Present Day

It was a nice Saturday morning. The birds were chirping. The sun was high in the sky. Anybody who knew me could come through my door expecting to see me still asleep, probably half off the bed. I was a very agitated sleeper, but that’s not the point. If you opened my door, you would not see me snoring away like on a normal Saturday morning, no. You would see me perched at my vanity, staring at myself through the mirror.

Why?

My hair was crimson and I was speechless. My normal hair is crimson so now you’re wondering why I’m speechless at my normal hair color, but that’s just the problem.

Just yesterday evening, I dyed my hair completely black and I woke up this morning and every single strand of black was now crimson. Okay, now you probably think I’m overreacting, but this is the third time.

First time, I put in neon blue streaks. The next morning it was gone. Okay, fine. It probably rubbed off on the pillows.

Next, I put white highlights in my hair. Gone the next morning. Okay. Still not enough to freak out.

This time, I dyed my entire hair black so somebody give me one, just one reason, I shouldn’t freak out.

I shook myself out of my daze and headed to the bathroom. I did my stuff, came out and dressed in my work outfit. I worked at a café so I was wearing their weird baby pink café uniform with black ripped skinny jeans. Why would someone in their normal mind work on a Saturday without any reason, you ask. Well, other teens work cause they need the money, I work cause I like selling stuff. I know, I’m weird like that and it was probably why I was hired without much hassle. Plus, I don’t have to go till noon so there’s no problem with it. I shoved my work cap into my bag and went downstairs for breakfast.

I entered the kitchen and kissed my mom on the cheek. “Morning, mom”

“Morning, sweetie. How’d you sleep?” she ruffled my hair and placed a kiss on it.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” That meant good.

I took a plate containing toast and pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat in it, setting my plate of toast down. My mom placed a glass of orange juice down next to me and turned to leave when I grabbed her wrist.

“Hold on. I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” she asked gently.

“I bought a DIY dye pack,” her eyes widened infinitesimally but I waved it off, “and I applied it last night.” Panic appeared but disappeared just as quickly.

“Well, where is it?” she asked.

“Well, that’s just it. I put it on my hair last night but it’s all gone this morning. This isn’t the first time and I don’t know what’s going on and I’m seriously freaking out.” I whispered the last three words and I pushed my plate away from me, my appetite far gone.

“Are you sure you weren’t hallucinating?” she asked, gently.

“No! Like I said this isn’t the first time.” I huffed in frustration.

“And are you sure someone didn’t wash the dye off?” My mom sat in a chair adjacent to mine.

“No, mom. I was asleep, not dead.” I rolled my eyes. “Plus, who would break into my room in the middle of the night just to wash dye off my hair? Three times in a row?” I paused. That actually sounded like a semi-reasonable explanation, just, it’s really, really creepy.

Neither me nor my mom said anything for a few seconds.

“Why did you dye your hair without my permission?” Ah. Like I knew that part wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“That’s besides the point.” I said standing up, ready to make an escape for the door.

“No, Samantha. It’s actually on the point. Did you actually—”

I cut her off by yanking her into a hug. “Bye! See you! Love you! Kiss daddy for me!” I kissed her cheek and ran out.

It’s not that I wanted to become a rebel or whatever by dying my hair black. I just needed something to prove to myself that I wasn’t insane and seeing things…wait…didn’t I actually prove to myself that I was going insane? What if I was already insane since a long time ago? That would make sense. A second semi-reasonable explanation for my creepy, weird hair. Join both together and I’ll have one solid explanation.

Wait, what?

Ladies and gentlemen, I just want to say that if I was suddenly captured and dragged to an asylum, I wouldn’t protest. I wouldn’t even be surprised if my capturer was me.

I shook my head and resumed my walk on the streets of New York city to work. I worked at Sam and Ricky’s, a cute, sophisticated little coffee and smoothie shop. I wasn’t the Sam, obviously. That was Samuel, one of my bosses.

I pushed open the glass doors of the shop and was welcomed the sharp, cold air in the air-conditioned place, a sharp contrast t the warm, humid air outside. I walked in and up to my station at the counter where I took orders.

Rick, my other boss came out of the Staff-Only office and grinned at me. “Wow, Sam. You’re here early. Congratulations.” He was the only person who called me Sam, the nickname I so much despised.

“Thanks.” I returned his grin. He nodded and walked off to wherever.

I sold coffees and smoothies all afternoon, trying my best not to think of my hair till my shift was done. I ended by six pm and it was just five-twenty-four. I was about done with the sight of anything caffeine, fruity or nutty.

The door chimed alerting staff of a new customer and I sighed in my tiredness but all of it cleared when I looked up and saw him walking towards me.

By him, I meant the only other person in this world who calls me Sam.

Destiny.

Destiny Carson.

The guy I freaking liked. He bought smoothies from Sam and Ricky’s all the time, attended my school and called me Sam all the time to annoy me. Funny thing, it didn’t. I found it endearing and actually felt all warm inside whenever he did but I pretend like I hate it cause he might stop if I don’t.

We girls and our weird boy problems, am I right?

I sat up straight in my stool. Samantha can’t slouch in front of crush now, can she? “Hi, D.” I said and waved as he came to the counter.

“Hi, Sam.” He smiled that beautiful smile of his.

“I keep telling you. Don’t call me Sam.”

“I will when you stop calling me D, I mean, I know it’s big, but I don’t remember putting you as my—ow!” I punched him and he didn’t even bother hiding his grin.

I tried to fight my growing blush but was as unsuccessful as trying to hide my grin. Let’s just say, you couldn’t tell where my face ended and where my hair started just by looking.

