Bleached away

I didn’t like my stepmother. Sure she was at least better than the impossibly low bar media sets for stepmothers but I didn’t like her. She made my dad happy at least. Sometimes I thought I’d been unfair on her, not giving her a chance but she could never compare to mum.

I had been in my mid teens when she passed, nearly six years ago, and I still missed her. But not just her I missed the old life we use to have. I missed coming home to someone. And our old home in the hills.

That was one of the first big changes after she died. Mum had been a country girl at heart and loved the countryside. But my dad didn’t share her sentiment, after she died moved away so we could be closer to his city job without the long commute. It was likely necessary so he could be around, either way it meant saying goodbye to all my friends and moving to completely new surroundings.

Then there was my stepmother, Gemma. She started dating my father nearly a year and a half after mum died. Although later I learnt the had actually worked together even before mum died. She was relatively tall, at least compared to me, and very stylish. She walked like she owned every room she stepped in with her effortlessly stylish clothes and her perfectly blunt long bob. It was platinum blonde except for the roots and seemed to wobble like jelly when she walked.

My hair in contrast was long and thick. The same it had always been and the same as my mother’s was. I also shared my hairs rich brown colour with warm undertones with her. She use to take care to brush through my long locks every morning and style it for me before school. In a strange way it remained as my connection to her. When I brushed it every morning or styled it felt like she was there.

 

One day my dad came to me with an idea Gemma had.

“A girl’s day?”

“Yes you know, go to the spa get all glammed up, go shopping do whatever girls do”

“I’m not sure dad”

“Come on Harriet. Obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to but I think it would be nice. Sometimes I wonder if you’ve been missing out ever since mum… and with you leaving for university in September…”

“Maybe, I’ll think about it”

“Thanks Harriet” he kissed me on the forehead in a way I was definitely too old for but also would never want him to stop. “If you do go, think of it as going for me not Gemma ok”

 

So that’s how I was talked into riding with Gemma to her favourite city spa for the day. As I stepped into her pristine beamer she shot me a look as if to ask if I was really going to wear what I was. My thick hoodie and jeans were chosen for comfort rather than aesthetics. But she didn’t comment.

“I’m glad you wanted to come with me today. It’s rare we get to do anything as just us girls”

“Yeah I suppose” I never knew how to talk to Gemma. She was closer to my age than my fathers but she was still mature enough that I didn’t feel I could talk to her like someone my age.

Gemma pulled into the car park and we headed into the plush modern building. “I’ve booked us an appointment at the salon”

“You what?”

“I booked an appointment. Just to get a blow out”

“Oh ok” I had never been comfortable with anyone touching my hair let alone with scissors. The fact that it was just being styled and not trimmed proved some comfort.

I continued to follow behind Gemma into a part of the building that more and more resembled a salon. She caught the eye of a stylish she clearly recognised.

“Gabrielle how’s it been”

“I’ve been great babes. What about you” he spoke with a continental accent and wore a t-shirt that was slightly too tight.

“You know, same same, just plodding along” they hugged with him kissing her cheeks. “Let me introduce my daughter. This is Harry, Harry meet Gabrielle. Gabrielle, Harry.”

Harry!? Daughter!? I wasn’t sure what to correct first, but as Gabrielle leaned in for a hug, I couldn’t think of the words.

“I’ve heard so much about you” he kissed both my cheeks like he had done with Gemma. I was ashamed to admit that was the first time a man had kissed me.

“Oh, only good things I hope” my voice sounded meek.

“Well girls” he turned to call over another girl. “Let’s begin”

 

We where both guided to plush seats where I removed my hoodie and let the salon girl wrap a cape around my neck. We were then brought over to have our hair washed. The woman washing my hair didn’t speak much, which I preferred. Gemma and Gabrielle did but they where slightly to far away for me to eavesdrop.

Gemma was finished first. Her shoulder skimming lob much quicker to wash then my thick brown locks that reached to my tail bone.

“What do you think, Harry” Gemma came over to show off her freshly blown out hair.

I wasn’t sure what to think of her calling me Harry again. “That was quick, looks good”

“Well it’s allot easier without all that thick hair you have” she smiled with her porcelain face.

“I suppose” just as I said that the woman washing my hair finished.

“I can take over now, Sarah” Gabrielle instructed. “Now, I think you’re going to have to stand for this, you hair is quite long”

“Yeah I noticed” I tried to joke, avoiding the tension in my back and shoulders.

I stood in front of my mirror watching him brushed through my hair and used a hair dryer to blow it dry. Once he was satisfied I felt his hands brush through my hair.

“You have beautiful hair”

“Thank you” a slight pinkness blushed my cheeks.

“It’s so thick and healthy. You must be proud”

I blushed. He gathered my hair together into a loose ponytail. I figured she was styling it somehow and felt the thick strands being twisted into a single three strand braid nearly as thick as my arm. My mind wondered why she was doing something so simple, but I assumed it would be twisted into a bun or a crown.

“Does mum what to have the honour?” Gabrielle tied the end of my braid. I wondered whether to question him calling Gemma mum but figured he didn’t know any better.

“Yes, I’d love too” Gemma stepped behind me. “Head down sweetie”

Sweetie!? I didn’t want to make a scene in front of everyone so did as I was told and lowered my head until my chin touched my chest. I felt Gemma’s hand on my my hair. What where they doing.

