Page 17 of Mr. Not Nice Guy

I can feel from the approximate location of the elastic holding the ponytail in place that my hair is about to be short asfuck, and I meet August’s hard stare in the reflection.

He defiantly arches an eyebrow at me, and there’s so muchhatein his eyes that it actually causes a pang in my chest.

But that’s nothing compared to when Francisco finishes slicing and sets my severed ponytail on the styling table.

It’s at least seven inches long. And suddenly staring back at me is a ragged, tattered girl with jagged hair that barely reaches past my earlobes. It reminds me of Les Mis, and when Fantine has to sell her hair, and then resorts to prostitution to support her daughter, and I know it’s justhair. But the similarities aren’t lost on me, and then I catch sight of August’s smug fucking face again.

Francisco has moved away from my now-barely-there-hair to go mix the red dye that I don’t want, and August reaches to pick up one of the ragged, unnaturally white blonde locks, stick-straight where natural waves used to be.

He turns it over in his fingers then flippantly tosses it back. “PoorwiddleScarlett,” he murmurs, mocking me the way I mocked him only last week. “I guess she doesn’t like her new haircut, huh?” He tilts his head, aloof and haughty. “I hope it’s worth it.”

My chest pangs again, and my eye rims burn, but fuckhimif he thinks he’ll get to me. I’ve lived throughway worse, andyes. Taking care of Maw-Mawisworth it, and he can have Francisco shave my head for all I fucking care.

I throw my shoulders back and sit up taller, then give my hair a careless shake. “Completely.”

5

August

Scarlett stands at the center of a blackened stage, bathed in the golden glow of a spotlight. The skimpy, beaded costume glitters as she places her hands on her hips and shimmies her shoulders. Her hair falls in a shiny, wavy, deep purple curtain over her shoulders, covering one eye, and she puckers her full, ruby lips.

A crowd roars, the sound echoing against hard walls, but I’m the only person in the room; a show just for me. I stand stubbornly in place, my arms crossed rigidly over my chest, and stare at her with disdain.

“You’re a joke,” I hiss at her. “Pathetic. I hope it’s worth it.”

She winks her one exposed eye at me, blowing a pouty kiss. “Completely.”

Twirling on the balls of her feet, she tosses her hair over one shoulder, throwing her arms high above her head, and flashes a blinding white smile at me. “It’s hysterical how much you hate how much you want me.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Scarlett?”

“I’m your unicorn.” She twirls again, then leans forward to shimmy her shoulders, shaking her ample, barely covered breasts at me. “You want me, but you’ll never have me.”

A pair of shadowy hands shoot forward out of the darkness and wrap around her throat, but she continues to grin widely at me. A faceless male figure appears, tightening his grip around her throat, and he heaves her off the stage. She tumbles and rolls to a stop, lying at my feet in a crumpled pile of limbs and gold-beaded fringe, and she looks at me through panicked gray eyes, but the bright, white smile on her face persists.

I’m frozen in place.

The faceless man mounts her, trapping her in place by caging her with his thighs, and rips the costume away from her. The beads fly. Pieces of fabric float through the air like feathers. I still don’t move.

I can’t move.

Her hair is fanned out like a royal purple, satin sheet under her head, and she looks at me, brows drawn in worry. The man begins to fuck her, his hips slamming against hers while he keeps one hand on her throat and uses the other to push her thighs wide. Her eyes are locked on mine, and electric shocks shoot through my veins, spurring me to move so I can save her, but I don’t move.

I can’t move.

He grunts like an animal, spitting and cursing degrading words at her, but she just stares at me. He thrusts harder, crazed, to the point that Scarlett’s body is scraping against the concrete floor. Fisting her hair with both hands, he jerks her head off the ground and slams it back down, over and over and over. Her hair disintegrates in his hands, morphing into rivulets of blood that trickle down his wrists and forearms, and I need to stop him.

I need to save her.

This faceless man is raping her and slowly killing her, and I have to do something.

But I can’t move.

I just stare and hiss at her again. “I hope it’s worth it.”

“Completely.”

Her light gray eyes pale to white, but the red continues to spill through the man’s palms and drip down his forearms. Her long, purple waves have completely morphed into pools of blood in his hands, leaving her with nothing but the short, crimson curls that she didn’t want. The skimpy costume she also didn’t want is a scattered pile of blood-soaked fabric and beads on the concrete around her.

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