Orphic | Spider-Man

ELEVEN

OCTAVIA SHOWERED FOR nearly an hour. The shower in her bedroom now had a chair that would help her shower now that she couldn't feel anything in her legs. Most times she would just sit in the chair, forgetting to put shampoo or conditioner in her hair.
      Because she hadn't left the house, her hair had grown down past her rear, the curls growing looser and looser each month. Her dead ends were deader than dead, fried and curled in the most disgusting way. It was as if she'd never heard of scissors or a hairdresser. Also, since she never washed or hair or forgot to, it was greasy, had lost its bounce and volume. So Octavia decided to fix it. 
      She wanted to feel normal. Do something normal like normal teenagers her age. She made sure she shampooed and conditioned her hair, getting her scalp good and squeezing as much soap out as she could. After her shower, she dried herself off in her chair, and sat there for a few moments, looking at the arms and the waistband that was momentarily turned off. It looked like an exoskeleton of some four-legged animal, the waistband just something that connected the bones, like a muscle, and missing from the waistband, the spinal-looking track that made the arms move. That was the only part of the arms that stayed attached to her body permanently. 
      The track looked like a spine, growing smaller as it reached the top, the tip nearly at the base of her head, where the white scar was from her operation to insert the microchip. The track stuck to her back by needles, which she realized would have to stay stuck in her back, attached to the upper level of her spine where no damage had been done. 
      She didn't have any visible scars, which she was grateful for. The other scar she did have was from the surgery to remove the bullet. It wasn't as big or long like most scars from back surgery, hers had healed in a nearly straight line, was raised and a red-violet color. The cool metal of the spinal track covered it perfectly. Also, the only thing she found the slightest bit funny about the spinal track was that she could wear a bra right over it without it being able to unclasp while she wore the arms. The only problem with the arms was that the waistband tucked in half her shirt, so she'd have her shirt pulled down in the front and high-tailed in the back so the waistband didn't chafe all of her skin. She put the waistband back on and let the track connect to the arms after her shower when she found the only motivation she had left to do what she wanted.

      With the towel on her head, fresh black sweatpants and cropped matching black crewneck, Octavia looked at herself in the mirror. Because the lower arms acted as a stabilizer and her balance to allow her to still have her feet on the floor, though she couldn't feel, when she'd walk she was a few inches higher off the ground. Instead of being five foot two, Octavia could be five foot ten, or six foot, or as tall as she wanted. She smiled, thinking about the jokes Peter would make about her being short, and then throwing the same jokes back in his face, being taller than him now thanks to the arms. 

      Peter, remind me now, what's the weather like down there? It's been a while since I was shorter. 
      Octavia hadn't even realized she was smiling before she remembered MJ's picture. She didn't know MJ, so how could she hate her? Why did her chest grow warm and her jaw began clenching tightly? She didn't hate MJ, she hated herself. She hated the long, greasy haired no curls girl who had grown so pale that even her green eyes had turned dull. But the one thing she did think was cool was the shaved part under her head, though no one but her, Otto, and the two doctors who implanted the chip in her knew. She wanted a good secret than having four metal arms. She wanted to feel good about a secret. 

      She had the stolen the scissors from the kitchen on the side of the sink while her phone was propped up by the bottle of hand soap. She watched numerous videos, all nearly the same with the same information, tips and tricks on how to cut your own hair and how to cut your hair shorter.
      Octavia was nervous as she picked up the scissors. She had sectioned her hair in fours, two in the front and two in the back. She didn't know how this would turn out. Everyone she watched in the videos turned out perfectly, and they all said I'm not an official hairdresser! yet in the end they all looked like they went to the same professional. She took a deep breath and grabbed the long front right ponytail. She was in the pose: scissors in the left hand, hair in the right, small space between them, blades parted and ready to cut. But she couldn't do it.
      Otto would be mad. He'd be so mad. He'd been gone for a few hours since dinner, working at the lab. He left last seeing her with long hair, and he'd come back to see her hair jaw-length. 
      "No." Octavia sighed. "No he wouldn't." But she didn't drop the pose. She wanted this. She wanted to do this. She needed a push. 
      That's when the two top arms sprouted from the waistband behind her, curving around her shoulders, opening their claws to look at her. They both whirred as they watched her stay frozen in the position to cut her hair. They moved out in front of her, claws closing, looking at each other before looking back at her. Octavia thought they looked like they were tilting their heads at her, like they were saying What are you waiting for?