Hair Cutting Stories Novels & Stories

he said as I stared at him through the mirror as he effortlessly cut my hair. “And you chose cutting hair as a coping mechanism?” I asked as he stopped, looking up at me before continuing, “I had a lot of hair growing up so my father taught me to cut it, and when I did, I felt a sense of relief like I was cutting off my problems and struggles to grow into something more positive,” he said as I spaced out, “I never thought of it like that,” I said as he shrugged, “That’s just how I see it,” he said as I continued to space out.

It had taken me a long time to convince Killian to leave the room. He had been stubborn, refusing to get off my bed. I couldn't complain that much. We cuddled and talked about random things. I told him about the time when I was six years old and I had cut my hair with scissors because Noah told me that when boys get a haircut, their hair turns into a rainbow. Of course, it was a lie, and I ended up a crying mess on my mother's lap. Killian told me of the time he had confused the Elven king for a woman in the middle of a treaty negotiation. To say he was mortified was an understatement of the century. It almost caused a war.

Not when I could clearly see her wide smile reflected in the mirror, as if she were proud of what she’d done to him. I drew another long breath before turning Jarvis to face me. “Sweetheart, didn’t you tell Mama not to cut your hair because you wanted to keep it long? I never had it cut since you were born, and now…” Tears stung my eyes as I gently stroked his hair. I’d been convincing him for so long to get a haircut, but he always refused, so I stopped pushing. And now, he had his hair cut without me even seeing it happen. It was his first haircut since he was born. And worst of all, it was Ma’am Chantal who did it.

However, I have bigger issues than Michelle acting like a bitch towards family. Ryan and I agreed not to tell our parents the incidents that happened these past few months they've been gone. Mom loved my long hair, she would only allow me to cut it above my waistline. When I was six I cut my hair because I wanted shoulder length hair like Talitha, mom wouldn't let me cut it so I cut it myself. It was a horrible cut, and so uneven too. When Mom found me she was hysterical, she cried so much I felt like a shit daughter. I apologised to her so many times for cutting my hair as she cried but she wouldn't stop until an hour later. When I asked her why it was such a big deal, she told me she loved

"I didn't want to lose my hair either. Didn't stop me from being alive because of it." I looked at her, past the dirt on her cheeks and the oversized sweater, and understood all at once that this wasn't a first for anybody in this room except me. "How many," I asked quietly, "have done this? Before me?" Edith didn't answer that one either. She stood, wiped her knife on her thigh, and sheathed it. "Enough that we know how to cut hair fast and tight bandages don't slip." "That's not an answer."

"At the heart. It will collapse his primary credit line within days, not weeks." My grandfather watched me, his expression unreadable. But for the first time, I saw not pity, not fatherly concern, but a fierce, new respect in his gaze. This was no longer theoretical. It was a battle plan. And I was the general. Weeks bled into a month. The broken woman from the storage room was gone. Her pieces were fused back together with steel and cold resolve. The brand healed into a raised, pink scar. I looked at it each morning in the mirror. Not with shame. With cold acknowledgment.

My once-long strands of hair were disheveled and short at my neck! I gasped in shock. “B-but what happened…?” I stuttered. What had happened to my hair? What does it mean that I cut it off...? Suddenly a flash of memory went by, and I visualized myself wearing only underwear right there in the bathroom in front of the mirror, handing scissors to Jake, who was shirtless behind me, his body pressed against mine. He took the scissors calmly and then slowly cut my hair… I blinked quickly, quite confused. Had I really done that, or was it all just my imagination? My face was flushed with embarrassment. I quickly jumped into the shower and took a quick shower, scrubbing my arms and skin hard to re

“Oh God, yes. I understand now what all the ladies mean when they say the best part of a haircut is getting a shampoo. I had no idea it was this amazing!” “Do you not get your hair washed with your haircuts?” “Oh, I don’t get my hair cut. I do it myself. I do Maddie’s too. I think the last professional haircut I had was when I was… oooh, 15, maybe? It’s been a really long time.” Melinda doesn’t answer, and I look back at her. She has a sad expression and I realize she is pitying me. “Please don’t. I didn’t tell you for you to pity me.”

She nodded with that bold smile that human women sometimes had when they didn’t fear who they were talking to. “Yes your hair. It’s wild and pretty but wild. Like you just fought someone and won.” The other maids laughed softly (we have friendship of some sort) and I felt my cheeks warm. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. She wasn’t wrong. My hair had been chopped more times than I could count. Jax used to do it whenever he was angry claiming it reminded him of something he hated. There had been nights I’d cried as he cut it witj the sharp sound of scissors slicing through strands that once touched my waist.

I stopped for a moment then, "They started their usual routine abusing me to their fullest and not only abused but they even cut off my hair ,at that time I had this long hair but they cut it all off ,my head was like bald ,I really can't imagine my hair being cut off like that ever again.."I stated and a lonesome tear rolled down but then I quickly wiped it off and I lift up my head and gave him a forceful smile but he seemed to noticed that it was not genuine so he just rubbed my hand with his thumb.