Blinded by Limerence

57 | Stranger in the Mirror

Morgan

"Your hair's pretty, though."

I blinked, frozen to the spot. I couldn't have heard right.

My heart began to race at Trevor's sudden compliment, causing me to nervously tug at my ponytail. We were walking down the streets away from school, turning at random blocks and going down unfamiliar alleys.

We were just walking around aimlessly until I gave a suggestion Trevor clearly wasn't in favor of.

"I look like crap, okay?" I laughed softly, jogging to catch up with the boy, playing with the sleeve of my sweater. "I've never let my hair grow out this long before. Come on, I want to go for a haircut! You did ask me what I wanted to do."

"Okay, fair point," he said. "I was just voicing my opinion, is all," he added with a sideward glance at me. "What's with girls being particular about their hair, anyway?"

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Like boys aren't particular about their hair?" Quickly, I went on my tippy toes and was quick to ruffle his dark hair, which oddly enough, despite being gelled, was surprisingly soft.

"Hey!" he panicked, swatting my hand away at once. He shook his head like a dog then pushed his dark locks back.

I smiled at the boy and playfully punched his shoulder. "Just take me to a salon?"

In response, he finally nodded.

|

As I sat in the salon chair waiting for a worker to attend to me, Trevor leaned forward on the plastic chair next to mine, squinted his eyes as though studying me, then, without warning, took some strands of my hair in his big hands and twirled it around, playing with it.

All at once, I felt my face heat up at the action, and I averted my gaze, hoping that the interaction would end soon because honestly, it boggles my mind how Trevor could be so nice to me after everything that's happened.

As if my wishes were heard, the owner of the beauty salon—an old man, probably no younger than sixty—came out from the back and greeted us with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, kids," the old man said. "I have to close up early—family emergency."

"O-oh, sorry to hear about that," I said, about to stand up and leave, but Trevor's hand landed on my shoulder and pushed me back down on the chair.

"That's okay, Mr. Gunn," replied Trevor with a charming smile. "I can cut her hair."

The old man—Mr. Gunn, apparently—grinned broadly at Trevor's strange offer and tossed him the keys to the salon.

"What a momma's boy, you," he exclaimed, wrinkles forming around his bright blue eyes as he laughed. "Lock up when you're done, son."

Trevor gave Mr. Gunn a firm and assuring nod, even going as far as saluting him like an obedient soldier, and the latter left the quaint shop.

Shortly after, I fixed Trevor with a long, blank stare because the mere idea of having him cut my hair doesn't really sit well with me—at all.

"Er—you're going to cut my hair?" I asked, anxiety coursing through my veins. "Do—do you even know how to cut hair—?"

Trevor shrugged casually, seeming to enjoy the panic rising up in my chest. "Sure I do," he said nonchalantly. A faint smile played at his lips as he added, "I used to cut my mom's hair all the time."

"Your mom?" I repeated.

"Yeah," he said, grabbing a pair of silver scissors off the marble-tiled counter. He ran his finger through my hair, brushing out all the knots, then grabbed an actual comb and began combing through the tangles. "We weren't exactly rich—not poor either, though—so we cut budgets where we could, and one of the budget cuts were, well, haircuts."

I remained silent, not knowing what to say. Instead, I focused my gaze on my reflection in the mirror in front of my seat, watching Trevor fix up my hair behind me.

In it, I saw a broken girl. Her eyes were no longer as bright as they once were, her lips having lost the taste of innocence, and her face drained of all the color it used to hold. It was funny because I knew that was me, but it just—somehow didn't look like me.

He threaded his finger through my hair again, seeming to be deep in thought as well. "Something shoulder-length, maybe—?"

Suddenly, I wanted to be alone during this all-too-familiar, beleaguered self-evaluation, wanted Trevor to leave me be, so I shut my eyes tight and nodded. 

"Do whatever you want," I muttered before hiding my face in my hands (because apparently hiding from people is as good as being away from people), feeling the sudden hot flash of tears cloud my vision.

I could tell Trevor knew that I was having a breakdown then and there, right in front of him. I didn't want him to comment or ask what was wrong—and to my surprise, he didn't, and I was grateful.

He took a towel and gently wrapped it around my shoulders.

Eyes still tightly shut, I felt Trevor take some hair into his fingers, and then I heard the snipping of scissors and felt hair lifelessly falling to the ground.

It was like this for a while until a good ten minutes later when I heard the hairdryer click on, and the hot wind from it blew my newly cut hair across my face. He continued to comb through it while blow-drying. Then, without warning, the hot air stopped with a faint click, and I felt Trevor's hands ruffling my hair.

"You can open your eyes now."

His deep voice cut through the silence, and hearing his words, I quickly wiped my tears on my sleeves then hesitantly cracked open an eye to look at my reflection—and was met with a stranger in the mirror.

My honey blonde hair now only reached up until my shoulders. Its new layers added body to my previously lifeless hair, and as I ran a hand through the soft strands, I felt how much shorter it is now than before.

"Hold on," said Trevor as he eyed my reflection in the mirror. He leaned forward, and swiftly, he ruffled my hair again as though messing up the previous neatness was the finishing touch, as though to give it the effect of having gone through some stuff. 

"There!" he beamed proudly, taking a step back to fully appreciate the haircut.

I hadn't even noticed, but I was smiling, a stark contrast from my previous sobbing state. I swept my tousled hair behind my shoulders and turned around to look at Trevor, who had an equally wide grin plastered on his face.

"So?" he prompted.

I had doubted the boy, but the haircut was perfect; it's the type of cut that I've always subconsciously wanted—and Trevor anticipated that.

My voice caught in my throat, I was at a loss for words. I felt my heart flutter at the way he was smiling at me so intently. Cheeks reddening, I simply whispered with glassy eyes, apropos of nothing, "Thank you, Trev."

He nodded at me in the mirror before taking the towel off my shoulders.

At that moment, my phone suddenly rang in my pocket, signaling that I was receiving a call. After gesturing to Trevor that I've got to take this, I answered the call.

"Laura?... Oh, shit, I totally blanked!... S-sorry, I'll be right over!" With that, I clicked the red end call button and turned to Trevor with frantic eyes; he was looking at me with anticipation.

"I've got work today!" I exclaimed, quickly getting up from the chair, panic settling in as I realized I'm supposed to be at The Brew right now and not in some salon goofing off with some guy.

I paused, my face turning an even darker shade of red.

He isn't just 'some guy' though.

"What? You forgot about a shift? Again?" laughed Trevor as he followed me out the door. He locked up the place and left the key under the welcome mat. "How have they not fired you yet? You're always late!"

"Shut up," I said, glaring at the boy.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Come on, I'll walk you."