Grown Out Bleach Buzz Novels & Stories

“Lush Acne Cream can get rid of the white spots left behind after using other types of acne cream.” In California, Claire Assex pointed and laughed loudly at the news. “Brittany has really gone out of her mind. She actually made such a dumb bet in front of everyone. How much money does she think she has? She’s already beginning to waste it foolishly! I’ll watch how she falls. When the time comes, she’ll fall to the ground and have all her bones crushed.”

The color is amazing. One hair stylist takes over my hair to start the blow out process while the original one gets to work on cutting Scarlett's hair. As we finish they bring over a few options of hair products and I get to pick out the scent that I like the best. One of the products is a sugar scrub for my hair. There is shampoo, conditioner and another product as well. Scarlett walks over after I make my decisions and I see that she has the pixie hair cut that I was originally thinking about but much shorter than I had wanted. It looks amazing on her.

"I’ll make sure you never forget." I grabbed the kitchen shears I’d swiped from the drawer. I hacked at the dark hair, watching the long, silky strands fall into the sink like dead things. Then, I grabbed the box of "Golden Honey" bleach I’d seen hidden in the back of the linen closet—the stuff Mom said we were too young for. I didn't care about being young. I didn't care about being pretty. I mixed the chemicals, the smell burning the back of my throat. I slathered it onto my head, my hands shaking with a fury that felt like fire.

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."

We are not thinking about that greasy food that I am unable to have for god knows when. "Finally! Took you long enough baby sis, and look at you, you finally developed and don't look like a homeless child anymore! Well done!" Willow exclaimed with her newly dyed blonde hair that looks damaged to the point it is about to fall out at any point, but who am I to say when she is the "oh so beautiful Willow".

It made my hair dark purple instead of pink because I hadn't bleached my hair. "What the hell..." Both of my cousins looked at me with their jaws dropped. Okay, next was my face. I opened my makeup kit and took out my eyebrow brush. Carefully, I drew a super bushy uni-brow and a mustache. I chuckled at how ridiculous I looked with the mustache. I had let my body hair grow for two weeks and it sprouted like thick weeds on my arms and legs. Wonderful.

“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.

I read the instructions that were on the back of the pack. Step one: pour the liquids into the given bottle. Step two: shake the bottle well to mix the liquids. Step three: bleach your hair if necessary. Step four: apply the mix and let it sit for 30 minutes. Step five: wash your hair. Voila: you have yourself new hair!

For a moment, the air between us felt too heavy, too charged. I was the first to look away. Hunter exhaled, the sound somewhere between boredom and amusement, before reaching for the bowl of bleach again. He pulled a chair closer, the legs making a muffled scraping noise against the plush carpet, and plopped down beside me. Without a word, he dipped the brush into the thick mixture and started applying it to a streak of his own hair, right beside the crimson one already there. I arched a brow, watching him. “What the hell are you doing?”

I made the mistake a few times in my first few days, when we were trying to get the house in order. “Shit,” Callan says. “I’ve got to adjust the towels in the washer. I’ll go empty this bucket, fix the towels, and be right back, okay?” When he’s gone, I fish out the purple hair color. I can’t wait to try it out. Callan strides back into the kitchen and grins at me. “What do you think?” he says, sweeping his arm in front of him. “Good as new?” “Looks great,” I say, returning the grin. I like being around someone who isn’t always an explosion in the making. “Even cleaner than before we left. But I’d rather smell blood than that bleach.”