andead99
Please, don’t be him, don’t be him, don’t be him…
“Oh… Hi Ethan…”
“Hey, hi Eleanor, what a surprise to see you here, I didn’t think I’d find you here at the fair”
“Yeah… me neither…”
Eleanor hadn’t earned her reputation as a serious and reliable person by chance; her every promise or pact had always been honored, especially when they were with herself. And this time too it would not have been different.
Unfortunately, she thought.
Ethan was the subject of today’s “bet”. Too many things had happened between the two lately, too many emotions at stake, too many disappointments. Or at least that’s how one of them had perceived them.
Eleanor’s declaration towards her longtime crush had left her tremendously upset after the boy’s rejection. She needed to get her head out of it, and to do that she needed to not see him again… at least for as long as it took.
Enough, I have to get over this, I don’t have to meet him anymore for now, I have to try to forget him. I can’t take it anymore, I’ve waited so long and then what? Being rejected in no time… I swear that if I see him again today…
So it happened.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~
Here she is now in front of the mirror, ready to keep the pact.
In front of her only one thing, only that was enough to honor everything.
She took a deep breath, and after clumsily turning on her clippers, placed it on her forehead. Without even pulling her hair back, she ran its vibrating blades from her hairline up to her crown, causing the locks that had previously fallen softly on her face to fall into the sink.
She who had always been so proud of her hazelnut curls now abandoned them in the filth of the sink, a temporary purgatory before reaching the rubbish bin.
The locks that remained intact still reached the shoulder blades, but the central stripe made the appearance of the hair somewhat grotesque. No second thoughts now. It wouldn’t have been anyway, and Eleanor knew this.
Behind the stroke, just 1 mm of hair remained, very little compared to before, but decidedly less cruel than what the clippers could do. She continued, almost morbidly and in a decidedly botched way, to shave her head, moving now to her temples, now behind her ears, more difficultly, more and more behind her, on the nape and more towards the top.
The sink overflowed with soft silk, the constant envy of her fiercest detractors. People perhaps more morbid than others of her would wonder what it would be like to immerse her face in the midst of all those now helpless locks, having their cheeks caressed and their nostrils inebriated by the sweet coconut scent they emanate.
It took her a little courage before gathering everything and closing the whole shaved mass of hair in a bag as quickly as possible.
All that remained was her and her reflection now. She and her little head that had never been so small before. The blades’ aggressiveness (and their efficiency, of course) had left her with remnants of dry, dead skin among the multitude of stubble that now littered her head. The very straight and spiky hair meant that the scalp was not too visible, but enough to be able to scrutinize any defects, such as that large mole on the side just above the ear that she would have hardly seen before, now it was there, ready to be looked at by anyone, and the crown of her head which was not perfectly round certainly did not give her back the harmonious appearance of which she was so proud.
She looked at herself for a long time in the mirror, wondering if it was really the case to disfigure herself like this, to continue making these bets with herself.
Her answer didn’t come immediately.
At the moment there were only her tears to answer her.
