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49
JOHNNY — ALMOST TWO MONTHS AGO
“Are you sure you’ll still love me?” I ask Claire, the device held tightly in my grasp.
When did I become so fucking insecure all of a sudden?
It’s just hair.
Maybe I’m more attached to it than she is.
Claire deadpans. “Seriously?”
I shrug and stare into the mirror of our new apartment. It’s not as nice as I’d hoped—the apartment, not the mirror—but it’s the best I could do given our pressing situation. Now that we’re here, on the East Coast, I can dig around to see if I can find us something better. Something safer, and a bit more comfortable than the cramped studio space.
I haven’t left in the week that we’ve been here, but with the rest that Claire has sort of forced on me, I’ve garnered enough strength to finally do the thing I need to do before I can go out in public, even if it is only for very brief blips of time—like running necessary errands or going to get medical attention.
Faking my death means a new identity, and a different appearance. There’s only so much I can change, but my signature long locks are a definite sacrifice I have to make. A piece of me that I weirdly hate giving up.
“What if you’re not attracted to me anymore?” I meet her gaze in the reflection, her blue eyes staring seriously at me.
“I could shave mine, too, if you’re worried.” She holds her hair down and tilts her head around to get a better look. “Not sure I could pull it off though.”
I turn around to face her. “You wouldn’t.”
She reaches for the clippers, a devious grin settling into her features. “Dare me?” Claire grabs hold of them and points them toward me. “You want me to do it?”
My eyes widen. “No.”
Claire smiles. “I mean yours, not mine.”
“Oh.” My accelerated pulse starts to slow. It’s not that Claire wouldn’t still be smoking hot, it’s that I’d hate for her to have to give up anything else for me. To be in my life. She’s already surrendered more than her fair share at the cost of being with me.
“Let me prove you wrong,” she tells me, a softness floating about her voice.
I swallow and nod. “Okay.”
Claire flips the switch to the on position, and with a steady humming buzz, she swipes the first section of my hair off.
It lands in a heap on the counter, and she goes in for another. She carefully eyes each one, removing the thick mop on my head.
“Turn around,” she tells me.
I face the mirror again, my gaze trailing slowly up to take myself in for the first time with this new look. It’s still me, just different. But isn’t that the point? It’s not like I haven’t already changed with everything that’s already happened.
Claire stands taller to reach the back of my head. A few buzzes later and she stops, flicking the switch at the same time.
The quiet bathroom dances with my anxious energy.
I remove the white towel around my shoulders and toss it onto the counter. I run my hand through my short spiky hair, noticing a few uneven patches that I’ll have to touch up. I fucking hate the way it feels, not because of the job Claire did, but because it’s foreign. I’d gotten used to having long hair, running my fingers through like a nervous tick. Now it’s bristly and unfamiliar, and I hate how exposed it makes me feel.
Claire presses her body against my back and rests her head along my side. “I’d still do ya.”
Despite every terrible thing that’s happened, that girl never fails to make me smile.
“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow at her in the reflection and turn to face her.
She looks up at me, her eyes twinkling. “Mmhm.” Claire reaches up and runs her hand across my cheek, settling it against my neck.
