run of the mill.

6th

"Beyonce wake up!"

Beyonce blinked against the sun spilling through the blinds she swore she closed the previous night. She pulled her covers to her neck and looked at T standing over her fully dressed. "Wake up girl, dang!"

"What, what I'm up," Beyonce said blinking back the tire from her eyes. She turned her eyes to the small digital clock beside her head and tried to focus her eyes on the time while T spoke.

"Come on we're going to the salon."

Beyonce blinked the burn away. 4-4 no, no that wasn't a 4 that was a 9. 9:41.
9:41 am!?!

On a Saturday with no practice.

Beyonce looked at T. "Nigga are you crazy!?" Without waiting for a response, she threw her covers over her head. "If you don't leave me the fuck alone!"

T yanked the covers back and watched y/n draw her knees to her chest at the cold. "You promised!"

Beyonce lay still on her side for a second. Then she all of a sudden went into a tantrum kicking her legs out and laying on her back. "I promised you what, shit!"

T folded her arms over her casual gray jacket and her long green scarf she had wrapped carelessly around her neck. "You promised that when I was ready go somewhere you would come with me."

"... I lied," Beyonce offered after a while. She turned herself over and tucked herself into her body, preparing to go back to sleep. She was having a wonderful dream about some Trix cereal, a rabbit hole, and Trey Songz.

T looked at her for a moment and spoke only a few words. "I will dump you damn fish in the toilet-."

Beyonce rolled over. "Give me a few minutes to shower."

T nodded. "I'm going to the cafeteria to get tea. You want some?"

Beyonce stretched and yawned, nodding her head. She didn't play about her fish. She loved those things. She grabbed her toiletries and a towel before she shuffled out of the room behind T, going in the opposite direction.

Twenty four minutes later Beyonce stepped from her dorm room clad in her white IceCream hoodie that was on the tighter side with more men's skinny jeans and white Nike Blazers. Her hood was pulled over her messy bun so low that one could barely see the bottom of her nose.

"Girl are you ok? You look dead," T asked as she pushed her silver Toyota Camry through the traffic to the Southlake Mall. Beyonce didn't even glance up. Her eyes were closed underneath the hoodie but she didn't tell T that. Her roommate had been talking to her the entire time they were on the road but Beyonce didn't have the slightest clue what the hell she was talking about.

"You get your hair done in a fuckin' mall T? I don't feel like going to no damn mall man!" Beyonce whined was T searched for an available spot.

"You promised," T said as though she was enjoying her torture of Beyonce. "Besides, if I went to my usual hairdresser for what I have in mind for my hair right now, she would shit on me."

Beyonce mumbled and stepped out of the car. "What you got in mind?"

"A short cut... really short."

Beyonce shrugged and asked her why. "Because my mom's called and pissed me off."

Beyonce made a face. "So you're gonna hack off all your hair?"

T didn't say anything for a minute while they walked but Beyonce could see that her face had paled a little. Her eyes thinned and her chin rose a little higher in the air. "When I was little, I was one of those chunky girls. A little bigger than everyone else in my class up until the eighth grade. And my momma... the only thing she would ever compliment me on my whole life was my hair. So now..."

Beyonce nodded and didn't say anything. She suddenly understood her choice of hairstyle. It was a rebellion on the only thing her mother had ever been proud of.

"She'll be proud of me one day," T said more to herself than to Beyonce. "Not my hair... but just me."

They reached the salon and the two women stepped inside. "I need my hair redone," Beyonce said as she noticed all the empty seats. Surely someone would be able to do her hair too. "I just need braids."

T stopped walking and looked at Beyonce until she realized that she was approaching the receptionist desk alone. Beyonce turned around looked at her roommate with quizzing eyes. "What?"

T shook her head and whined. "I'm sick of seeing you without your damn hair done!"

Beyonce made a face. "I'm finna get it done now what are you talking about?"

T approached her and pulled away from the nosy ass receptionist. "Not done like braids, but done like straightened or maybe in an updo." T smiled at her own idea. "Something nice."

Beyonce was already prepared to back down from the idea. "I ain't into that type of shit. So much comes with tryna look good for these nigga's."

T nodded. "So what about tryna look good for you?"

"What?"

"Beyonce do you even own a mirror? I ain't saying there's anything wrong with you but... what about pleasing yourself and looking good for you?" Beyonce bit her lip and didn't say anything. T took the time to continue. "You're so wrapped up in trying to be different, you forgot to consider what you really want verses what you want people to see."

She slumped her shoulders and looked back toward the salon. She could easily go to the food court and wait for T to finish. Her roommate wasn't the type of person to try and tell her what she was going to do like she was her mother or something. She could easily back out and continue on with her college education.

