Page 79 of Unraveled

I sank down to the floor, the tufts of my hair remaining in my hands. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed that way, but finally my tears dried. After getting up, I walked out to the kitchen and grabbed the scissors from the knife block. I was in a daze as I walked back into the bathroom. I looked but didn’t really see my reflection in the mirror as I began to hack. There was no other word for it. The kitchen scissors weren’t sharp, so I simply grabbed and cut until every chunk over an inch long was lying in the sink. Finally, I focused on my reflection in the mirror and saw the horror. Fresh sobs wracked my body.

Somewhere in my mind, I realized how vain I was being, considering the grand scheme of things. But perspective wasn’t something I was welcoming at the moment. I shoved that thought to the back of my brain; maybe it could make an appearance at a later time.

My knees gave way to an urge to curl into a ball on the bathroom floor. I lay like that until exhaustion claimed me, and I must’ve snoozed on the cool tile. I awoke to wonder if I’d had a nightmare. But I saw the shears on the floor and knew it was reality. The dark hair all over the sink and countertops slammed that reality home. I was not only losing my hair, but also my shit.

I went out to my bedroom and picked up my cell phone in order to text Kellan. I didn’t want him coming over tonight as we’d planned. But before I could hit send, I thought through his potential response. He’d ask why. I wasn’t ready to tell him. He’d say something rational, like that it would grow back. Like I was still beautiful. He’d try to mean it.

Then there was my mother. She’d freak if she saw the state of my hair. She’d try to say something comforting even though we’d both know how horrified she’d be with my appearance. I was the opposite from the beauty queen she’d always pictured. The thought caused a maniacal giggle to erupt. Yep, I was officially losing it.

But the real reason I wanted to lock myself in my apartment, never to come out, was that I was ashamed. Ashamed I was so vain when it came to my hair that this would be my tipping point into devastation. There were thousands of women who had it worse than me. Women who had kids and spouses, all with less hope of beating the disease. Who was I to despair about losing my hair when there were so many people who’d give anything to be in my shoes with stage two, treatable cancer? The thought put me into a fresh round of self-hatred-inspired sobs. I was so unbelievably selfish to feel overwhelmed over something so superficial.

By six o’clock that evening, I’d done nothing all day but lie in bed. My depression was crippling and no logic would work to relieve it. But I couldn’t ignore my buzzing phone. Not if I wished to keep people away. They’d assume the worst and come over to check on me. I saw the missed call from Kellan and then a text.

“You okay?”

Not at all. But it was easy to type the lie. “Yeah, was just napping.”

“I’m on my way over. Want me to pick up dinner?”

“I’m not really up for company tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know if I’m feeling better.”

The phone rang immediately, showing his number. I felt irrationally annoyed that he couldn’t leave it at texting. “Hello,” I answered, trying to keep my voice sounding sane.

“Hey. I wanted to make sure you’re doing all right.”

“I said I was.” Damn, my words had come out bitchy. “I’m sorry. I’m crabby today.”

“How about I come over?”

“No.” My response came out really quickly. Too quickly.

“Layla, are you certain you’re all right?”

“I need some space.” It was difficult to get those words out of my mouth without a quiver in my voice.

“From me?”

“From everything. But I’ll, um, call you tomorrow”

“Okay.”

“Good night.” I pressed end before I heard his response and experienced immediate relief. I wasn’t sure what I’d do long-term, but right now I needed a reprieve, some time to sleep on it and see what tomorrow held. Hopefully, it would include a healthy dose of perspective and sanity.

Later that night as I lay in bed, unable to concentrate on my Kindle or anything else, I was tempted to take a leftover pain killer so I could pass out. I’d tried on the head wraps Patty had left the last time she’d been here but had quickly taken them off again. I felt ugly no matter which color I chose. Wigs were an option, but I wouldn’t be able to get one of those tonight.

The knock at the front door took me off guard, but it didn’t throw me as much as looking through the peephole to find Kellan standing on the other side of it. I took a deep breath before speaking. “I asked you not to come over.”

“I know, but I can’t help thinking something is wrong.”

My tears came hot down my face. I wasn’t in a good emotional space to deal with him and his sweetness while processing the loss of my hair.

“Layla, let me in.”

“I can’t.”

The sound of his loud sigh was his reply.

“Go home, Kellan. Please.” With my emotions swirling, I couldn’t stand the feeling of being cornered. We’d come so far in this relationship, in spite of my issues, that I didn’t want to backslide. I didn’t want to lash out and say something I’d regret. I just desperately wanted time to process this newest circumstance.