Seer Me Wrong ✔

Let's Get This Over With

I was woken up by a hellish imp looking thing that would be Casey before the sun was even up. She was violently shaking me. I wanted to kick her and go back to bed.

I am, now, a firm believer now that I should never be awake before the sun.

It's just not natural.

I was mumbling, halfhearted death threats and glaring at Casey, as I made my way to the bathroom to prepare myself for the day.

My pace picked up, turning into zombie shuffle. When I smelled coffee's sweet, sweet aroma in the air. It overpowered my body wash's scent in the steamy bathroom. It made no sense to dry my hair since I was going to my makeover.

I rushed over to the coffee, grabbing one of those little Dixie cups they leave in hotel rooms and filled it to the brim. By the time I felt awake, I had drunk 4 of cups, straight black.

While I finished my coffee, Casey was dressed and waiting not all that patiently might I add. I was dressed and out the door so fast I think my head spun a few times. I was led to a new place full of some interesting people.

One woman had half her head shaved what was left of her hair was red, another woman had spiked blue and black hair, everyone I could see had tattoos. I was checking out the rooster's tattoo while Casey talked to an overly friendly man with regular brown hair.

He placed a hand on my arm and led me into another room lined with spinning chairs and mirrors and a lot of hair care products and utensils that I couldn't name.

There were more people back here; some were getting their hair worked on, others were working on the hair and some were offering drinks, books, and other assorted goodies. He walked to a chair and turned the seat around so it wasn't facing the mirror. He gestured for me to sit down, of course, I did.

"My name is Jeff. I will be your stylist, I am not planning anything too wild. Casey has told me a bit about you, especially about how much you love surprises." He placed his hand on his hip and gave me a soft smile.

"So, I promised her I wouldn't let you see your hair until it was all over. Now before we start what is your favorite color?"

"Purple," I answered without hesitation. I have always been fond of purple, my quilt was purple at one point.

Jeff starts brushing my long blondish hair, the brush tickles my back as it travels to the end of my hair. I can hear Jeff humming to himself behind me.

I must say, I'm surprised I like the feeling of fingers running through my hair.  Earlier, I had felt anxious about what this stranger is going to do to my hair. It hasn't been cut in five years.

At Hell, they stopped cutting your hair once you were eighteen unless it was an issue. As a child, they kept all the girls' hair to at chin length, and all the boys' heads were shaved.

I hated how everything still reminded me of the hell, I struggle to think of something else. My thoughts turned to my brothers whom I haven't spoken to either one in about three days. I try to call them at least twice a week. Matt has written to our mother and has been urging me to do the same.

I really shouldn't think about my mother, every time I think of her since my "talk" with my papa I can't help but feel my heart breaking all over again.

It was easier to hate them if I thought they didn't care, but finding out they regretted it and missed me, crumbles some of my foundation of hatred. 

I didn't want to mess with this wound, the scab is barely holding it closed, I couldn't pull it off and deal with the intense damage underneath.

Not while surrounded by strangers, especially on the day I was starting my new job as a TV psychic. That still shocked me and sounded really cheesy. I liked Communicator to the Dead; that was a better title, maybe I could talk James into making that my credit title on the show.