Curl Up and Dye

I sat on the bed of the hotel room, running my fingers over the neck of the guitar that sat in my lap. I wanted to play, but for some reason, my mind had gone blank. I was just too overwhelmed - I had finished my first month of shows with Marilyn Manson that night. Things had moved so quickly from that first show at the MTV VMA's. I just couldn't believe that I was actually there, achieving my dream.

I was interrupted by a knock at the door. Before I could even open my mouth to invite the other person inside, the door flew open and slammed against the wall. I jumped, thoroughly startled.

"H-hey Pogo. What's up?" I asked brightly. I was doing my best to keep my voice steady. If I was honest with myself, the keyboardist that stood in the door terrified me. Pogo had made me uncomfortable from the very moment I joined the band. And with the way he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and glaring, I couldn't help but squirm in my seat. "Is there something wrong?"

"Yeah. There is," Pogo stated blatantly. He didn't even offer to elaborate.

I set down my guitar. "Okay... what's wrong?"

"Your hair."

"My hair?" I wrinkled my nose, wondering what it was about my hair that could possibly offend him.

"Yeah. Your hair," he spat. He took a step forward into the room. "You can't have blonde hair, John." He sneered my name like a condescending adult talking to a child.

"Why can't I?" I asked, completely confused. "I don't mean to be rude, but..."

"I have blonde hair! You can't have fucking blonde hair! Not when I just dyed mine!" The keyboardist was so suddenly loud that I was physically taken aback. And just as quickly as the shouting began, it ended as Pogo threatened in a deadly quiet voice, "You have 24 hours to dye it. If not, I can guarantee your life will be a living hell."

"O-okay. Sure thing," I stuttered in confusion.

"Thank you," pogo sneered, his lip curled viciously. He turned on his heel and slammed the door on his way out.

I just sat in shock for a few moments, recomposing myself. If I was to dye my hair, I'd need to get it done as soon as possible. As I pondered a way to go about even finding some dye, the door opened once again, this time much gentler. Ginger stepped in and paused at the sight of me, completely bewildered, on the bed.

"You all right?" Ginger asked warily. I know that we weren't the closest people in the world, but Ginger was never anything but kind to me.

"I need to dye my hair," I stated as assuredly as possible.

Ginger shot me another confused look as he set down his bags. "John, I think the need to have a talk about the differences between 'need' and 'want'.

"No, I really need to!"

"Your life depends on it?"

"Potentially."

"Okay," Ginger sighed, running his hands through his hair. "And I suppose you want me to help you with this?"

"Well, that'd be nice," I said, breaking out my sweetest smile.

"Where do you expect to get this hair dye?" he asked me. "Somebody's probably got to have some around here. Pogo actually just dyed his hair, so we could ask-"

"No!" I interjected a bit too forcefully. "I mean, I want to go shopping for it."

"It's 9:00 at night. Where the fuck do you expect to get hair dye?"

"There's got to be some store open that sells dye. It couldn't hurt to check," I grinned sheepishly.

Ginger threw his hands up in the air and turned to the door. "All right! Let's go shopping."

__________

We ran into the mall just a half hour before it was to close. Of course, the closest mall within walking distance was one of the shittiest in town, but we took our chances anyway. Ginger directed me to the cosmetics aisle in one of the alternative fashion stores.

"What kind of color do you think you want? Black, brown, more blonde...?" he asked me. I hadn't even thought of that in my hurry to heed Pogo's threat.

"I don't care... anything but blonde," I said with a shrug.

Ginger sighed. "Helpful. We should have brought Twiggy along. I'm sure he would have loved to doll you up."

"I'm sorry. I just didn't even think-"

"Obviously. Now hush and grab a random color if it doesn't matter that much to you."

Fair enough. I closed my eyes and grabbed the nearest color before thrusting it into Ginger's hands. "Is it blonde?"

"No, it's-"

"Ah! Don't tell me! I want it to be a surprise!"

I only opened my eyes when he took the box out of my hands. Ginger rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, but he took my money and purchased the dye without question. That was something I liked a lot about him; he never pried when you didn't want him to.

As we made our way back out to the street, Ginger finally asked, "What brought on this sudden need to quit being a blonde?"

