"NOOO"
"YES"
"NOOOOOOOO"
"FIGHT ME YOU LITTLE SHIT"
"IF YOU LOVE ME LET ME GO"
"I DON'T LOVE YOU LIKE I DID YESTERDAY"
*a few hours ago*
"I'm bored."
"Me too."
"Are you bored?"
"I am."
"Are you still bored?"
"Charlie, you just asked me that 2 minutes ago."
The exact same conversation had been repeated for about 5 times now, and had been going on for exactly 25 minutes. Ever since that day at the cafe, me and Rhiannon had fallen into a routine of lying, her on the bed, me on the floor of her room flipping through alternative magazines and listening to her weird ass music (not that I'm judging, but seriously, all I can make out of her songs are "this is sandpit turtle". What does that even mean?). But anyways, that sort of led to the conclusion that I wasn't missing out on much by not having a best friend my whole life. Which sort of sucks, because I was so looking forward to, I don't know, maybe hair-braiding and pillow-fighting sessions? But then again, you can't really picture a girl like Rhiannon pillow-fighting or braiding hair for that matter. It's like picturing an angry bull doing ballet, even though she doesn't look the least like an angry bull, but more of an angry pixie.
Suddenly, Rhiannon looked up from her spread about a tattooed guy who apparently has a "spiritual awakening which led to a monumental change in creative directions" and grinned evilly. This was definitely not a good sign.
"You know what we should do? We should give you a makeover. And you, my darling, shall be true and authentic punk-freaking-rock."
"Umm... I'm not really sure about that... I mean, I already gave myself a makeover. And what do you mean I'm not true punk rock?" I gave a shaky smile. Can you blame me, though? The last time my mom tried to give me a "makeover so I'll have more friends", she burned off a chunk off my hair and somehow managed to wax my whole left eyebrow. I had to wear an itchy wig with blunt bangs for months. Talk about traumatizing.
"Pfft, you call that punk rock? You look more like a Joan Jett wannabe. Underline wannabe."
"I look perfectly fine, thank you very much," I crossed my arm stubbornly. All those YouTube tutorials on How To Create An Edgy Look can't be wrong, can't they?
"Charlie Peanuts McCarthy, you're coming with me, whether you like it or not," Rhiannon stood up and crossed her arms intimidatingly. And that girl can definitely be intimidating, with her tattoos, piercings and permanent resting bitch face.
Oh, and did I mention she's 5"9?
You can't blame me for caving in.
-
"Try this on."
"No wait, hold this."
"Hang on, you have got to try this."
"Oh my god, this is so punk rock."
No, this is not a conversation between two people. It is Rhiannon talking while I follow behind, carrying several tons of clothes which she insisted "would look so edgy on you" because the word "cute" is simply not punk rock enough. And don't let me get started on the small lump that was starting to rise on my forehead because she hit me with a combat boot.
Wanna guess where we're at? Hang on, I need to retouch my eyeliner.
Hot Topic.
Yep, the paradise for emo kids here and there, everywhere. The safe haven of misunderstood kids who are determined this is not a phase. And of course, the only place where the queen of darkness shops.
So after a good hour of changing into numerous band shirts, tank tops, black skinny jeans (which Rhiannon insisted were totally different but after the fourth pair I just quit trying to spot the difference between the shades), and combat boots, I was finally freed from the inhumane torture that was also known as shopping on the outernet.
We were just checking out all the items when suddenly, there was another evil glint in Rhiannon's eyes.
Oh dear god.
"Hey Charlie, what do you think about a little change?" I swear to god, this girl's ability to smirk never ceases to surprise me. Do you reckon maybe getting lip piercings have something to do with the ability to look evil?
"What exactly do you mean change?"
"Umm... I don't know. But trust me, it's gonna be cool," she winked at me. Have I mentioned that I'm scared of makeovers? Yes? Well, let me just repeat it one more time.
I. AM. FREAKING. OUT.
-
So above was a complete account of what happened before the conversation at the beginning. Let's continue that convo, shall we?
"YOU LITTLE TWATWAFFLE COME BACK HERE"
"NO"
"YES"
"NO"
Oh wait, we're missing an important part. I wonder what that could be. Hmm. I don't know, maybe the part where RHIANNON DECIDED TO BLEACH ALL THE HAIR THAT I HAVE? (okay, not really, she only got to my eyebrows before I decided to fled)
"Come on, what's wrong with dyeing your leg hair?"
"I don't know, how about EVERYTHING?"
"It's not that bad-"
"No-" I was about to throw another snarky reply at her when suddenly I felt a burning sensation on my scalp. "Umm... Rhi? My scalp is kinda FREAKING BURNING"
"OH MY CHUCK I'M SO SORRY WE LEFT THE BLEACH IN FOR TOO LONG RUN RUN RUN" She screamed, her eyes widening while shepherding me to the bathroom to rinse off the bleach. And just my luck, my eyebrows are starting to feel a little like they're on fire.
What is it with my eyebrows, hair, and makeovers? Seriously, are they allergic to it or something?
Maybe I should see the doctor and he'll tell me how to keep my hair and eyebrows disappearing in makeovers. Or maybe give me allergy meds. Or, I don't know, how about a huge sign on my forehead that says "DON'T GIVE ME MAKEOVERS".
Yeah, that seems like a pretty logical thing to do.
But anyways, back to my burning scalp. We were struggling to fit in Rhiannon's tiny bathroom while she tried her best to pour incessant amounts of water on me. Also, add to it my screaming "I freaking told you", "God I hate makeovers", "Am I bald yet?". So yeah, nothing much going on right now, really.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my head turned back to normal. Or maybe not that normal actually. By normal, I mean no burning sensation running down my scalp. And by not normal, I mean my hair is now a white-blonde so bright that it burns your eyes. Oh, and with eyebrows to match to.
"See, I told you it'll be okay. Now for the fun part. THE COLORS," Rhiannon came up to me smiling smugly.
"Okay fine. But stay away from my leg hair"
"Fine. You're no fun."
I rolled my eyes at her before letting the master back at work.
Anyways, that was the story of how I got cotton candy pink hair.
Oh yeah, matching eyebrows too.
**********
Hi *waves*. First of all I am so, so, so, sorry for not updating for so long. I sort of have finals for an excuse? But okay, I'll admit, I've spent 2 weeks of summer vacation not doing anything, so yeah, be angry at me. Anyways, I hope you like the chapter, please vote and comment, and I promise promise promise that I'll update more frequently. Also, dedication to my bitch Duonguisio because she was the one who nagged me to write :))
That's all amigos! Bye.
Oh yeah, to apologize, there's a picture of Parker the great. Yes, I do know he's very good looking :))
P/s: Kudos to you if you got all the references I threw in there :))
ONE MORE THING: I recently made a covers book, practically I take requests to make your covers for your book on Wattpad, so if you want one please check it out :)) THANK YOU