Finish alone.

And sad.

And lonely.

Beyonce sighed. "I'ma need your help picking something out."

T nodded and smiled. "I'ma need you to hold my hand while they hack off my hair."

They chuckled and the two of them marched into the salon, each equally afraid of what they were about to do. Beyonce was so use to being accepted just because of the person she was she never really did much to impress anyone. And growing up being the apple of her father's eye never made her care what the opposite sex thought. She was her father's child and that was all that mattered to her.

But here in college, if you weren't like everyone else, you weren't shit. You had to conform just to get friends and the thought pissed Beyonce off but what more could she do? Did she really want to spend her college career alone and nurse her own rebelliousness? Was being different that important? Was being different ever important?

They sat in the chairs side by side and got their hair washed. T handed Beyonce a magazine and showed her an idea she had. Beyonce shrugged and nodded. Beyonce soft curls sat atop her head and spilled down her back casually while T's perm caused her hair to fall in a straight line.

"Well, do you have something in mind?" the stylist asked as she brushed through Beyonce's wet mass. Beyonce glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Yeah, I want this style here," she pointed into the magazine she had been nervously clutching. "Cut about three inches off and do the bang."

The hairdresser looked over the hairstyle and back at Beyonce's beautiful long hair. Not a lot of people were willing to do so much on such a random visit. "Are you sure?"

Beyonce nodded jerkily and felt a pain shoot through her hand. She looked at the fingers she had linked with T as the hairdresser behind her began to efficiently snip off long strands of wet hair. While her face was as calm as water while she stared at nothing in particular, Beyonce could feel the panic in her grip. So she held on tighter to offer her support.

Beyonce prepared herself for her cut but she wasn't as heartbroken about it. Her hair had never been something to be treasured so it was never the epitome of her beauty. So when she heard the scissors snipping away behind her, she didn't flinch.

"I like it T, I do." Beyonce walked beside her roommate as they exited the shop. She fingered her short jet black hairdo casually and nodded with approval.

"Thanks, you feel like going home?"

Beyonce shrugged and looked around. "I got my money. You wanna go look at some stuff?"

T smiled a sinister smile and nodded. Before she could even reply Beyonce stepped back physically and spoke. "Hell na. What do you want?"

T threw her hands up dramatically. "What?!"

Beyonce was not put off. She folded her arms and created a stance. "Tell me what you want or I'm going home."

T shuffled her feet in the white Puma shoes she wore. "Well you know about that Beta party this weekend right?"

Beyonce gave her a look with slits for eyes underneath her low cut bangs. She was well aware by this time to keep an eye on T. She could be a manipulative little butt when she wanted. It was, however, one of the things he had grown to love about her. "Yeeeeah," she said carefully.

"Well I got this idea about us going... with similar outfits." T's eyes wondered away from hers as though there was more she wasn't telling her.

Beyonce looked confused. "Why can't I just wear my clothes and you wear yours?"

T whined. "Because it's a dress and if I wear a dress in this semi-chili weather I'll be a tramp. But if the both of us wear then it will be ok."

Beyonce shook her head. "Hell no, I ain't wearing no damn dress to no party."

T whined again and stomped her foot. "Why not?"

Pointing to one of the windows a few ways down from then that lead to the outside, Beyonce faced T. "Cause it's cold as hell out there!"

"OMG," T said using the text abbreviation in physical conversation like a lot of people had been doing. "76 degrees is not cold!"

Beyonce had to agree. "Well, I don't wanna be all hooker-ish while I dance."

T started to remark and then closed her mouth. "You dance?" she asked curiously.

"Yes I do and I don't want everyone to see my shit while I do."

T grabbed her arm. "Just look at the outfit I have in mind. You're gonna love it and change your mind." T started in the direction of the store that she had purchased her outfit from earlier that week.

"I bet I won't." Beyonce huffed. They marched into the story and T seemed to know where everything was.

She picked up a gray long sleeve John Patrick sweater dress. It was hooded and appeared to be at least fifty percent spandex. Beyonce knew it would hug every curve and crevice on her. "It's cute but I ain't wearing this shit nowhere."

T sighed. "Then we'll compromise. Beyonce think about it. We would be mad sexy and we would have nigga's jocking left and right." Beyonce still shook her head and prepared to put the dress back on the rack. "This is just the outfit you need to get some dick in your life."

At her words, Beyonce halted all movement. Dick?

Her mind made her consider the notion. It had been a rather long time since she enjoyed the physical pleasures of a man. And goodness knows that they weren't lined up at her door now looking to get their bid in. Besides, she thought to herself as she looked around the store for something else... anything that wasn't a dress wouldn't hurt. It wasn't changing anything.

