“Wait, you want me to do what!?”
Nalia rolled her eyes, “Calm down. I’m a girl too. It’s not anything I haven’t seen before.”
“Sorry if I’m not all too ready to trust you, but…” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Well, I need to take your measurements. I promise you, Elliot is in a meeting right now. There is no possible way that he’d be able to walk in on us.”
“You’re not taking no for an answer are you?”
She shook her head. I sighed, and peeled off the baggy t-shirt and held out my arms like she wanted me too.
Her expression turned calculating as she took quick measurements with her measuring tape and made notes on a small notepad lying on the coffee table.
She clucked her tongue as she worked.
After a few minutes of her scribbling on paper, I began to feel self-conscious.
“Are you done yet?” I bit my lip, feeling exposed.
“Oh, yeah. You’re all good. Here,” She threw me something that looked like a hospital gown.
I pulled it over my head without question though.
“So are we done here, or?”
She laughed, “Oh goodness, no.”
“Oh, okay then.”
I stood there awkwardly for a few moments.
“Well, I’ll get my chair set up and we can take you for a spin in it.”
“For what?” I asked dumbly.
“I’m giving you a new look that’s what,” She grinned.
“Oh.” It all made sense now. He wanted me to look different so that I wouldn’t be recognized as easily. So much for being nice. I bet he’d turn my hair blue or something just to spite me. I grimaced.
“It’s not like I’m pulling teeth,” She laughed. “Don’t worry; I’m an expert.”
“Okay…” For some reason I had trusting any friend of Elliot’s.
“What type of hair dye do you normally use?” She asked, holding up a lock in her fingertips.
“I don’t know. I usually just go and ask the hairdresser to dye it.”
“Hmm…is it okay if I re-dye this? I think they used temporary dye and it looks like it’s beginning to fade. I’d really love to make it an even deeper red color if that’s okay with you. And, oooh how do you feel about bangs?”
YOU ARE READING
Thanatophobia (fear of dying)
Mystery / ThrillerI tried to control my breathing, so that the knife wouldn’t be dug further into my skin by the frantic movement of air into and out of my lungs. I looked up towards him. His eyes didn’t look angry; they looked sad. But my stomach churned at the dete...
