Sabine leans in and snips. “All right . . . now for the good part.”
She shakes a plastic bottle holding the dark dye for several seconds, still grinning.
“You’re having too much fun,” I accuse.
She nods. “You know it. Maybe I have a future in this. When we get to where we’re going, I can open a salon.”
Setting the bottle down, she tugs on a pair of plastic gloves with surgical precision and squirts some of the dark goo into her palms. The strong aroma fills the space, stinging my nostrils and making my eyes tear up. She cuts me a glance. “This might hurt a little.”
I laugh. “Quit it.”
“You’re not performing heart surgery,” Gil utters from the door.
Sabine glances at Sean, who still fills the small bathroom, arching an eyebrow at him. “Gonna give me some room in here, big guy?”
He hesitates a moment, looking from the handful of dark glop to me.
I smile encouragingly. “It’s just hair,” I remind him.
And I’m not just saying that to make him feel better. It’s true. A thing like cutting off my hair and dying it midnight black might have seemed reprehensible to the girl I used to be. But it didn’t even register on the radar of things I care about now.
“That’s right,” Sabine agrees. “You’re not in love with her hair, right?”
I glare at Sabine and bite back the impulse to argue that he’s not in love with me at all. At least he’s never said those words to me. It’s a relief, actually. The words would only make me feel bound to him, responsible for him in a way that I can’t deal with right now. I already care too much about him. About him and Gil and Sabine. I don’t need to pile on more.
I hold my tongue in the strained silence that ensues. And that isn’t awkward. No. Not awkward at all.
She rolls her eyes and with her one free hand adjusts the towel draping my shoulders. Leaning down, she says near my ear, “Lighten up.”
That said, she smacks a handful of dye onto the top of my head and starts working it into the short mass of hair. It doesn’t take long until my hair is a wet black helmet hugging my scalp.
Sabine glances at Gil. “Give me thirty minutes, then we’ll check it. Might take longer.”
He glances at his watch. “Okay.”
Her gaze narrows on Sean. “Next.”
“All right. Let’s do this.” He pulls off his shirt and tosses it down, revealing his well-muscled torso. Zac was a rugby player, and I spent a lot of time in the summer around rugby guys. I always thought they were big, but Sean makes me reconsider my definition of big.
Sabine’s eyes widen like she’s never seen a shirtless guy before, and I guess a shirtless Sean is a little gawk-worthy. It’s like he takes up all the space in the small bathroom.
I sit on the toilet seat, lid down, and suffer the stink of dye soaking on my head. My scalp tingles and itches, and I have to resist digging my fingernails into the ink-dark mess piled on top of my head. The stench stings my nostrils, and I can only think of Mom right then. Her horror if she knew I was dying my hair. Then that thought dies. It wouldn’t have been the most horrible thing to happen to her daughter in recent months.
Sitting on an upside-down bucket, Sean is stoic as Sabine makes quick work of his hair. He leans his back against the sink, looking as ridiculous as I do. Gil waves a hand in front of his face. “Sorry. Gotta bail before I pass out from the smell.”
“Wimp!” Sabine calls, yanking off her gloves and tossing them in the trash. Taking a towel, she gives us both her attention, wiping at the skin edging our hairlines, cleaning off the brown ring so it doesn’t stain our faces too much. “You’re both going to be a pair of brunette beauties.” I smile. It’s hard not to.
She turns and washes her hands in the sink, scrubbing at where some of the dye reached her forearms.
I glance at Sean. “It’s good to see you smile,” he says.
At his words, my smile threatens to slip away, but I fight to keep it in place.
“I’m sure when we get across we’ll all have a lot more reason to smile,” Sabine interjects, staring at both of us in the mirror’s reflection.
I nod, hoping she’s right.
* * *
ENTERTAINMENT Weekly
News Release
June 5, 2021
* * *
News out of Los Angeles, CA: The country is reeling from the news that forty-two-year-old beloved three-time Oscar winner Evangeline Alvares has stepped forward and announced that she carries the HTS gene. No word yet if she will be relocated to a detention camp. Agency spokespeople have refused comment. . . .
THREE
THAT NIGHT THE DEAD MAN LURKS IN THE CORNER again. I sneak a glance at Sean, still asleep. Nothing disturbs him. Not the girl slowly losing her mind beside him. Did I possess a mad gene, too, to go along with my kill gene? Because clearly, I’m losing it.
I return my gaze to the figure in the corner. He’s motionless in that I-could-spring-at-you-any-moment way.
“What do you want?” I demand, my voice whisper-soft, fingers clutching the blanket, fearful that I might wake Sean.
There is no reply. I bury my face in my hands and then slide them up, pulling my hair back almost violently, eyes fixed unblinking on him.
“I’m sorry. Just go away. Leave me alone. Please leave me alone.” The mantra trips from my lips, picking up speed.
His guttural, barely-there voice reaches me. I lock up, all of me freezing tight as I search his shadow, straining to hear that hoarse stretch of a single word. “Never.”