And if she wore it, she would get dick.

That was reason enough.

Beyonce pushed her dorm room door open and stomped inside, dropping her bags carelessly on the floor as she went. She plopped down on her bed and allowed the frown on her face to fester and draw deeper when T appeared in the doorway smiling slightly.

"You seriously pissed about that hunh?" T asked putting her roommate's bags in the bottom of the closet for her.

Beyonce pushed her bangs back angrily and pointed to her face. "Look at my face! You let that bitch rip off my fucking forehead!"

T laughed and took off her jacket. "She did not."

"Then why the fuck does my face look all raw and shit! I'm already breaking out from all this damn work, I don't need a red face T!"

T smiled. "Girl getting your eyebrows arched ain't that big a deal. Besides the swelling and redness will be gone in like an hour."

Beyonce folded her arms. "And the fucking pimples?"

T smirked. "Oh you mean the three invisible dots on your chin that have you trippin' out on me?"

Beyonce made a face and T just laughed. "If it will make you feel better we'll go to Sephora one day and get you some Mac to cover it."

"What's Mac?" Beyonce asked.

"A makeup brand, very nice."

Beyonce stood up and held her hands out in front of her. She had gotten her already long nails painted black to piss T off at the salon. "Beyonce those damn nails are dry and you look like the living dead walking around with your hands out like that."

"... Fuck you."

"Beyonce if you don't be still I'ma pull your fucking eyelashes off!" T said in a serious tone as she held the eyelash curlers close to Beyonce's face.

Beyonce withdrew and looked at the metal contraption. "What the hell is that!?"

T sighed. "It curls your eyelashes so they look longer. Now be still."

Beyonce blinked once and allowed her roommate to attach the small machine to her left eye. "Don't pinch me!"

T sighed, "I'm not just be still."

Beyonce sat unmoving until T moved it away. She picked up the mirror she had sitting next to her on the bed and looked at her eye. "Nice," she said to herself. "Do the other one."

T shook her head and handed the curler to Beyonce. "You try it. It ain't hard."

Beyonce put her fingers into the machine and held it to her right eye. She clipped down and then looked at T with the eye she could use. "What's this stuff?" she asked T as she held up a small compact.

"Blush."

Beyonce made a face. "Then what was that liquid stuff I have on now?"

"Foundation."

"I gotta wear both?"

"Yep," T said as she plucked at her short hair again. It was almost like she wanted her long hair back.

"Why?"

"Foundation creates a common tone all over your face. Blush adds depth."

"Ooohhh. And what's this?" Beyonce pointed to a tube.

"Lip liner."

"And I use that to..."

"Trace your lips."

"... I knew that."

"You're a dumbass. Whatever come here so I can check your contacts."

Beyonce pulled the curler from her eye and gave her roommate a confused look. "My what? Oh! My eye contacts! I forgot I had them in."

T laughed and looked at Beyonce through truly amazed eyes. "You so damn stupid. Come here."

Beyonce shuffled closer and T peered into her eyes, trying to spot irritation. "Nice, they went in perfectly."

They shuffled around, trying to apply makeup to Beyonce's face when they heard her phone ring. "Hello," she said while T took her time unwrapping Beyonce's hair. Her deep brown hair that almost looked black besides the quick wispy strands of maroon fell immediately onto her shoulders. T began to take the comb through it carefully, styling it as she went.

"Was up kid?" Shawn's way casual but still exceedingly sexy voice flowed into the phone. Had she been a lesser woman or a tramp, she would have picked up on the deep baritone vibrations and even commented on the fullness of his voice. But because she knew that he was taken and she was so distracted with trying to slip her foot into her , she barely registered his voice.

"Shawn?" she asked with a confused look on her face.

"Yeah," he said, not noticing that she had begun using the personal nickname she had given him. It was nothing to be acknowledged; especially since she was simply his friend with the soda and decent conversation. "It's me."

"Oh was up nigga?" She said as she put on her shoe and then sat up.

"Shit," Shawn said casually. "Callin' to see whatcho' was getting yo ass into tonight."

Beyonce squinted while T combed down her bangs carefully. "Shit some Beta party you was tellin' me about like a week ago."

Shawn smiled; proud that she was doing something. She was way too cool to be sitting in a dorm all day doing nothing. "Oh word? Shit I had some games for the XBOX but I guess you don't play with toys no more."

Beyonce laughed. "Shut that shit up nigga. You coming through?"

"Yeah," he said. "I might make an appearance."

Beyonce smiled. "You trippin' but I'ma see you there."

"Aight Bey."