White Lies

Part Two: Hair as Dark as Ebony

Her own reflection startles her, as soon as she clears the steam off the mirror.

"I can't believe I did it," Blanche tells herself, running her fingers through wet hair.

The dark locks stand out against her milky white skin. What would her mother think? What would Perry say?

"It doesn't matter," she mutters, "This is my body. My hair. My life." She raises her chin as a show of defiance.

A knock on the door makes her jump. "How does it look? Bee, you have to come out and show me!" the voice on the other side orders.

"I'll be out in a minute!" Blanche tightly grasps the towel wrapped around her naked body, giving her reflection a final glance before turning around and putting on her newly-purchased clothes—matching black lace underwear and bra, a pair of dark jeans (she has never owned a pair of jeans) and a shirt which is too short for her liking, but her friend, Trisha, has insisted she must have. She piles her hair on top of her head before wrapping it in the towel again.

She comes out to find Trisha waiting in the small hallway. Her current situation isn't the most ideal for either of them, but Trisha has welcomed her with open arms, insisting that she makes herself comfortable until she's ready to go out on her own.

"Let me see! Let me see!" Trisha, like the highly energized Zumba instructor that she is, jumps up and down, clapping her hands.

"Wait. Hold on." She unwraps the towel around her hair, revealing the change. "What do you think?" she asks as her thick hair cascade down her shoulders.

Trisha takes it all in, her mind working hundred miles a minute. "Let's cut it!"

"What?" Blanche's eyes widen.

"Troy!" Trisha yells. "Bring me the scissors."

"Trisha, I'm not cutting my hair." Her hands protectively gather her wet hair into a bundle.

Trisha pushes her back into the bathroom. "As my favorite delinquent used to say--'never say never'."

"But I didn't say never! I said not. Not, Trisha. No!"

Trisha's hands fly onto her hips. "Bee, remember you agreed to an overhaul, a complete makeover. You've had the same haircut since what? Second grade? It's time for a change."

Right on cue, Troy shows up with the scissors. "Here. What's up? Whoa, Blanche, that's pretty hot."

Trisha flicks out her hand. "See? I told you. Now, turn around and let me cut off that hair."

Blanche pales but obeys her friend. Trisha is right. There's nothing more than she needs right now than change. Good change, she hopes.

And possibly a job. Maybe her own apartment. Everything else that will help her survive her sudden move to New York City.

***

The bar is at full capacity. Hunter doesn't care. He knows that it's the only place where people won't ever bother him. His reputation precedes him as usual. This crowd knows better.

He finishes his drink in one long pull. How many has he had? He's lost count after the seventh shot and the seventh beer bottle. That's the point of this night. To forget. To forget everything and everyone. Or at least numb the pain in his chest, and expel thoughts of a certain beautiful woman out of his mind.

A shot of something amber-coloured appears before him. He glares up at the bartender who places it. The man lifts both hands in surrender.

"They're from those two across the bar," the bartender says, hitching a thumb over his shoulder.