"I dunno," I shrugged. As soon as he mentioned my hair, I subconsciously began to toy with the ends of it. I didn't care how vain it sounded. I was fucking proud of my hair. It was slowly beginning to sink in that I would be altering, maybe for months, until Pogo dyed his again or ceased to care.

"All right then," the drummer shrugged in exasperation. "You, John Lowery, are a mysterious creature. And I don't know why you'd want to dye your hair. You're a cute blonde."

I was taken aback by his last statement. Had I heard him right? Giggling, I asked, "What?"

"Nothing. I just said I like your hair the way it is," he stated cautiously. "And I can't figure out why you want to dye it." He looked at me for a response, but he knew I wouldn't be offering one. "John, if someone's giving you shit about your hair..."

"Don't worry about it," I smiled. Ginger had basically taken care of my from the time I joined the band. I appreciated his concern for me, but I also felt a little guilty. These guys were his friends long before I showed up. I didn't want to be the reason for any sort of schism in their friendship.

"I only ask because Pogo was furious about your hair the other day, and I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything."

"Nah, it's just... my idea." I was lying through my teeth, and Ginger knew it.

"You could always tell him to fuck himself if he starts bothering you," Ginger informed me.

"I can also get my ass kicked, but that's not too appealing to me," I laughed teasingly. The drummer rolled his eyes, probably for the hundredth time that night. We quietly walked back to our hotel together. It was still sort of awkward between us. Sure, we had been hanging out and practically living together for a while, but we were both shy around each other, for some reason or another. Ginger was a sweetheart, one of the nicest people I knew. I don't know where the internal worry that he would think I was stupid came from. It just frightened me.

We got to the hotel room quickly, and the first thing we did was go into the bathroom.

"D'you know how to do this?" I asked. Ginger shook his head, but he read the back of the box intently. My assumption was that I'd need a towel. I wrapped one around my shoulders and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

"I'm sorry ahead of time," Ginger warned me. "I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. I'm probably just going to wing it."

"I guess we'll find out," I grinned. "No harm in experimenting."

Ginger hesitated as he opened the box and took out the contents. I closed my eyes so as to not see what color was there. The drummer slowly began to work the dye into my hair. I really appreciated having his help. And it felt nice to have his fingers massaging my scalp. I was glad that he'd put on a pair of plastic gloves; otherwise, he probably would have dyed his hands, too.

"There," he stated eventually, discarding his gloves. "Wait, don't open your eyes yet." I waited as he wiped extra dye from my face. "Okay, there you go."

"Thank you," I grinned. I would have hugged him, but I didn't want to get any dye on him.

As Ginger washed his hands and I waited for the dye to color my hair, the door flew open. Twiggy was the one who entered, a bottle of Jack Daniels hanging carelessly from his fingertips. He waved to us as he plopped down on the bathroom floor.

"Holy shit, John," was the first thing that came out of his mouth. "Pogo told me you were gonna dye it, but I didn't think Ginge would let you do it."

Ginger turned to me. "I thought this was your idea, John." So apparently he hadn't been as aware of my lie as I thought he'd been.

"It was. I just... had a little encouragement from Pogo," I admitted, squirming a but under Ginger's fiery gaze.

"Wash it out. Now," the drummer commanded, pointing to the bathtub.

"C'mon Ginger! I just spent money on this stuff! I don't want to waste it!"

"I don't fucking care, I'll pay you back. But I'm not gonna let Pogo bully you!"

"It's fine, don't-"

Before I could finish my statement, Ginger was lunging at me. I had no time to react, so he was able to get a good grip on me. I tried to fight back as he wrestled me into the tub, but it was no use. The drummer was far stronger than I, and I didn't want to hurt either one of us in the process of forcing my way out.

"Oh no you don't, you little shit," he muttered as I tried to cover my hair. He pulled the shower head down to me and turned the water on full-blast. I hissed as the icy water washed over me and soaked through my clothes, but I quit moving around. Instead, I just sat and pouted as Ginger, straddling me to keep me still, washed all the dye out of my hair with steady hands.

After a few minutes, the job was finally done. Ginger climbed out of the bathtub and threw a towel at me before grabbing one of his own. He dried himself off without looking at me. I peeled off my shirt and dried my hair. When I stepped out of the tub in my sopping wet jeans, Ginger, who was removing his own clothes, paused and turned around.

"Holy shit," he murmured, his jaw almost dropping.

