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The day before, Anna dyed my hair.
Her fingers were stained with the red box dye she violently combed through my hair. She
complained about how quickly my long hair tangled and worried about having enough time to
ready her Halloween costume. The entire time she was quietly humming and dancing to the pop songs coming from my phone.
Some of the crimson dye dripped from her hand down onto the dorm rug, leaving a stain.
We tried to hide it with a chair.
When you dye your hair, you have to wash the excess dye out. When you dye your hair
red, you shower in a crime scene. The shower walls are splattered with red and pink, and
blood colored water drips down your body to the drain. When you dye your hair red, you
wash your hands over and over, like a cosmetic Lady Macbeth. The red keeps coming out
with multiple washes, for the next two weeks you feel like a horror movie.
red, you shower in a crime scene. The shower walls are splattered with red and pink, and
blood colored water drips down your body to the drain. When you dye your hair red, you
wash your hands over and over, like a cosmetic Lady Macbeth. The red keeps coming out
with multiple washes, for the next two weeks you feel like a horror movie.
At 4:40 a.m. the next morning, Anna came into my room, pale, and clutching her wrist.
Red dripped from her wrist down onto the carpet. She was crying and hyperventilating, about to collapse with blood loss.
Red dripped from her wrist down onto the carpet. She was crying and hyperventilating, about to collapse with blood loss.
When someone cuts their wrist too deep, there isn't just blood, so much blood. You can
see the layer of fat beneath the skin. You can see the pulse. You feel the pulse against
your hand that’s putting a washcloth and pressure on the wrist. That pulse slows down as
your own, pounding in your head, speeds up.
see the layer of fat beneath the skin. You can see the pulse. You feel the pulse against
your hand that’s putting a washcloth and pressure on the wrist. That pulse slows down as
your own, pounding in your head, speeds up.
Anna argued with me, when she wasn’t fading out of consciousness. No hospital, no
hospital. Her skin got gray as mine turned red.
When she finally went to the hospital with another friend, I couldn't breathe. I washed my
hands over and over without looking at them, only stopping when they began to feel raw. Then I finally gave myself permission to collapse. I slept for 48 hours, awoke feeling unclean. I tried to shower, and broke down crying, in the corner. I sobbed with my eyes screwed shut, trying to hide from the color of my hair dripping down my body.
The day before she nearly died, Anna dyed my hair.
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