“It’s really a shame. Such pretty hair” a shame? What was Gabrielle talking about.

Snip.

Oh no.

I heard Gemma giggle like a school girl. Then the sawing continued. The horrible crunching of scissors cutting thick healthy hair.

Snip. It was gone. My head suddenly felt lighter as short strands fell over my head.

I looked up to see my hair. My beautiful thick brown hair hanging from Gemma’s hand. A two foot long braid of perfectly healthy hair all the way to its tip, severed from my head.

“You must feel so much lighter” Gabrielle fluffed up my hair. It’s ends not even reaching my chin.

I gasped. And watched in the mirror as my face turned pale. I wanted to speak but the words choked up in my mouth. My eyes fluttered to hold in the tears. I didn’t want them to see me cry.

Gabrielle guided me to take a seat. I did worried I might pass out if I didn’t. He took my braid from Gemma. “It really is a pity to have cut it, you must have been so proud” he lay the hair on the table. And picked up a pair of scissors which he used to roughly spin some of the longer strands still remaining on my head.

Sarah returned with a trolley I wasn’t able to see everything on it. But I was able to make out a pink plastic bowl with a brush and a distinctly chemical smell.

“I love dying virgin hair” it was only than that I realised what was about to happen. A strand of hair by my scalp was brushed with bleach.

I wanted to protest but it was too late. So I just sat there as the over eager stylist brushed bleach over every inch of my hair. After a while they left. Everyone left. And I was left with my hair coated in bleach and wrapped in foil and plastic. My scalp began to sting from the bleach. But that wasn’t what I was focused on. My mind simply mourned what I had lost.

 

“Let’s get this bleach washed-out than” Gabrielle returned after what felt like an age. He brought me back over to the sink and ran icy cold water through my head. At least it felt icy as it washed out the burning bleach. “Now I’m going to add toner to neutralise out that orange. We don’t want you to end up ginger do we.”

Don’t we? I mean I don’t, but I have no idea what his plan was. I just kept my head down and tried to ignore what was going on. The fact he was clearly incredibly skilled was little comfort when that skill was being used against my will. He rubbed another foul smelling chemical paste into my scalp followed by something sweet. Than the icy water returned to wash out whatever chemicals they had used on my scalp.

“Wow, you look like a completely different woman” Gemma returned and looked down at me. The biggest smile I had ever seem spread across her lips.

“Isn’t she just” Gabrielle’s voice was filled with pride at my expense.

His hands guided me to stand up and return to the salon seat. But as I stepped up I saw my hair clearly in the mirror for the first time and gasped. It was blonde. I was blonde. Platinum blonde, the silver gold shimmering in the artificial light of the salon. The exact same shade as Gemma’s.

“You really look like mother and daughter now” Gabrielle didn’t realise how much those words stung. But we did, look alike. I wondered if that is what she was doing. Transforming me into her. No, it couldn’t be. As short as her shoulder skimming lob was, it was still much longer than what remained on my head. “Now let’s get this cleaned up.” He brushed the back of my head with complete indifference. “Head down dear”

I bowed my head so my chin touched the cape and my eyes faced my lap. Behind me I heard a loud click, then a buzzing echoing from her hand. His fingers felt cold touching the back of my neck until I felt the blades of his clippers approaching my neck.

A horrible mowing noise filled my ears as the blades slid into my hairline. I had never had clippers used on me. I had thought I never would but the blades ran into my nape nonetheless.

Gabrielle switched the guard several times. He skillfully ran them into my mane again and again. The severed blonde strands scattered over my cape and into my lap. If they hadn’t been blonde it would have terrified me. But as it was, I didn’t recognise them as my own.

My head was shoved to the side. And Gabrielle ran the clippers over one side of my head then the other. Not high but mowing the hair off my ears. He shoved my chin up and straightened my head. Only so he could begin to shape the final style.

It was a bob of sorts. Shorter then most, my hair reached my chin at the front then moved sharply shorter until the back. There it resembled a pixie cropped short and off my neck. It looked horrible. Not stylish but dated, it resembled a Karen cut a fifty-something year old would have.

“You look lovely Harry” Gemma cut in. Her voice was so chirpy it nearly made me gag.

“Just one finishing touch” Gabrielle slammed my head forward again. Did he want to cut the back even shorter?

He stepped behind me with some kind of tool I didn’t recognise. And brought it to the back of my nape. No lower at my neck.

A winch of pain sent shivers down my spine. “Hold still” Gabrielle put a hand on me to stop me moving.

“Is this just to clean up the the back?”

“Something like that” Gemma looked smug as she spoke.

The pain continued. It felt like I was being stabbed by a needle wherever it touched. Before long it was gone. I turned to see what he was holding. A sort of mechanical pen, with a needle, and ink.

Oh, no.

Gabrielle raised a mirror so I could see the damage. Carved into my neck was a black heart. It seemed to be formed of twisted vines. I recognised it instantly, Gemma had the exact same tattoo. Only it was hidden under her hair 90% of the time. Mine had no hair to hide under.

 

We stayed a bit longer. But it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Whenever I moved and didn’t feel long strands of hair move over my shoulders. Every stolen glance in the mirror. It all felt wrong.

Just as we left Gabrielle walked over and handed my stepmother a brown paper bag with something inside.

“I’ll see you soon” he smiled at me. A proud smile.

“Yeah see you soon”

I hoped I never would.

 

Fin