Myself

My knees shake as I enter the place reeking of cigarettes. The strappy stilettos that hold my feet don’t match with the black that repeats itself on every surface, contrasting with the colorful tattoos on everyone’s arms and necks. My fluttery silk skirt stays stiff, as if fearing its surroundings. I am not scared, not inside at least, because I am determined to do what I’m going to do.

I approach the pair of dark eyes framed by glinting silver piercings waiting behind the counter. He eyes my long hair from the top to the bottom, where it meets my hips.

“I’m here to get a haircut.”

“This is a barber shop.” He says reluctantly as his eyebrows meet each other on the bridge of his nose, which also has a piercing through it.

“Exactly what I need.”

He escorts me to a chair, crossing through the sea of estranged looks shot my way. I sit down and see myself on the mirror. Myself, something I had lost a long time ago and was here to reunite with. The chubby barber stands behind me. Everyone around freezes when he asks:

“What would you like?”

I think about it for a moment and remember why I’m here. I’m here because of him, the man that made my life a nightmare.

I throw my hair back on the chair for the barber to see it clearly. That part of me I loved so much, that he loved so much but also used to yank, to pull, to torture me with.

“Shave it.”

A collective gasp goes through the place like a wave.

“Excuse me?”

“Shave it.”

Because I want to be myself again.

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