Dying Greasy Unwashed Hair Novels & Stories

Maybe it would numb the humiliation. I scrubbed at my clothes with furious speed, calling on every bit of wolfen strength I had – but it didn’t help. The dough was too thick, too embedded. I yanked my sticky shirt over my head and peeled off the rest of my clothes, chucking the mess into a soggy pile on the tile. I tried scrubbing my body clean, but the worst part? My hair. Someone had left a bottle of cheap shampoo in the corner, and I attacked my head like a wild animal. But no matter how much I lathered, rinsed, repeated, the dough clung like a curse. My fingers kept getting stuck in the clumps. My scalp ached.

Just a thought, but did not meet a way out, Jes ruffled the brown hair, freely loose. Jes woke up from sleep, sat leaning on the head of the bed. Hugging her knees, leaving her long, straight hair ruffled. At first glance, you might think Jes is depressed. It was messy and messy but still looked beautiful. Even if Jes went crazy and was admitted to a mental hospital, she would still be the most beautiful crazy woman in a mental hospital. So don't think about Jes's messy hair problem. Clear fluid oozed from the corners of her eyes, sobbing in solitude. "Mom, dad. I really miss you. God, help me get out of this cruel hell. " Mumbling softly lamenting her current fate.

Every line, every wrinkle, every blemish was amplified, as if highlighted by the contrast of her deathly complexion. Her hair, once a beautiful white-blonde that seemed to shimmer in the sun, now lay limp and lifeless against her colourless skin. It was as if the vitality had been drained from every strand, leaving it looking ashen and dry. Strands of hair were matted to her forehead and cheeks, and I could see that it was brittle and fragile, like it could shatter at the slightest touch.

“I had wanted to do this for the longest time, you have beautiful hair don't get me wrong but it's just needs a trim, actually how about shaving it all off little one. Its okay if you don’t want to but between you and me I’ve seen a trolls nest that’s prettier than your head right now. I glared at him and he held up his hands in silent defeat. He was right my hair was a mess. Not only that I have tried and tried over a dozen times while I was in the shower to wash away the dirt and grime that was in it, even the shampoo didn’t lather up, the dirt was too much. I failed miserably. So with a reluctant nod I accepted his offer, after all it was hair and it would grow back. There were patches fu

He’s cheating on her… it's a damn shame… she’s way too good for him. I sucked my teeth and returned my phone to my pocket. Then I began wetting my smooth thin unforgiving black wavy hair in hopes of slicking it back as best I could. My hair always slipped out of the scrunchies and I, unfortunately, didn’t have any scrunchies to attempt to tame my hair. The water worked for about a minute and then the waves started showing themselves.

Lining up in a queue, they giggled at the powerful Alpha standing on the platform, twirling their body seductively at him, hoping that he would choose them to be his Luna. I looked down at my torn and filthy dress hanging limply against my bruised body. I didn't have the luxury of taking a bath throughout my stay in the dungeon. My long silky white hair had turned into a mop of greasy grey color, matted on top of my head. I know that I stink and couldn't look any worse right now.

I said. She did not expect it, but she looked quite pleased. I had a rushed shower, with my mind dancing all over the place. I applied too much shampoo, right after remembering that I'd just shampooed the night before, less than six hours ago in fact. The soap bar slipped out of my hand a couple of times, and I ended up forgetting to wash my face. “I'm ready.” Freda said. “So am I.” I replied and threw a hat on. “There's no way we're going out with your hair looking like that.” Freda protested. Sikes. She'd caught me. I didn't even apply any oil to it. Thought the hat was gonna do a great job hiding it, so there was no point.

My hair dipped in something sludgy on the ground, probably leftovers of some demon killed during the battle. I tried to shake away whatever the crap in my hair was. When I touched my braids, I realised it was figments of exploded intestines of lord-knows-what demon mixed with black dust and mud of Konneyard. I have dropped my mate to the ground at the same instance with a shriek. His numb body fell with a loud thud and I started swatting the gore off my hair frantically while crying and screaming.

He must have. Oh, mortification. My parents would have probably been polite enough to overlook the condition of my hair, but certainly not Lisa. I had no desire to provide her with any more ammo against me. I had no choice but to wash it. Washing my hair has never been an easy process. My thick, unruly mane hangs just below my waist. I keep it long in hopes the weight of its length will help tone it down somewhat. Also, people are so enthralled with its length that they tend to forgive its unruliness. Unfortunately, because of this admirable mane, my locks require a special method of lathering and rinsing that is long and tedious. The drying procedure is no simpler.