34 of Ruined Vows

No one seems to hear me.

By the time I finally flag someone down, my head feels on fire.

“Oh, you should have told someone sooner,” says the stylist as she pulls me over to the hair wash station.

I can only glare at her at this point as another trilling giggle from the front sets my teeth on edge.

The stylist quickly pulls all the foils off my hair, which at least feels like a relief. It’s even better when she starts to wash it. Okay, this part feels nice.

The stylist takes me back over to her station with the towel on my head.

“Your mother sent a picture of the updo y’all want. Is that still the plan?”

She sets up a picture on the vanity. I barely glance at it.

“Whatever she’s picked is fine.” It’s always easier to agree than fight her. I pick my battles and hair isn’t one of them.

“Wonderful.”

She proceeds to blow-dry and straighten my hair with a flat iron. Ugh, I should have paid more attention to the picture. I’m pretty sure the woman in the picture has naturally straight hair. Of course, Carol would choose this style. I hate straightening my hair.

Carol adores it straight. If she had her way, I’d do this bullshit all the time.

The stylist can’t help murmuring about what a lot of hair I have several more times as she works her way through the mass of wet curls, spraying shit on it as she goes.

What a lot of hair you have, what a lot of hair you have, what a lot of hair you have, what a lot of hair you have, what a lot of?—

“Are you alright, hun?”

She’s looking at me like I’m crazy, straightener in hand. Shit. Was I looping out loud? I only do that when I’m really fucking off.

What a lot of hair you have. I squeeze my lips together and jump up from the chair, finally managing to blurt, “Bathroom!” before sprinting off to the restroom in the back corner of the shop.

When I’ve got the door closed, I collapse against it, the frantic nonsense whispering immediately starting up. “What a lot of hair you have. What a lot of hair you have. What a lot of hair you have.” I stare at myself furiously in the mirror but can’t stop. “What a lot of hair you have.”

It gets faster and faster, becoming more of a nonsense string of sounds as I sit on the closed lid of the toilet. “What-a-lot-of-hair-you-have, what-a-lot-of-hair-you-have, what-a-lot-of-hair-you-have, what-a-lot-of-hair-you-have, what-a-lot-of-hair-you-have, what-a-lot-of-hair-you-have.”

My hands squeeze into fists, and tears burst out of my eyes as I fight the stupid compulsion. “What-a-lot-of hair-you-have, what-a-lot-of-hair-you-have?—”

A knock on the door startles me mid-whisper.

“Busy!” I call, swiping at my stupid tears.

“You okay in there, Red?”

All the air whooshes out of my chest at his voice, and when I suck in my next breath, it fills my chest all the way back up. My fists unclench and I’m able to take in several more deep breaths.

“Fine,” I call back. I stand up and make it to the door, breathing deeply again as I go.

I crack it open, and Isaak’s concerned face is on the other side.

He frowns as soon as he sees me. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Can’t a woman piss in peace?” I snap at him and shut the door in his face.

But just seeing him has calmed me down even more, and I lean my forehead against the closed door, knowing he’s still on the other side, and continue to breathe.

TWELVE

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