Status: Slowly becoming active. Thank you so much for all the comments when I wasn't writing. Helped me a ton. <3
I Never Told a Lie, and That Makes Me a Liar
Chapter Eight.
I sat in the airport with a plane ticket in my lap, and the remaining twelve hundred dollars that I stole in my hands. I counted the bills one by one, trying to pass time until my flight. Sure, I had gotten a weird look when I pulled out the giant wad of cash and paid for a ticket but money was money. I glanced at the big clock, and then the time on my ticket. I just had to get out of here, and soon. He’d be here to look for me, I just knew it.
There was this rock in the pit of my stomach as the amount went up, got to the full amount and started over again. I was sick of what I had to do to those sweet boys. I shoved my hands back into Alex’s sweatshirt, leaning my head against the window behind me.
“Flight 231 to LAX now boarding.” I sat up, glancing at my ticket. That was me. I stood up, the ticket tight in my hand. I ran my hand through my hair, heading for the gate. God, I’m so fucked.
***
The hood on my hoodie was up over my reddish brown hair, and my sunglasses were big enough to cover most of my face. If there was one way to hide your identity, it was a hoodie and sunglasses. Of course, cutting and bleaching your hair was always a good idea too. I pulled a bottle of bleach off of the shelf, going to pick up some new makeup and a candy bar or two before I went to pay.
“Fourteen eighty five,” she told me after she had scanned everything. I reached into my hoodie, pulling out the wad of twenties that had been reduced to just under eight hundred dollars after taxi fare and a motel room near the beach. She handed me back my change and the plastic bag with my stuff in it. I thanked her quietly, heading out of the CVS and back onto the sidewalk of sunny Santa Monica. What made me come here, I have no idea. All I knew was that it was time to try to build a life again.
***
Make no mistake about it; bleaching your hair is one of the worst experiences of your life. You’re destroying your hair layers and stripping it of any pigment. The longer you keep it in, the lighter it gets. Meaning it’s harder to recognize you on the street.
While I fried my hair, I decided to flip through the tv. I stopped on a news channel, where there was some important announcement going on. I turned up the sound, gasping as I recognized Alex’s voice.
“Her name is Wendy,” he said. “She’s about eighteen years old. Five’ four or five’ five. She’s a tiny little thing, with the greatest blue eyes.” I smiled a little. On the bottom of the screen, scrolling by slowly, were the words ‘Rockstars look to find close friend’ in white letters. They were looking for me.
“She’s pretty skittish too.” It was Zack’s voice this time, and the four boys from All Time Low were on the screen. Zack looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep, Alex was wearing a hat, Jack was biting his nails and Rian just sat there with this look on his face that showed how worried he was. Worried about me. I flipped off the tv, tossing the remote next to me on the bed. I sighed, wincing as the bleach began to burn my scalp more. That was it; it was time to wash it out.
***
I stared at myself in the mirror, hardly believing the girl I was seeing was me. That was a good sign. Both my hair and my eyebrows were now snow white. I bit my lip, looking at the scissors in my hand that I had found in the maid’s cart when I first got to the hotel. I raised it to my hair, cutting a chunk of it. It fell into a small ringlet in the sink.
“No turning back now,” I said. I shook my head slightly, and continued to chop my newly bleached hair off.
There was this rock in the pit of my stomach as the amount went up, got to the full amount and started over again. I was sick of what I had to do to those sweet boys. I shoved my hands back into Alex’s sweatshirt, leaning my head against the window behind me.
“Flight 231 to LAX now boarding.” I sat up, glancing at my ticket. That was me. I stood up, the ticket tight in my hand. I ran my hand through my hair, heading for the gate. God, I’m so fucked.
***
The hood on my hoodie was up over my reddish brown hair, and my sunglasses were big enough to cover most of my face. If there was one way to hide your identity, it was a hoodie and sunglasses. Of course, cutting and bleaching your hair was always a good idea too. I pulled a bottle of bleach off of the shelf, going to pick up some new makeup and a candy bar or two before I went to pay.
“Fourteen eighty five,” she told me after she had scanned everything. I reached into my hoodie, pulling out the wad of twenties that had been reduced to just under eight hundred dollars after taxi fare and a motel room near the beach. She handed me back my change and the plastic bag with my stuff in it. I thanked her quietly, heading out of the CVS and back onto the sidewalk of sunny Santa Monica. What made me come here, I have no idea. All I knew was that it was time to try to build a life again.
***
Make no mistake about it; bleaching your hair is one of the worst experiences of your life. You’re destroying your hair layers and stripping it of any pigment. The longer you keep it in, the lighter it gets. Meaning it’s harder to recognize you on the street.
While I fried my hair, I decided to flip through the tv. I stopped on a news channel, where there was some important announcement going on. I turned up the sound, gasping as I recognized Alex’s voice.
“Her name is Wendy,” he said. “She’s about eighteen years old. Five’ four or five’ five. She’s a tiny little thing, with the greatest blue eyes.” I smiled a little. On the bottom of the screen, scrolling by slowly, were the words ‘Rockstars look to find close friend’ in white letters. They were looking for me.
“She’s pretty skittish too.” It was Zack’s voice this time, and the four boys from All Time Low were on the screen. Zack looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep, Alex was wearing a hat, Jack was biting his nails and Rian just sat there with this look on his face that showed how worried he was. Worried about me. I flipped off the tv, tossing the remote next to me on the bed. I sighed, wincing as the bleach began to burn my scalp more. That was it; it was time to wash it out.
***
I stared at myself in the mirror, hardly believing the girl I was seeing was me. That was a good sign. Both my hair and my eyebrows were now snow white. I bit my lip, looking at the scissors in my hand that I had found in the maid’s cart when I first got to the hotel. I raised it to my hair, cutting a chunk of it. It fell into a small ringlet in the sink.
“No turning back now,” I said. I shook my head slightly, and continued to chop my newly bleached hair off.