“What’re you ordering?” I muttered still with the grin on my face.

“Extra large mango smoothie.” I raised a brow. “Please.” He added after an eyeroll.

“So immature.” I said to myself while working the smoothie machine, making sure he heard.

“So beautiful.” I choked on oxygen and looked up lightening fast, had immediate eye contact and averted my gaze to the ground.

Cue another round of my motherfrickin’ blushing.

I shoved his smoothie into his hand—taking extra care to avoid his fingers and eyes, though I could feel them on me—and collected his money.

It was done. There was no reason for him to still stand there but he did, his stare still on me and mine still on the floor. The floor has never looked this nice since I started working here.

“Samantha, I’m not messing with you. You really are.” I managed to bring my eyes to his and a corner of his lips lifted. I blushed again and he turned and left, leaving my face burning.

If my eyeballs ae red, I wouldn’t even be surprised cause the amount of blushing I did.

Six pm finally arrived and I was free to leave.

I said goodbye to Sam and Ricky and left for home. On the way, I pulled out my phone from my bag and dialled “bestie❤”.

“A-yo, Sam.” Yes, my mistake. There was one last person who called me Sam and it wasn’t at all endearing…okay, maybe a little.

“Hey, Ciara. Are we still on for ice-cream tomorrow?”

“You bet your ass.”

“Kay. Bye.”

“Bye, bitch.”

That girl cusses too much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I unlocked the front door and entered the house. I knew my parents were home but why knock when I have a key.

I started walking to the living room and I heard talking coming from it. I went closer to the door and heard my mom and dad talking. I wasn’t going to eavesdrop but I heard the words “dye” and “find out” so, sue me.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Love. We need to get Sara again. Her goddamn hair is already acting up, what if the rest begin too? I’m not hesitating anymore. This needs to be done. I’m calling her.” My dad’s voice. For some reason, whoever that Sara was, she sounded familiar.

“No, Daniel. No, please. Not my baby. My only child and daughter at that, especially after Kristina’s…” she stopped. “I know we didn’t succeed with Kristina but—”

“Exactly! We didn’t succeed with Kristina, and that’s why we need to take these measures.”

Silence, followed by sobs. Feminine sobs. My mom was crying. Why was she crying and who was Kristina?

The guilt of eavesdropping finally came down on me and I walked into the room like I hadn’t heard their conversation. Casual.

“Hey, dad. Hey, mom.” I stopped suddenly. “Why’s mom crying?” Man, I was a good actress.

“Our…our dog died.” My dad replied, solemnly.

“Dad?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“Oh.”

“He meant our neighbour’s dog.” My mom interjected.

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry for their loss.” I stood there for a bit before turning to go upstairs to my room. The general knowledge that we had no neighbours was getting too awkward. My parents were such terrible liars.

Once I was safely in my room, I sat on my bed and attempted to process all the information I just heard. There was a Kristina and there was a Sara. My parents know something about my hair and apparently more were expected to begin happening to my body.

What was I to make of all of this? I was at a dead end. What if I was overreacting and these other things were all part of puberty and my parents didn’t want me to grow up? A little too late for them to start worrying if you ask me cause, well, I was seventeen, so… Also, what if my hair “acting up” just meant it was growing faster than normal and Sara was just a hair therapist? Are there even such things? There probably are.

See? Nothing to worry about. Except for the fact that my hair grows really slowly (two years and it was still at my upper back) and I had no explanation for the Kristina girl. But that’s insignificant right?

Still, something felt wrong and I knew my parents knew about it. For some reason, my hair wouldn’t dye and I was determined to find out why.

Oh. That rhymed.

I went to my vanity, pulled out a drawer and got out the dye. A little remained from yesterday and I was going to use it for an experiment.

I dyed my hair from the lower middle to the tips, exactly where I could watch them, then I went to my wardrobe and got out the itchiest sweater this world has ever seen. Thanks, grandma.

My plan was to pull an all-nighter doing…hair-watching. I was going to monitor my hair until morning and I would probably walk into a few walls tomorrow—ten, give or take a few—but it would be worth it…I hope.

I left my bedside lamp on. The itchy sweater was to help me stay awake, along with the cutest cat videos on the planet. I was determined to get an explanation for my hair and if it meant committing the abominable crime of ditching sleep, I would.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stared at my phone screen. I could see what was happening, but my sleep-soaked brain could not process. Not at this time of the night. My eyes were wide open, yet drool poured down the side of my chin. Talk about sleeping with your eyes open. Yeah, shit was real.

I shifted my stare to the alarm clock on my bedside.

5:17 am.

The sweater had proven useful but definitely not the cat videos. I was literally staring through my phone.

I was so brain-dead that at first when something glowed dimly around my chest are, my mind didn’t register that. Wrote it off as glow from my phone screen, or at least, soft glow from the lamp. But it definitely picked up on it as the glow got brighter and brighter. I was suddenly wide-awake and I glanced down at my hair.

I was astounded. My hair, where I dyed it, started glowing, red, from the tips. Slowly, the glow shifted, crawling up from the tips, all the way to the point where the dye ended, like tiny, red, glowing, chemical eating bacteria. But I knew this wasn’t just a biological happening. I knew it was out of this world.

Slowly, but surely, the glow went down, dying into dark, crimson red.

My phone fell from my hand face down to the uncarpeted area of the floor and I heard a crack, but not even my phone screen cracking on the ground could shake my mild state of shock. I sat in my bed, at half-past-five in the morning, with only one thought process.

What the actual fuck?

A/N

Sara - /sara/ - it is NOT pronounced like ‘Sarah’. pronounce it as you see it

@Tulip