Dying Greasy Unwashed Hair Novels & Stories

He pushed me to the brink of death so many times, only to pull me back out with that cruel sick pleasure of his. Drowning was by far the worst but I begged for death so that he couldn’t touch me again. I close my eyes and take a breath in. I look down at the water and it’s a slight shade of brown. Gross. I lean toward the drain and lift the plug, letting my filth drain with it. Drying off and sliding on the wonderful shiny robe. I think silk is what Grace called this fabric, committing it to memory. I manage to wrap a towel around my head to keep my unruly hair contained.

Trinity's Pov My greasy hair was the main thing that gave away the fact that I had not sunk my body in my hot tub for four days. Without my essentials, I couldn't possibly wash my hair even though I craved doing so more than anything. Being in hiding was proving to be a bigger hassle than I thought.

Mister stood frozen in place as his mind forced him to take it all in. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. His eyes were wide open and his face had involuntarily contorted into a look of disgust. He had seen a lot of shit in his life, but this... this was some new level ass shit right here. Her hair had gone grey and it was tangled and matted. She was wrinkled and hunched over and her teeth were black with rot. She had a long, saggy pointed nose and her eyes were the color of puss from a bad infection.

“Well, aren’t you just a happy little bag of unicorn farts? What’s with the two of you this morning?” I scowl at Ayla, and Devin just ignores her altogether. “Nothing,” I utter and scratch my head. Ugh, I loathe having greasy hair. My scalp itches if I go longer than two days without washing my hair. I need a fucking shower, and being unable to do so is just pissing me off. I feel gross and look even worse. I’m tempted to bite the bullet and just jump into the shower fully clothed with this idiot. “Uh-huh, want to try telling that to your face, little sis?” Ayla says, leaning back against the counter while she waits for her coffee. She looks from Devin, then back to me again, her brows risin

They were an unnatural, sickly blue-black, spreading in chaotic patterns that made my stomach churn, a grotesque web that looked ready to burst. His jaw twitched as though he was fighting the urge to bite or scream, and his lips were chapped, dry, cracked, and flecked with a strange dark residue. Even his hair, once thick and likely dark, had become patchy, clumps of it torn away, leaving raw patches of irritated skin. His fingernails were jagged and broken, caked with dirt and blood, as if he had clawed his way out of some inescapable prison. There was a stench, too, a vile mixture of rot and something metallic, something that made it difficult to breathe.

The large mouth opening, the sharp stench of something spoiled and infected and threatening to burst rising from the nubs of yellow teeth. Its nose was pushed flat, the lips pushed forward. Its hair heavy, greasy strands sticking to a flaking, grimy scalp. The legs two clubs jerking from the hip, each with a long, thick, yellowed nail jutting from the end that scraped the floor as it angled near.

she murmured lazily. We got up, and I combed my messy hair, then put it in a bun again. My brown curly hair was so dry because I didn’t use any shampoo for a long time after they threw me in the barn. The other night, I dared to steal shampoo and conditioner from the packhouse because my hair was all tangled and frizzy.

Anything considered trash. My black waist-length hair was once full of life and shine, but now it was dull and lifeless. As a result of all the chemicals I used to clean the house, my once smooth, cream-colored skin itched constantly, and my hands became rough. Despite having house staff, I was the only one who had to do all the complicated work.

His face became white and pale again, and he knew it was more than what he could handle. He sighed, there was no way to hide the paleness or his face, but he could at least hide his grey heir, he can just lie to Blair that he is tired, and that is why his face was like that, but was about his hair? He picked up the comb and tried to come his hair, but it kept falling off, he stopped and stared at himself at the mirror, Was this how it was going to end? He couldn't even comb his hair, now it was falling off, Was this really his end? He shook his head and search through his belongings and he finally found a black dye, he quickly mixed it and rubbed it on his hair, he crossed his fingers with t

Maybe I'd get a streak-free shine out of the whole deal. Snickering silently at my lame joke, I wetted down my hair once the bucket was full again. Pushing the gritty and greasy strands off my back and neck felt like a million pounds had been lifted off me. Pouring a small puddle of dish soap in my palm, I went to work getting my hair as clean as possible.