I Do

Chapter 6 - Not Alone

Running a hand through my hair one last time, I nod at the dresser standing behind me. “Do it.”

Clara is off to my left, watching with measured glances, arms crossed. “Not too choppy, Pierre.” She turns her back to the mirror then, heading to the couch in the corner. Picking up a copy of Vogue, she never once raises her gaze. 

I turn my own back to the locks of blond hair fluttering to the salon floor. I imagine each one a bad moment of my life falling away, leaving only the good. Clara gave the hairdresser, Pierre, a gay friend of hers, specific instructions on what to do about eliminating my current “look”. 

Air quotes courtesy of You-Know-Who.

I try to relax my shoulders, resisting the urge to flinch away from the sharp edges of scissors inches from my neck.

“Clara, if she’s going to be this tense, I simply cannot work with it.” Pierre plants his hands on his hips, turning to the monster in heels. 

“Would you give us a minute, dear?” she asks, eyeing me as she touches his shoulder comfortingly. It must be so hard to work on my hair, I think sarcastically as I examine my cuticles. 

“Listen, Lauren.” she begins, placing her hand under my chin and forcing it up. “It’s pretty clear to me that all this-” she stops to indicate our surroundings-a marble fountain, mural of a unicorn on the back wall and rows of movie posters featuring Ryan Gosling-”is not you. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be.”

She’s talking about her world again. “I can, I am this!” I exclaim, waving my hands in the air. “At least I used to be.” I trail off, staring straight ahead at my reflection. 

“Well, what’s stopping you then?”

A list of things run through my mind, and I close my eyes, fighting with my lips not to release the rage building in my lungs. “I don’t want to! I don’t want to be this anymore! I spent three years playing subject to a royal airhead who tricked me and didn’t give a care in the world when her son died! I’m not about to sign up for a life of lies!” I yell, sinking to the floor and burying my head in my knees.

“Oh my.” A hand rests on my back, rubbing gentle circles. “Come on, get up honey.”

Slowly I get to my feet, pressing the heels of my hands onto my cheeks to catch the moisture. “I’m sorry.” I sob. 

“What’s this really about?” Clara asks as she sits on the couch across from me. I sniff, composing myself before open my mouth. 

“You must think I’m crazy.”

“No.” she shakes her head. “I can recognize when someone’s in need of a heart to heart.”

I laugh through the leftover tears, wiping them away and looking back at her.