Against society [AMBW]

Chapter Forty Eight

Week15~Sunday

Every night we spend in this place is almost as boring as the last. Sure we have technology and food to accompany us, but that only lasts so long. Outside interactions have had many limitations. For instance, last night I was almost tackled for emptying the bin without telling Daniel or Ariella. This is obviously for our own safety, however when you've been cooped up in the same room for the last week and a half, you begin to question your own sanity.

Nonetheless, I've still had the privilege of talking to Melissa as we normally would- only with the exception that she doesn't understand what's happening, nor where I am. Mel will always be my high school best friend, but it doesn't mean I've got a blind eye for the distance we're creating in our friendship.

As for Judas, I try to speak to him on call from time to time when Adrian isn't forcing me into watching the motorcyclists. I guess the only con with our friendship is that it came too late to stay strong.

Adrian and I have been on top of each other for majority of the time spent here... like... literally. Besides binge watching motorcyclist highlights, we've watched the old anime DVD's, ordered multiple take outs and wrestled out of nowhere.

"Sprinkles, do you want to take this?" He holds up the same blue towels I used an hour ago, standing at the bathroom doorway, then walking back in.

"I might have a shower before we leave." I reply, shouting into the back into bathroom.

"Alright." He calls out.

Pushing the plug into the socket and turning the switch one, I press the middle button on the hairdryer. The irritating sound leaves the device with hot air hitting the ends of my hair.

Having already sectioned into eight parts, I start with the bottom left. Running the brush attachment through the part, my arms already start to ache and I'm met with the same question I ask myself every wash day. Did I really need to wash my hair?

Of course I did! If I'm going to be on a plane for such a long journey, it only makes sense I do my hair whilst I have the opportunity.

As time passes, Adrian walks out the bathroom and stares at me for longer than I'd think. He has a weird eyebrow raise along with a creepy disfigured smile, I don't know how to respond to. His eyes meet my hair, the four stretched parts and the four shrunken parts. Obviously he's seen my natural hair before, but I can't help avoiding the fact that I feelslightly self conscious with the little acknowledgement he's paying it.

"Your hair..." The pupils of his eyes dilate at the sight. They glance to the parts I have yet to work with, then back to the stretched hair.

"Yes?" I say timidly.

"It's beautiful." He closes the gap between himself and the stool I'm knelt on. I follow the arm he brings up to my head, watching the movement of his hand as closely as possible. At last he runs his soft fingers through the strands of my blow-dried hair, making sure to be gentle at my ends.

Sure- people have complimented my hair before when I style it in a particular way. However, no one has ever praised it in this state. In fact, despite majority of the people I've spoken to are black, in the black community 4C hair is still and will forever be degraded. Instead we are forced to believe the looser strands of curls are the better kind. I've been told that wearing my hair in a natural afro is a 'trend' to do once in a while, or else I'll look like I don't know how to look after myself.

Yet, here he is...

Towering over me...

A person of the opposite gender...