Start of Something New (On Hold)

Chapter 10

Kaitlyn’s P.O.V.

I had already told my mom on Thursday that I was going to sleepover at Liz’s house on Friday, so when I got home, all I had to do was pack my bag. I threw a Bring Me the Horizon shirt, red shorts, socks, pajamas, makeup, and my straightener in a random backpack that I didn’t use anymore. Around five minutes after I finished this, I got a text from Liz saying that she was almost at my house. So, I went to sit on my front porch to wait for them.

Not even a minute after I sat down on the swing I saw Liz’s mom’s car pull up and Liz jump out of the passenger seat and run up to me and grabbed my hand to pull me to the car.

“Happy much?” I questioned her while laughing.

“Happy? Yeah, just not as much as I am excited,” she chuckled as she pushed me into the back seat.

“Hello Kaitlyn, I haven’t seen you since the summer,” her mom told me.

“I saw you last week,” I answered.

“Well, it was summer,” she simply stated while her hazel eyes were focused on the road.

“Yeah, so Liz what color are you dying your hair this time?” I inquired. Liz’s hair has been a lot of colors, from blue to pink and black to bleached.

“Purple and I need you to help me bleach it,” she responded while turning around in her seat to look at me.

“Why? And I’m not helping you bleach it,” I uttered.

“My hair is currently black, the dye won’t be bright unless I bleach it and yes you are helping me,” she assumed that I would help her.

“Oh, so you want it to be really bright purple, not dark purple,” I mused.

“Yeah, I do, I’m getting tired of dark colors in my hair,” she responded while looking at her black and blood red hair.

We pulled up to Liz’s house and right after I got out of the car she grabbed my hand and pulled my into her house, up the stairs and into her lime green, turquoise, and hot pink bedroom. She grabbed a bag that was sitting on her dresser and opened it; she pulled out a bleach kit and Manic Panic Ultra Violet.

“I’m guessing that’s going to be really bright,” I wondered as I stared at the bright purple bottle.

“Good, I want it to be bright,” she responded in a defensive tone.

“So, when do you want your hair to be all gooey?” I probed while imagining her hair covered in purplish bleach.

“Sometime tonight, whenever you decide to help me put this stuff in my hair,” she pleaded while looking up at me with big eyes.

“Not going to happen, I will help you with the dye, just not the bleach,” I shuddered at the thought of what happened the first time she made me help her.

“Come on, that was in like 7th grade, we didn’t know any better,” she begged for my forgiveness, which wasn’t going to happen.

The first time she used bleach, she made me help her. None of it got on my skin, but she got a lot of it in my hair on “accident”, but I know that she wanted me to have lighter hair than I naturally have. I was pissed at her for weeks, until it grew out and I didn’t have a random spot of blonde hair.

“I don’t care,” I said, pronouncing each syllable more than necessary and putting extra emphasis on the “don’t”.

“Really, if you don’t at least sit in the bathroom with me, you will be bored to death,” she mocked my tone.

“In your house? I could never be bored in your house!” I responded half sarcastically, I am never bored in her house if I’m doing something with her, but without her, I tend to be bored and I have been in Liz’s house when no one was home.

“You are getting in my bathroom now,” she commanded while pointing to her bathroom.

“Oh, Liz, I didn’t know you felt that way,” I mused, perverted thoughts swirling around in my mind. If you are wondering, no, I am not a lesbian.

“Kaitlyn, if I felt that way about you, we would be doing it in my bedroom and we would have already started. Why did you think that when I said bathroom?” she responded while glaring at me.

“Yeah, I know, I don’t exactly know why I said that,” I answered. The truth was that I did know I just like to tease her about her insecurities.

“Come, we must put this bleach in my hair while there is still light in the outside world,” she uttered, trying to act serious even though she was laughing her ass off, as she pulled me into her lilac and cream bathroom.

Her bathroom is the kind of bathroom that has makeup and accessories and hair products scattered on the counter. It smells like a combination of hair dye, shampoo, and hairspray. The walls are lilac and everything else is cream, white, or beige.

She starts pulling out the supplies she needs from the kit or gets the ones that don’t come in the kit from cabinets that are under the counter.

“I told you, I’m not helping you with the bleach, where’s your iPod,” I stated.

“Fine, charging, on my desk,” she stated while putting on the gloves that would protect her hands from coming in contact with the bleach.

I went into her bedroom and searched her desk for her iPod, when I found it I unplugged it and went back into the bathroom.

“Why are you obsessed with my iPod?” she questioned me while stirring the powder into the cream in a bowl.

“I’m not; I’m obsessed with music,” I responded, “What is your code?”

She stole the device from me and punching in numbers on the screen. “There, I unlocked it,” she told me while handing it back to me.

“You like pop punk too much,” I stated while staring at the gigantic number of bands that were pop punk in her iPod.

“So? You like hardcore too much,” she mimicked the tone that I used.

“Finally!” I shrieked when I found a playlist that I had made on her iPod, which only consisted of hardcore and rock bands.

“What?” she wondered as I scrolled through the songs until I found The Sadness will Never End by Bring Me the Horizon.

“Nothing,” I muttered guiltily while smiling at my playlist.

“Oh, you are obsessed with them,” she assumed flatly after the song started.

“I’m sorry, British bands tend to be better than American bands,” I responded while staring at her in the mirror. She looked stupid applying the bleach to her scalp.

“But like half the bands you like are American,” she stated while putting bleach in her bangs.

“But British bands are better,” I believed in a fake British accent.

“You like faking British accents,” she mused in a horribly fake British accent.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” I countered in yet another fake British accent.

“If you would just help me, then we would be out of my bathroom sooner,” she responded in a fake Irish accent, which I think was an attempt at an actually good fake British accent, which will never happen.

“Not helping you,” I answered normally, without a hint of an accent in my voice.

“Meh, just help me already,” she begged while moving on to the left side of her hair.

“Not going to happen,” I responded, it doesn’t matter what she does, I’m never going to help her with bleach again.

She finished bleaching her hair, trying to get me to help her through half the process until she gave up trying. We sat in the bathroom for around five more minutes while she applied it. Then, we waited an hour wandering around her house, not having anything else to do. She washed it out while I waited in her bedroom randomly searching songs that she didn’t have on her iPod on youtube.