Fine Hair Choppy Bob Novels & Stories

she asked kindly. I didn’t even blink. “I want to bleach my hair. All of it. Cut it, too.” She raised a brow, a grin tugging at her lip. “You sure? You’ve got pretty hair.” “I don’t want pretty,” I said. “I want different.” An hour later, the woman in the mirror barely looked like me. My long, curly hair had been chopped into a blunt shoulder-length bob that made my neck look longer and drew every attention to my face. My dull black hair had been dyed strawberry blonde.

Just watched me, quiet and still, like he didn’t quite know how to respond to the version of me sitting here now. I wasn’t the woman who used to wait for him to come home. I wasn’t the one who used to believe his empty reassurances. My hair had been too time consuming to take care of anyways. There used to be five steps—oil, shampoo, conditioner, hair mask, leave-in treatment—and my hair used to fall to my waist in thick, heavy sheets. Roxy used to call it a “weapon” whenever I let it down. So when I chopped it all off a few weeks ago, I expected a reaction. Roxy had run her hands through the blunt bob like she was mourning a fallen comrade. Elle had frowned for two days straight. But me? I

she told the stylist, holding his gaze. "Cut it short—into a bob." The stylist blinked a little and then gave her head a quick, affirmative jerk. With each cutting movement the scissors made, with each inch that she lost, she felt lighter. She looked as each strand of her hair; thick and gorgeous, fell down the floor in a heap. It was a bold change. "Done... You look even prettier with short hair" the stylist complimented and Cassia offered a soft smile admiring how the chic bob framed her face perfectly.

He didn't pick the clothes; he just stood back and watched as I picked silk blazers and heels that felt like weapons. Then we went to a salon. The stylist looked at my blunt, dead hair and sighed. “We can’t make it long overnight,” she said. “Don't make it long,” Alexander said from the chair behind me. “Make it sharp. Make it look like it belongs to a woman who doesn't take orders.” When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see the ghost anymore. My hair was a sleek, angled bob that hit my jaw like a blade. My eyes looked darker, colder.

She started with a new hair cut, which she said was my first real step to a noticeably difference in my appearance. She then tried a new color on my hair, which was something lighter than the usual dark hair. She dyed my black hair to a blonde colour and styled it into a preppy one with side- swept bangs and straight hair that I can eventually put up into a bun, or chignon.

“I cannot wait to be treated like a princess again. This term has been genuinely unhinged.” “I know. I’m the best.” She waves it off. “Now, what do you think about a bob? It would frame your face beautifully.” I look at her. She looks at me. “No.” “It would suit you—” “I’ll do something wavy. Or a trim with a new style. But I am not cutting it short.” She raises her brows, then decides not to push it. She drops onto my bed instead, crossing her legs. “Go get ready. I’ll wait.”

I woke up feeling like shit. I was always 50/50 with naps. Lights danced across the dark sky out my window. Nice view. I stared for a couple of minutes and then got up and walked out on the balcony. The crisp, cold air sent a shiver through my body. I hadn’t checked the weather. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms as a strong breeze blew by. My curls whisked back away from my face. I had recently done a “big chop” cutting a lot of my hair mainly to get the damaged blond out. I needed a change and was now rocking my natural, healthy hair - dark brunette. It complemented my green and brown hazel eyes, so I had been told, anyway.

My lower body is on fire, needing something. Robert lifts one hand and pulls out the chopstick that is holding my bun in place. As my wild curls bounce loose, he winds his hand in them, his fingers seizing a bunch of my hair in a tight, dominating grip and pulling my head back so that he gets better access to my mouth.

Perhaps, it was time for me to go on a low cut. I pulled down some hair to the side of my face and faced Bree. ‘’What do you think? I’d look good in a bob, right?’’ She gasped. ‘’We are not cutting your hair!’’ I faced the mirror. ‘’Why not? It’s hard to maintain it already. And I think I’ll look good in it.’’ She crossed her hands in front of her chest. ‘’You’ll regret it and I’ll be right here to remind you.’’ she flicked her ponytail in my face, and I let out a short laughter.

Chapter 71: Settling In Bobby's first week with the network was a flurry of activity. He had an appointment with a stylist who helped him spend his first wardrobe allowance, directing him in choosing suits, shirts, and ties. "With your coloring, we want to stick with charcoal suits, definitely not black," she'd said confidently. She also took him to a salon where his wavy brown hair was trimmed, and his facial hair groomed. "Let's leave you with a little five o'clock shadow," she'd told him, nodding thoughtfully. "The ladies are going to love you."