A Bottle of Hairdye

Chapter Six - A War Declaration

Hey :) I didnt get the 3 comments I had hoped for on the last chapter, but I got way more votes, so thank you!

This isnt edited, so be aware that it might not even make sense....the next chapter is the concert :)

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                I was expecting Sophie to be at my door at seven this morning, a coffee tray poised in her hand, while the other would be clutching her phone and resting on her bony jutted hip. That’s why I was currently standing like a frozen animal at the open doorframe of my hotel room, my cheeks flaming up while Nolan stood with a smirk and a mug.

“Wow Hollington,” He dragged out my last name like a taunt, “I never pegged you for a cookie monster kind of girl”

I was tempted to glance down at my attire, but I already knew what I would see. Last night was a very depressing one, especially after my tear filled call with my mother. She promised me to come to the concert tonight, but that didn’t really give me any time with her. I would be running around like a mad woman during it. Because of all that, I felt the need to reminisce a little by wearing my faded pair of cookie monster pajama pants, with tattered ends and a few stubborn food stains from late night snacking.

“What are you doing here?” I changed the subject, fidgeting my fingers at my embarrassment. His cold green eyes were still trained on my choice of apparel; rolling my eyes I went to close the door in his face.

A strong hand slapped on the wooden door, resisting my attempt. Nolan pushed it back open and took a step inside, sliding around me.

“Sorry Hollington, I’m on strict orders from the boss to get you up and ready to go to an interview before the concert” He said breezily, and it was only then that I noticed that he also held a garment bag in his other hand.

“Why didn’t Sophie come?” I asked, closing the door and watching him curiously poke around the room.

He was presently reaching for the little leather bound book on the night table, so I expertly jumped forward and slapped his hand away.

“She said to bring me to the interview, not to dig through my things” I snapped. No one touched my songbook. Not a single hand besides my own has laid a fingerprint on its surface since it left the store shelf six years ago. From the day I bought it and filled it with the melodies in my head, it became a diary almost, and you don’t just go around letting people read your diary.

“Bitch isn’t a nice shade on you” He scoffed, brushing a few strand of brown hair on his forehead off to the side.

“And asshole isn’t so becoming on you either” I rebutted, narrowing my eyes dangerously at him.

I was the kind of person who hated to hate. I disliked disliking. If I didn’t particularly like a person, I put on a poker face and just went with the punches, but this guy was not making it that easy.

“Oh, nice comeback” Nolan said with sarcasm dripping off every word, “Just go put the clothes or whatever on, we have and hour to get to the interview”

Biting my tongue, I picked up the bag of clothes he had thrown on the bed. It didn’t take me long to get ready, and to my surprise there wasn’t a single missing patch of fabric. The white skirt, with black tailored peplums was not something I’d worn before, and the pink and white bustier that I had tucked into the skirt may have been exposing my shoulders, but there weren’t cutouts. All together it looked very…ridged. Like an edgy office look revamped. Not my first pick, but a step up. To make things better, I nearly cried when I spotted the black wool trench coat. I hugged it tightly to my body, ready to marry it if I could.

With my makeup less face, and hair in a top knot, I snuggled my arms into the jacket and walked back out to a waiting assistant.

“Frostbite too much for you yesterday?” He asked, “Now your wearing a wearing a bra shirt?”

“”It’s not a bra, it’s a bustier” I huffed, doing the coat up.

Nolan gave me a sure it is look, and shoved a mug in front of me, “Sophie said to get you a tea, so here”

The homey mug was deliciously warm as my snaked my hands around it, pressing my palms to the surface so they go a share of the heat. I chuckled a little when I spotted the tag of the tea bag dangling over the lip of the cup.

“Where did you get this?” I questioned, “Normally she just goes to starbucks or something”

It was miniscule, but the pint tinge that dusted his cheeks caught my eye, “I didn’t want to drive there and back, so I just made it in the kettle the hotel supplied”

It was poisoned. I knew it was. For him to make me a cup of tea given the history we had was a bit too absurd for me. I took a fake sip for the drink, leaving my lips shut tight around the edge.

Satisfied, he led the way out the door after I slid my feet into my combat boots.

One or two cameras flashed while we walked out of the lobby, but nothing crazy. There weren’t many paparazzi lurking around at seven thirty usually.

When we walk outside, I was glad I expected the unexpected. Nolan led me to a red beat up car, and yanked open the passenger door with an exaggerated gesture.

“Your chariot”

It wasn’t that I was being a snob, but this was just odd. For the past two years I had sleek cars with chauffeurs and tinted windows, so carefully closing the rusting door or his car wasn’t normal.

To make me feel less safe I spotted a roll of silver duct tape lying in the cup holder.

“Not exactly a limo, but I paid for this myself” slapping the dashboard with odd pride, Nolan started the car up, making the engine give out a growling roar, mixed with a few sputters.

“Paid for, or built from a kinder egg surprise” I muttered, subconsciously gripping the seat with white knuckles.

I’m too young to die.

“Alright Hollington, lets get you to that interview” His eyes held determination, and I didn’t miss the little “don’t fail me now” he whispered to the car.

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I’ve always seen people kiss the ground in movies, and I remember cringing and snottily saying, “What drama queens”

Yet here I was, smooching the concrete with glee, putting all possible diseases that might be making contact out of my mind.

“Sweet, solid ground!” I cheered, giving the earth one last peck, “I never thought I’d see you again”

“You wuss” Nolan scoffed, swinging his car keys around his finger.

I jumped off the ground and stabbed my finger at his chest, “I’m not a wuss, I just value my life!”

He swatted my hand away and gave me a look of distain, “Stop the princess act and get inside for the interview”

Was it princess like of me to want a well functioning car that didn’t jolt every five minutes and let out concerning noises that no car should make? I most certainly didn’t think so.  

“Ass” a jibe escaped my lips. It was obvious that his opinions of me included that words snob and princess, and my description of him consisted of judgmental, condescending and a jerk.

“Brat” He shot back.

Together, we walked uncomfortably into the studio, continuing to throw harsh insults like daggers. I hated confrontation, but Nolan, you’ve started a war.

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