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A two-to three-inch mop of ragged fringe covered her head. She hadn't showered at all, she'd spent the ten minutes destroying her beautiful hair.
In a mad singsong, she mocked, "What's the matter, Edwin? Don't you like me now? Don't you want to stalk me anymore? ... It doesn't matter, does it? You love me, right? It doesn't matter what I look like."
"No, no, of course not. It's just ..." He thought he'd be sick. He was thinking, how long does it take for hair to grow?
Ten years, four months ...
She could wear a hat. No, he hated women in hats.
"I think it looks like you care a lot. In fact, you look real upset, Edwin."
"Why, Kayleigh? Why did you do it?"
"To show you the truth. You love the girl on the album covers, on CMT, on the videos and the posters. In Entertainment Weekly. You don't love me at all. Remember that day we were alone in the theater in Fresno? You said my voice and hair were the best things about me."
Maybe he could find somebody to take her hair and make a wig until it grew back. How could he do that, though? They'd recognize him, they'd report him. No, no, no, no, no! What was he going to do?
Kayleigh taunted, "You want to fuck me now? Now that I look like a boy?"
He walked forward slowly, staring at the pile of hair.
"Here!" she screamed and grabbed a handful, flung it at him. It flowed to the floor and Edwin dropped to his knees, desperately grabbing at the strands.
"I knew it," she muttered contemptuously, backing into the bathroom. "You don't know me. You don't have a clue who I am."
And then he got angry too. And the answer to her question was, Yes, I do know. You're the bitch I'm going to fuck in about sixty s
econds.
He started to rise. Then saw something in her hand. What--? Oh, it was just a cup. It had to be plastic. There wasn't anything inside that could be broken or made into a knife.
He'd thought of that.
But one thing he hadn't thought of.
What the cup held:
Ammonia, from under the sink. She'd filled it to the brim.
The cut hair wasn't a message or a lesson. It was a distraction.
He tried to turn away but Kayleigh stepped forward fast and flung the chemical straight into his face; it spread up his nose, into his mouth. He managed to save his eyes by half a second, though the fumes slipped up under his lids and burned like red-hot steel. He cried at the pain, pain worse than any he'd ever felt. Pain as a creature, an entity, a thing within his body.
Screaming, falling backward, wiping frantically at his face. Anything to get away! Choking, gasping, coughing.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!
Then more pain as she hit him hard in the throat, the wound where he'd fired the bullet into his own neck.
He screamed again.
Doubling over, paralyzed, he felt her rip the keys from his pocket. He tried to grab her arm but she was quickly out of reach.
The bitter, biting chemical flowed deeper into his mouth and nose. He sneezed and spit and coughed and struggled to catch his breath. Edwin staggered to his feet and shoved his face under the faucet in the kitchen sink to rinse the terrible fire away.
But there was no water.
Kayleigh had run the supply dry.
