Like Rapunzel, but Not Really ✔

Chapter 7

Thanks for the wait! Vote and comment if worthy =) 

P/s: The Swahili name was a made up. You'll get what I mean when you get there.

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People won’t believe me when I tell them my hair can do a lot of damage. It can. Really, it can. Its list of damage can run from minor burns to full frontal nosebleeds, depending on my style of hair that day. The worse ones would usually come from when they are in double braids – think: double whiplash.

 That day, unfortunately for Hunter, was one of those days that I had decided to braid my locks into a thick braid. On a scale of one to ten in its hazardous level, thick braids would be between a six-and-a-half to an eight. 

Hunter, unfortunately for him, was a victim of circumstances. Come to think of it, his whole life had been about him being one. Conceived out of wedlock in an unconventional but still conservative family, being a straight guy with too good of a fashion sense, having a not-working-but-not-a-stay-at-home-either Mom and holding the number seven spot on Grand’Mere’s hit list. This list could go on for miles longer, really, but it was beside the point.

When I heard a somewhat familiar voice calling a somewhat familiar name behind me, it was only my natural reaction to whip around to the source of the voice.

And whip around was actually a rather fitting phrase because inertia was not a force to be reckoned with. My hair went smack into Hunter’s face. Unfortunately, this all escaped my notice.

In pure automatism, I broke into a huge smile.

“Tristan!” I beamed. How long had it been? A week? Two?

Behind me, Hunter gagged. Apparently some of my hair had got caught inside his mouth. And because he was Hunter, he was already on his knees, clutching his throat and sticking out his tongue, his way of stating to the world that he found my hair disgusting.

Ignoring the blonde idiot behind me, I focused my attention towards the pale boy in my peripheral view. He was still wrapped up in bandages and his face was still very much swollen. His disfigurement was probably the reason I knew it was Tristan. That and the fact that he called me Coke Cane.

Instantly my smile died.

“What did you call me earlier?”

Tristan stared at me coolly, like he did not notice my sudden change in mood. As if mocking me, he raised an eyebrow. “I said Coke Cane. That is your name, isn’t it?” He said the whole thing with a straight face, I couldn’t tell if he really did believe that such a name was nameable to a human being or he was just messing with me.

Silence hung between us for a few awkward moments. “It was Lisa, wasn’t it?” I asked Tristan expectantly. She was the only one I knew who could’ve given away my name to him. Well, as far as name would go.

Behind me, Hunter was still gagging.

Tristan’s lips curved upwards by a molecule. At least I think it did. The man’s a rock. “Negative. When I asked about you, she only said, and I quote, ‘Her name should to be Crackpot Jane. Wouldn’t make a damn difference.’” Then, as if annoyed, he concluded coldly. “She refused to spare any details of you.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s called confidentiality. I signed the form before she started interrogating me,” I said matter-of-factly. I pointed my index finger towards him. “That still doesn’t explain how you found out the name I gave to Lisa,” I accused, before realizing my slip-up. Hastily, I added, “Which is really my name. Coke Cane, that is.” I added the last part for good measure. I was supposed to be nonexistent on this earth, after all.