Bleaching Hair Twice In One Day Novels & Stories

Climbing into the shower. Standing under the warm water. Brown water going down the drain. Looking at her hands. Able to see her skin color again. She grabbed the shampoo bottle and started washing her hair. The foam of the shampoo instantly turned brown. She had to wash her hair about four times before having clean hair again.

"Time for you to blue me." I follow her back to the bathroom, where she's dumped the contents of the pot of dye into the same plastic bowl she used to mix up her bleach, but now there's a different tint brush on the side of the sink and a box of disposable gloves. She sits down in the chair and tosses her head forward to remove the towel, revealing her freshly bleached, untoned hair. "How do you feel now that the brown is all gone?" I ask her, sectioning her hair off with clips. The bleach has dried it out a little, but there's not too much damage.

While I could hear Ruth screaming from the other side of the room, I stared at the mirror in fascination, unable to recognize the person staring back at me. My hair was a dark apple red in colour and it brought the icy blue of my eyes into sharp contrast. Suddenly, the pale colour of my skin wasn’t a problem. My hair looked even more vibrant because of my skin colour. I looked like a completely different woman. “You look absolutely stunning.” I looked up at the hairdresser as she ran a comb through my hair one last time. “Really?” “Absolutely!” The middle aged woman grinned at me. “The colour is perfect for your skin tone. You should keep doing touch ups every three months or so and remember

“Oh my God, you’re impossible. It’s not meant to be cute. It’s to keep my hair on my head.” He snickered. “Where exactly do you think it’s going to run off to?” “Lord have mercy.” I rolled my eyes, realizing he needed some educating. “I have extremely dry hair. In fact, I can only wash it once a week or it’ll break off until there were only about four frazzled strands left. Plus, I iron it, which dries it out even more. So I have to condition and wrap it—in silk, mind you because cotton draws out the moisture which would dry it even more—every night to keep it as healthy as possible.”

Finally, I pick out a pair of dark jeans, a white blouse, and a light grey cardigan. I quickly get dressed after my skincare routine and after blow drying my hair. I love wetting my hair and washing it at least four times every week, but I skipped yesterday. However, I did not skip today, so I proceed to make the best of it by curling it a bit with an electric curler, and next, I allow the curls to freely pour past my shoulders.

She closed her eyes, breathing steadily, relaxed. She was so thin. It hurt to see her like this. I didn’t want to make quick work of it, knowing this was how she was rewarded but my throat was having a tough time swallowing. Finally, once I had finished washing her, I took out the bottles of dye remover. It wasn’t bleach but she said it might not work as well on hair that was really light with a really dark color. I was into bottle three when I could actually see streaks of her old color. Auri was patient, arms wrapped around her knees in the warm water as I scrubbed through the color in her hair.

But I appreciate it nonetheless. “We…could try to stain it again, if you like?” Funda goes but I immediately shoot the idea down. “It was too messy the last time,” I remember. “All the red dripped out and everywhere. The color didn’t even last the week. No, we will not try the stain again.” The last time had proven to be more than enough. My hair was too slick to hold any color. The silver is too stubborn to be hidden. “You…could consider cutting it.” Funda offers again. “We could attain a wig.”

Talk about killing 2 birds with 1 stone. I braided my hair into a perfect French braid and tucked the braid into a neat bun at the nape of my skull. I secured the hell out of it with bobby pins and doused it in hairspray. Not a single strain of my hair was loose. I normally didn’t use a lot of hair products because I hated washing my hair every day. But today can be an exception. I have to look perfect. I have to set a good example for my work center. Sometimes, I hated being a 1st class. I hated responsibilities. Today is one of those days. No sleep meant being a bitch.

I pull myself up then turn to say, "for someone who wants others to stay out of their life, you do make a habit of intruding on other people's space." I get up to my feet before going into the bathroom and I brush my teeth and I cover my hair with the plastic shower cap before taking a bath so I don't get my hair wet because wet hair isn't really my friend. Today seemed like it's going to be worse. I stare at myself in the mirror, looking at my black coarse and tangled hair in a bun; looking at it for the last time because it would be gone after today and I won't be seeing it for the next three to four weeks.

I sat in the salon as Sheila surveyed my hair. "Your hair is healthy and we would be able to dye it. But first we're gonna bleach it. Sounds good?" She said and I nodded. Sheila began working and soon enough she was done. She spun me around on the chair and I looked into the mirror. I gasped when I saw myself. My hair was now blonde and I looked amazing. "You look gorgeous girl." She gushed and I giggled. "Thank you so much." My bouncy blonde curls looked absolutely gorgeous.