"Is it really that bad?" I asked. I walked over to the mirror and could not believe my eyes. "Oh my fucking god."

"John, I'm so sorry. I didn't think it'd be..." he trailed off. "This is why you don't listen to Pogo."

"When does it go away?" I asked quietly. Ginger pulled the box out of the trash and scanned it.

"Four to six weeks."

"My hair is going to be blue for four to six weeks?!" I wailed dramatically. "Damn it!"

"We'll go get something to strip out the dye in the morning," Ginger promised me. I nodded, chewing my lip. I couldn't believe that I had actually dyed my hair. And I was incredibly pissed off at myself for choosing blue as opposed to something more 'normal', like brown or black. Now I was going to look like a fucking asshole until the dye washed out.

"Hey," Ginger murmured, cautiously stepping closer to me. "It doesn't look that bad."

"Shut up, it looks awful," I pouted.

"No harm in experimenting, right?" he asked lamely, quoting my words from earlier. I tried to smile, but I just couldn't force myself to do so. Ginger wrapped a consoling arm around my waist and sighed. "I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have let you do it."

"I should have just told you what Pogo said." I turned around and hugged him to me.

"I feel more homosexual for having witnessed that," Twiggy stated as he stood up. I had completely forgotten that he was there, and my cheeks flushed at having him notice us. "I would not be surprised if you two have fucked. Seriously."

"Fuck off." Ginger tried to sound threatening, but he just ended up laughing.

"So it's true?"

"No!" Ginger and I exclaimed at the same time.

Twiggy eyed us suspiciously. "Uh-huh. I'll leave you two to go about your 'business'. I'm sure Pogo would like to hear about your change in appearance." With that, the bassist shook his head and walked out of the room, muttering something I didn't catch.

When he left, Ginger rolled his eyes and looked at the two of us in the mirror. "It's really not that bad, John."

"You think so?" I couldn't help smiling.

"Yeah. It's kinda interesting," he said. "But I'll be glad if it goes away soon."

"I will be, too," I grinned, dropping my head on his shoulder. I sighed, taking in his scent before I realized that wasn't something that most friends did. "Ginger?"

"Uh-huh?"

"We should probably change our clothes."

Finally, we pulled away from each other, fully aware of the remainder of our wet clothes. I couldn't help but notice that Ginger's face was a bit flushed, and he wouldn't let his eyes linger on me for too long without them flickering nervously away. A smile broke out on my face; he was too cute.

"Thanks for helping me out tonight," I said as we exited the bathroom.

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad to help," he smiled. "Just don't let Pogo fuck with you anymore, okay?"

"'Kay. I'll just have you kick his ass," I laughed, nudging him.

"Well, if it would keep you safe, I'd do it," he nodded, looking noble.

"You'd kick Pogo's ass?"

"...Well, I'd give it a try."

I laughed, but it cut off as soon as I caught my reflection in the mirror above one of the beds. It shocked me; I could tell that not having blonde hair would take some getting used to.

As soon our laughter subsided, the door flew open and Pogo popped his head inside. "Is it true? Did you dye your hair already?" he asked like an excited child.

"What the fuck does it look like he did?" Ginger asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes. He was just as annoyed at Pogo as I was.

Pogo pursed his lips and nodded. He took in the sight of me slowly before saying, "Nicely done, Five. Nicely done. Maybe you're not too bad after all." And then he was gone just as soon as he had come, leaving us to sit there in annoyance.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill Pogo," I muttered to myself as I grabbed a new pair of jeans.

Ginger snickered, "Good luck. You'll need it."

"I miss my hair," I pouted, ruffling it through my fingertips as I still stared into the mirror. My heart sunk a bit in my chest.

"We'll go get the stuff to remove the dye tomorrow morning, okay?" Ginger asked. I could tell that he felt bad for me, the new guy who was being bullied into doing things that upset him. Seeing the look of unhappiness that still plagued me, he added, "Hey, maybe we can even go shopping and out to eat afterward. To make you feel better."

"Like a date?" I teased. Still, the smile that spread out over my face couldn't be helped.

"Sure, why not?" A blush fell across his cheeks once again; I hadn't actually expected him to agree, but I felt my heart stutter in my chest.

"Cool. Sounds like a plan," I grinned. Maybe dying my hair wouldn't be so bad after all.