was impossible to get all the grease from my scalp and as I wrap a white towel around my body and it moves around, I find grease hiding in places that I didn’t even know I had.
My hair is destroyed and my skin is patchy and red but as long as the burn is gone, I’m going to be alright.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror of the staff bathroom.
How did it come to this?
I thought things were just starting to ease. Colton had declared early on that he was the only one allowed to fuck with me. When the hell did that shit change? Had it changed? If anything, I thought that the fucking with me thing was over, especially after yesterday.
I scan over my red, splotchy face. My eyes stand out just like they do every time I’ve been crying. They’re the brightest blue, but when I’ve been crying, it’s like they glisten and shimmer, or maybe it’s just the red puffiness surrounding them that makes them look this way.
My hair hangs by my side and it looks like a mess. It’s in knots and every time I touch it my hand comes out slimy with the remaining grease and filled with strands of hair. There is no saving it from what I can see, pulling a Britney and shaving it off might be my only option.
There has to be a better way.
I search through the cupboards and find a plastic bag to shove my destroyed uniform in before finding a bathrobe and pulling it around my pained body.
I walk out into the school, pleased that it’s the end of the day so I can avoid repeat performances. Apparently, walking around an all-boys school practically naked is frowned upon by the staff.
I walk down to the parking lot to find it mostly empty but more importantly, my bag sits in a dirty pile, completely destroyed. I rifle through it for my purse, phone, and keys, and decide the rest of it can go and fuck itself. Screw my homework and screw the textbooks. They can all suffer like I have.
With Colton and the boys long gone, I start the agonizing walk home and keep my gaze glued to the sidewalk. Cars fly past me, beeping in outrage at my lack of clothing and all I can do is cry.
From the very first step until I’m pushing through the massive door of the Carrington mansion, tears stream down my face. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’ve been attacked by guys before but never like that. Usually, they stick with taunts and call me a whore for preferring to hang out with my crew rather than bitchy girls. My boys would deal with it straight away and then I'd be free to continue as I was.
There was that bullshit with Jude and of course Colton, but it was nothing like this.
I’ve always valued my hair. I’m not one of those girls who is obsessive over makeup. I don’t need to look perfect every second of the day, but I’ve always loved my hair. It was long and beautiful. It fell in thick waves and tickled the top of my ass. It was my signature thing. When people mentioned my name, the first thing they thought of was my long, dark hair.
Now it’s a rats nest and falling out in chunks.
I get into the mansion and I listen out. The first thing I hear is the sound of the vacuum and I follow it, knowing it's bound to be my mom. The closer I get, the faster I walk as the devastation seems to harden against my soul.
I break through to the massive kitchen and find mom in the media room, vacuuming her life away as though she doesn’t have a care in the world.
I run to her.
I throw open the door of the room and seeing me in her peripheral vision, her head whips around. She takes me in and as she does, her eyes widen in shock but she doesn’t have even a slight moment to ask me what happened before I crash into her and she curls me into her arms.
I cry into her shoulder as she holds me tight. “Oh, honey,” she says, heartbroken. “What happened to you?”
“They … they …” I struggle to get the words past the rapid sobs and I give up. I’ll try again once the pain has begun to ease.
“Shh,” mom soothes, running her hand up and down my back,