CHAPTER 7: THE CANDY AND THE FOREHEAD

“You can stay here till you’re well enough to go home.” He rakes a hand through his hair.

Home? That crappy rooftop? Are you kidding?

Home is here. With you, babe.

But, of course, I can’t say that, can I? My babe’s looking frazzled. There are purplish rings under his eyes. The bruise on his forehead glowers at me. My heart aches. Don’t you fret, babe. I’m here now. I’ll take care of you. I’ll —-

—- Mumble mumble —-

He’s grunting something, staring at a point above my head. He is resolutely trying not to lock eyes with me. Because he knows one glance would shatter that resolve of his. He is weak around me.

“What was that, babe?” All that stuff before? Water under the bridge. We’re puzzle pieces, two halves of a whole. I am him, and he is —–

—— “Victoria understands.”

What?

I go still. Frozen. My rosebud lips shrivel, tighten to a thin line. My nostrils flare. I am frothing white breath, and it’s not even winter. I am that angry.

I am mad. Shaking with fury. If I were a zombie, I would hurl myself at him right now, sink my teeth into that neck, rip out that lousy two-timing heart —–

I snap my eyes to the coward.

His chest is heaving and he’s looking at me with wide Bambi eyes. He looks like he might run out the door and never come back.

I growl. He jumps. I stomp to the doorway and plant my body there. He’d have to kill me to get past me. And there’s not a chance of that happening. Because I’d kill him first.

I let out a little breathy huff.

“Victoria knows about us?”

“About you.” He winces. “There is no us. Remember? I thought I made it clear that…” He’s upset. Naturally. Denying your heart’s desire is a painful thing. His mouth is a slash of tension. His jaw is clenched so tight I know there’s a hairline fracture there with my name on it. An X-ray technician will be astounded to see the word CANDY etched into his bones one day.

Poor babe.

Just like that, my rage evaporates.

I look long and deep into his eyes. Two black pools of pain. Loving me has done this to him. It’s tearing him up.

I need to show him that I understand. That our mouths may not be able to say it out loud, but our actions can. We belong together. I am Babe. Babe is me. Babe and Candy. It has a nice ring to it. Like Heathcliff and Catherine.

“I’ll take a shower,” I say, soft and sweet. “Thank you for everything.” I droop my head like a bruised little flower. Loll it from side to side, like a zombie. He lets out a yelp. Babe’s so nervy. His passion for me is taking such a toll on him.

“I’ll be out of here…” I squeeze out a tear, let it roll down my right cheek. “Just as soon as I’m done…”

He stares at me. A sad little kitten. Unwanted. Unloved. Womp. Womp.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it then,” he turns, but not before I see something flit across his face. Relief? No-uh. It must have been sadness. The door closes softly. Yep. Definitely sadness.

I squirt a whole bottle of lavendar shower gel over me. Dump a bottle of lavendar shampoo on my hair. I scrub and scratch every inch of my body till every clump of caked mud is gone. Then I throw myself on the wet tiles and roll about, scour my body up and down and side to side till I feel my skin tingle and smart. Sometimes, you get these pesky little bits and pieces of slime and dirt and grass that tend to stick in the most awkward parts. I once carried a bug’s severed head with me for three weeks, can you believe it? It was wedged between my third and fourth toes.

I almost scream when I see my reflection in the mirror. My hair is so long I don’t look like myself anymore. I look a wild-eyed, jagged-haired stranger. I don’t recognize this person.

“WHO ARE YOU?” I shout. This thing in the mirror opens her mouth so big it scares me. Her eyes are two glittering holes of hate. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO CANDY” I bellow.

Oh, wait. It’s me —-

Geez. Lost it for a moment.

Candy is cute.

I don’t look cute.

I don’t look like Candy.

Bad. This is very bad.

I need to do something fast. I’m competing for my babe’s heart. Against beautiful, elegant Victoria, with her perfect face and her perfect hair.

I spot the pair of scissors in a plastic holder and I know what I have to do.

I pull down a hank of hair over my forehead, and snip it off.

The eyes in my reflection are crazy big and maniacal.

But I look beautiful. I love me.

I’m back. Me. Candy. Cute, sweet Candy.

My new bangs are slightly crooked. Never mind. I’ll snip them to even them out.

Damn. The right is a bit too long. I grit my teeth —– I need to see a dentist soon, all this teeth gnashing is harming my molars —– and snip again.

I snip and snip and snip.

Ten minutes later.

I stand back and beam at myself in the mirror.

I look so cute.

Picture this. You’re a kid and your frugal mom, who only goes to the salon to get her own hair done, puts a bowl over your head and cuts beneath the rim.

That’s what I see smiling back at me.

I look like I got my hair cut by bending too close to a shredder.

And there are four layers to the bangs, somehow. My bangs are spiky little wisps that wave at me exactly 0.05 cm from the edge of my scalp.

My forehead is a smooth gleaming desert, my bangs the scrubs.

Damn, I look good.

I open the door. Step into the living hall.

“Babe.”

He’s standing directly in front of an open window.

He swings his head to me, and I gasp.

He’s showered and changed, and his hair is a curtain of dark, thick silk blanketing his forehead.

He’s snuffed out his forehead.

My babe is spotting bangs. Just like me.

Oh, my God.

He’s telling me what I already know.

We are bangs-spotting soulmates. Two halves of a puzzle. We fit. Candy and Babe. Babe and Candy. He is me. I am him.

“Babe.” I step out of the shadows.

He blinks. Takes a step backward. His hair slaps against his forehead, a black band strapped against his skin. Oddly familiar. I watched a drama called Perfume once. Shin Sung Rok navigated the ups and downs of his life with the same impenetrable wall, he hid the love in his heart and the pain of his past, barricading himself behind his forehead fortress for 16 episodes. Like my babe and (Hey, kat! What’s up, buddy?) —— W-what was that?? This just flashed into my head —–

I blink back my tears. Oh, babe. I see you. That hair can’t shield you. I see what you’re trying to hide.

“What do you think of my hair?” My voice is a husky whisper. I spin. Blow a breath.

He’s staring at me. His eyes open wide. He’s got his entire soul compressed in those orbs and they’re the colour of love.

Silence.

Then: “You look…” A pause, pregnant with emotion “….g-great.” A slight tremor. His face contorts, as if he is in pain. The way a man looks when he’s confronted with beauty he’s stupidly rejecting out of noble idiocy.

Is that all he has to say? I am tempted to push him through the open window. He must have sensed this, because he steps three paces off to the side before adding, “You have a large enough forehead that you can get away with short bangs.” He claps a hand over his mouth the moment he says this. He looks a little shaken. He’s allowed my beauty to make him waiver, to say things he shouldn’t. It’s tantamount to a confession.

Oh, babe.

He’s so sweet I’m floored.

I draw a huge lungful of breath and the effort makes my eyebrows arch so high, they nearly touch my bangs. “You look good, too, babe.”

My eyes well with tears.

“That covered forehead looks absolutely stunning on you.” My voice breaks.

He makes a strange keening sound.

My babe is so overwhelmed he can’t say a word.

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Poor Mr Babe, I just want him to get out of there! Maybe find a new identity and go into hiding from candy.
Loving Candy’s new hair cut, did you see my message about how I hacked my hair the other day? I guess if you look from the right angle, it is a decent cut 🙂