Bleached Dreads Novelas e Histórias

The scream that left my lips was bloodcurdling. I stare at my reflection in horror and almost have the urge to cry. My hair is no longer a fair shade of strawberry blonde but a creamy chocolate brown, my natural hair colour. Oh, shit, shit, shit! I grabbed my bottle of shampoo and dumped its contents into the sink; it wasn’t shampoo. It was bleach. Fuck! How did bleach get in here? Someone must have poured bleach into this bottle, and Kiara was the only one in the room. My blood boiled in such a way that I was certain my skin was turning a bright shade of red. I storm out of the bathroom, but I am met by no one in our room.

“It’s part of the process, sir, I swear.” “Then why does she look like she’s in pain?” Nathan’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sitting back with his arms crossed anymore. His hands were on the armrests, ready to act. “It’s true what he said,” Tessa said, taking a deep breath, holding back her tears. “Bleaching does hurt, but don’t worry. You’ll get what you want.” “I need this chemical on her hair for at least thirty minutes,” the stylist said, alternating glances between Tessa and Nathan.

“Could you imagine how hard it would be to maintain in the current crisis? Hairdressers aren’t exactly taking appointments.” “She has a point,” a woman said. “And it would be a very talented hairdresser to get it that shade. Green and black,” she walked around Niarthen into Lyric’s line of sight. She was naked, and beautiful, and had two inches of darker blond regrowth showing with lighter ends. She looked up at Niarthen with more than casual interest and Lyric narrowed her eyes. “Incredible,” the woman murmured. “You can almost see the shimmer of scales beneath his skin.”

Except that when she looked back at the mirror, the same stranger stared back at her. What had they done with her? Her long hair was no longer that long. It was beautifully curled and reached a few centimeters above her waist. It looked shiny and golden and gave her an exotic look but Rhea suspected there was some dye which had been added to it. She had always hated dyeing her hair except that she must admit it looked quite exceptional and natural. Her face looked clean and she suspected that they must have bleached it or something. Even without any make-up, her skin looked smooth and creamy. She liked the transformation but she was still furious with Zoey for having meddled in her personal

“Stop faking it. A little blood won’t kill you. I’m not Martin. I won’t be fooled by your act.” She had the guards lock me in the walk-in freezer. “The cold will reduce dizziness from the blood loss. Once Tricia doesn’t need more blood, you can come out. It’s for your own good.” “No, don’t! I’ll die if you leave me here.” Nausea and dizziness pushed me toward the freezer door. I tried to wedge the iron door open, but the mechanism pinched and crushed two of my fingers. The pain was white-hot, nearly making me faint.

"I want the Targaryen type of blond. You can do that for me right?" "Of course! There is nothing that I can't do," he said confidently. I lost the count of hours I've been sitting here. All I know is, Cholo bleached my black hair and then added a blonde base color. Soaked it in my hair for a few hours. Rinsed and applied some treatment. I yawned. My back is already hurting and I feel numb. I looked up at the clock hanging against the wall. It's past 6 in the evening. I've been in here since one o'clock. Six hours have passed already.

I pressed my sleeve against my nose, trying to filter out the worst of it. "He's so loyal," the stylist — a woman named Dani with purple streaks in her own hair — cooed. "Mine won't even drive me here, let alone wait." "He's a little overprotective." "A lot overprotective," I corrected, still breathing through my sleeve. "What is that smell?" "Bleach. Developer. The usual." Dani painted another section of Elowen's roots. "We're touching up the pink. Her blonde's growing in."

The girl who bleached her soul to survive? I scrubbed at my scalp until the water ran pink—blood or bleach, I couldn’t tell—trying to scour away the shame. Sold off. To a stranger. By family. The Drevanes hadn’t even asked what I wanted. Just draped me in silk and called it a wedding. Three days. A lifetime reduced to a footnote in their dynasty’s ledger. I slid down the tile, hugging my knees. The steam blurred everything—the room, the future, the past. And in that haze, I saw her.

"This stuff smells like battery acid." "It’s supposed to," I said. After twenty minutes of scrubbing and rinsing his head with a cheap plastic cup, I patted his head dry with a rough motel towel. When he looked up into the cracked mirror, he didn't look like Nikolai Draven anymore. The jet-black hair was completely gone, replaced by a rough, patchy, peroxide-blonde crop that looked like it had been done in a prison yard. It made his pale skin look harsher, his blue eyes look lighter and more lethal.

He sat and she got back to work getting the splinter out of his skull. Then she went into the bathroom and used the box of color on her blond hair. She’d had her hair many colors in the past, all variations of blond. This had been the lightest she’d gone and to be honest, it had been nothing but a pain since she’d bleached it. She’d thought it would make her look better on camera, but it had only ended up washing out her skin tone. Plus, the upkeep was more than she wanted, not to mention how impossible it was to make it look shiny for the cameras. She had multiple bottles of oils she had to use just to keep her ends from breaking.