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Part 12
Jesus, I’m sore.
I feel like I ran a marathon. My thighs burn with every step, and for some strange reason my left wrist hurts. And I have a bruise on my hip that’s just huge. Not to mention bite marks and hickeys covering pretty much my whole body.
I look like I was beaten up. And feel like it too. I had no idea sex could do that to a person.
I managed to sneak out of the house this morning before Joshua got up, something that never happened before. But then, I went to bed early last night, and I got a good night’s sleep. I’m actually awake, even though I skipped the coffee this morning. I completely forgot how that feels, being awake.
This morning I am not, however, on my quest to find Ava. I’m taking the day off because I have something to do.
I need to change.
Or rather, I need my physical appearance to adapt to the way I’ve changed. I haven’t decided yet if the change in me is a good thing or not, but either way it’s here, probably to stay. So I might as well adjust to it.
I don’t have any clothes that don’t scream ‘Miss Prissy’, I hate my hair and I’m sick of looking like a twelve-year-old. So all that is going to change today.
First thing to do is get myself a new wardrobe.
I don’t have a lot of money, but I can change the color of some of the stuff I have, so I don’t need too many new things. I decided to go to the sector where Ava used to work since I saw some shops there that have the kind of stuff I want.
The first store I hit seems to be specialized on leather, which is fine with me. I end up buying black leather pants, a fitted leather jacket and cloggy boots that add a nice few inches to my height.
I already spent quite a big chunk of my money, so I don’t have too much left to spend in the other shops I go to. I just buy a few tops and a second-hand coat. It’s long and black and has a hood, perfect for the weather here.
My next stop is a drug store. As I might have mentioned two or three million times before, I really hate my hair. It’s a boring brown color and boring straight and boring long. So I’m dying it. And cutting it.
Well, I’m letting someone else cut it of course, but I don’t have the money to let the hairdresser do the color too. And I don’t trust my powers enough to just wiggle my nose and have it done.
With clothes it doesn’t matter that much, worst case scenario would be setting them on fire. But risking setting my hair on fire? I don’t think so.
Besides, I prefer to avoid using my powers whenever possible. Why remind myself that I’m some sort of human-alien-freak if that can be avoided?
Of course, the word ‘using’ isn’t quite correct. That would indicate that I actually know what I’m doing, which I don’t. Hence it backfires half the time anyway, so why even bother?
At first I thought I’d buy plain black hair dye, but then I see one that’s black with a dark red ting, sort of like red wine. It looks pretty good on the package, so I just take it. Whatever.
Then I head for the hairdresser. I saw one while I was shopping, and the pictures on display were anything but normal, so it’s the perfect choice.
I’m sick and tired of looking normal, being normal. What did normal ever do for me?
Counter question, what did abnormal ever do for me?
Okay, so maybe not much, but who cares. I don’t want to be ordinary anymore. I mean, who does?
I reach the hairdresser, march right in and ask if they have a free appointment, like right now. They do, and so within minutes I’m seated in something that I guess is supposed to be a barber’s chair, with a guy with a pink Mohawk and about twenty piercings starring at me like I just fell from the sky.
Guess they don’t get a lot of people like me in here.
“Chop it off,” I tell him.
He frowns, circles the chair, all the while staring at my hair. “Chop it off?” he asks.
“Yes. Just cut it off. I don’t care what you do, I don’t want it long, and I don’t want it boring. I don’t care about the rest.”
He frowns again, studies my hair again, turns another circle. “Hmm.” He tilts his head, then starts fumbling around with my hair. “Strong hair, good texture,” he mumbles, but I doubt that he’s talking to me.
Then he simply takes the scissors and starts cutting.
I’ve never seen a hairdresser who cuts hair when it’s dry, and I’ve certainly never seen a hairdresser who goes about the job so carelessly and without a plan. At least that’s what it looks like to me.
Long strands of hair are falling to the ground, and I begin to get nervous. I did expect him to at least tell me what he was going to do before starting.
More hair falls and I get more nervous. Why the hell don’t they have a damn mirror in front of the barber’s stool? Every hairdresser has that. It’s like, a law. Or at least it should be.
I begin to say something, but he hushes me. He seems a bit out there, almost as if in trance. Wonder if he’s on drugs.
Jesus, I hope not.
He suddenly sets down the scissors and starts blow-drying my hair – what for I don’t know since it is already dry – and I feel a lot of tugging. Guess he’s using a brush to put it into shape.
When he’s done he spins me around I’m staring at myself in a mirror. My mouth just about drops open. I hardly even recognize myself. My hair goes just past my chin now, or at least the longer part. It’s cut in layers and it’s fringy, the tips curling outwards. It looks a bit messed up, but I love it.
“Wow,” is all I say.
An arrogant look slides over the hairdressers face as he smiles, obviously very satisfied with himself. “I know,” is all he says. Then he leaves. Whatever.
I pay, glad that it actually turns out to be cheaper than I’d expected, and head home. Reaching Joshua’s house, I sneak up the front steps like a thief, press my ear against the door and listen. I can’t make out any sounds and so I carefully open the door and peek inside.
The living room is empty and so I sneak inside and go to my room. I reach it undetected and leave the stuff I bought there, except for the hair dye. Grabbing that as well as a towel, I make my way to the bathroom.
There’s no hot water, but I’ve gotten used to cold showers. The bathroom was beyond disgusting when I first got here, but I cleaned it, first using the conventional method and then, when I became too frustrated, my powers.
It’s all sparkling and clean now, hence pretty close to perfect, except for the lack of warm water. But normally, when I have the time to take a bath, I just heat up the water with my powers.
Of course, half the time I overdo it and end up with bathwater that is literally boiling, but oh well.
I get to work, and following the instructions on the package, am done in half an hour. Glancing at myself in the mirror I don’t see much difference, but then, my hair is still wet. Too curious to wait, I decide to risk it and dry my hair with a wave of my hand. It works on the third try, and I even manage to style it the way the hairdresser had.
Jesus. I look so different. Older somehow, and with more of an edge. I love my new color, and I love my new cut. This is exactly what I wanted. A complete change.
I sneak back into my room and start going through my wardrobe. I left most of the catholic-school-girl-stuff at home, but I still have lots of clothes that don’t fit my new and improved look.
So I set to work.
Mostly I just change the color of stuff, sometimes make it tighter or lower the neckline. I have a jeans skirt that’s knee-long, and I cut it off so that it only reaches mid-thigh. When I’m done my whole wardrobe is black or some other dark color, except for a few random pieces.
Because I can’t resist, I change into my new leather pants, put on a dark top and my leather jacket. I add dark eye shadow and lots of mascara, and the look is complete.
I stare at myself in the mirror Joshua dug up for me somewhere for a long time. I look different, no doubt about it, but I feel like me. I haven’t in a long time now. It was like I had lost my identity.
But now I have a new one. And I like it.
Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43
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