FicWad

“Okay, you’ve got to like this one,” Ray said to Paulina as she reluctantly exited her dressing-room.

“How many times--” Paulina caught herself about to ask a question. “Red is not my color.” She looked at the garment in the mirror. It was a floor-length, red gown, strapless. There were flowers embroidered in a darker red all over the bodice, which was tighter, like a corset, and flared out into an a-line silk skirt that fell to the floor.

“Oh, I just remembered,” Ray said, turning her around and pushing Paulina back into the dressing room, pulling the curtain roughly closed. “I make the rules. That’s the one we’re getting, for two reasons: one, it looks fine on you; two, I wanna get out of this fucking store. I’m getting weird looks.”

“Maybe because you’re a fucking giant with a huge mop of curly red hair, and you look like you have no business being in a women’s apparel store.” Paulina stepped out of the dress, draping it over her arm after she finished dressing back into her normal clothes. She exited and spotted Ray waiting impatiently at the register.

“Ready, honey?” Ray asked, his demanding demeanor from only a few moments ago gone; he had a thin, blonde cashier to fool into thinking that the circumstances that brought the couple into her store were normal ones.

“Of course, darling honey-bear,” Paulina said sarcastically. Ray slid his hand onto her arm, pinching it harshly.

“Hackles down, sweetheart,” he hissed quietly, squeezing the flesh of her arm painfully.

“Ah, ah, ah, fine! Get off of me.” Paulina knew that Ray couldn’t really do anything worse to her while they were out, and they’d probably be too busy when they got home for him to do anything to her then. Once the garment was paid for, Ray grabbed Paulina’s arm tightly in his fist and steered her out the door, to the car. He opened the passenger door for her.

“Get in. We still have shit to do.”

“Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” Paulina purred, sliding into the seat and slipping the scarf over her eyes.

“Don’t pull that French shit with me,” Ray snapped, closing his door harshly and revving the engine. After a short drive, they pulled into park and the car was shut off. Paulina made to take the blindfold off, but Ray stopped her. “When we go in there, you’ll do exactly as I say. Yes?”

“As if I thought this would be different than any other day.” Paulina rolled her eyes and removed the scarf, getting out of the car and walking into a salon.

“Can I help you?” asked a woman from behind a desk. She had short, blonde hair and long, plastic nails that clicked on the keyboard as she typed into a computer.

“Yes, I’d like a…” Paulina looked to Ray, who stood behind her and nodded with an eyebrow raised. “I’d like a haircut.”

After a short wait, Paulina and Ray were led back and seated, Paulina in a chair in front of a sink, and Ray in a seat across from her. Another blonde woman, this one with natural length nails that were painted black, approached with a smile. “What can I do for you today, honey?”

“Whatever he says,” Paulina said flippantly, waving her hand lazily at Ray and leaning back into the sink so that her long, black hair fell into the water that was pooled in the bottom, getting the tips wet.

“Off. Cut it all off.”

“What!” Paulina shot up out of the sink, the soaked ends of her hair whipping tiny droplets of water around. She grabbed her black locks possessively, twisting the strands between her fingers. “All of it…” she murmured, stroking the ends thoughtfully.

The beautician looked as though she was unsure what to do. She looked from Ray to Paulina and back again before saying, “Umm…”

“All of it,” Ray repeated, shooting a meaningful look Paulina’s way. She gulped and finally nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, her throat suddenly dry. “All of it.”

“You want it shaved--” Paulina gulped again at the word. “--or just cut short?”

“As short as you can get it with a pair of scissors,” Ray said. Paulina felt just a bit of relief at the knowledge that she’d at least have something left.

An hour later, the woman spun Paulina’s chair around (she’d asked to be facing away from the mirror so she wouldn’t have to watch), and proudly displayed her new cut.

“My hair,” the girl gasped, her hands flying up to her chopped scalp. Paulina’s lower-lip trembled. “I look like a boy,” she whispered, just loud enough for Ray to hear.

“Well, do you like it, sweetie?” the beautician asked nervously. Paulina just gaped at her reflection, turning her head slowly back and forth, never taking her eyes from the mirror.

“She loves it,” Ray said when Paulina refused to speak. “She just needs to get used to it. Thank you.” He paid her and led Paulina out quickly, before she regained her character or decided to cause a scene. The minute they were in the car, Paulina pulled the visor down and opened the flap covering the mirror. She continued to run her hands through her newly-shorn hair, staring at her reflection in nothing less than shock. In one swift movement, Ray had snapped the visor closed, making Paulina jump.

“Wha--” Paulina babbled.

“Put the blindfold on. Stop torturing yourself,” he added, beginning to peal out of the parking lot.

It was a short drive back to the house, and the minute they were in park, Paulina escaped out of the passenger door and ran, tears streaming down her face, through the front doors. She ran past Gerard, who probably said something sexually taunting or mean-spirited in passing, and up the stairs, into her room. She slammed the door shut and threw herself face-down on her bed, sobbing into her pillow and continuing to run her fingers through her new pixie-cut.

After about twenty minutes, Paulina sniffed and sat up, rubbing her eyes and wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her arm. She got up and walked to the vanity that sat in a corner of the room, continuing to sniffle and examine her new reflection. She really did look like a boy. Like a twelve-year-old boy. A few more tears leaked out at the sight of it, but Paulina didn’t even bother wiping them away. She heard footsteps outside her door and silently prayed that they’d pass by without intrusion. No such luck.

“What’s wrong, my little minx?” Gerard sauntered in, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

“Go away,” Paulina sniffed, glaring at the man in the mirror. “I’m mourning my loss.”

“Oh,” he breathed, ignoring her request and instead moving forward, his arm outstretched, his fingers joining Paulina’s in examining and surveying her short-cropped hair. “Ma chère,” he said. “Don’t you just look…so delicate.” His eyes glittered, and that last word rolled off his tongue and teeth smoothly, making Paulina shudder and close her eyes tightly.

Not such a good idea, because next thing she knew, her cheek was pressed against the firm finish of the wooden vanity, she was bent over at the hips, and Gerard’s hands were firmly wound into what little was left of her hair. She made an involuntary noise in her throat on impact, and Gerard picked her face up before quickly slamming it back against the hard wood.

“How I’d love to bend you over this table and see what it’s like with less to grab hold of,” Gerard murmured. He sighed and brought Paulina back into a standing position, his fingers still entwined in her short strands. “But we have to get you ready to go.”

“To…” Paulina said, rubbing her face with her palm and glaring at the older man.

“You’ll find out when you get there, won’t you?” Gerard said lightly, grabbing Paulina by the wrist and pulling her out of the room.

“I suppose,” Paulina sighed, following him. “But it would be nice to get some answers every now and then.”

“Darling, it’s been six months; aren’t you used to it by now?”

“I don’t know, but I should be.” They stopped outside the bathroom and Gerard ushered her in.

“Which one’s yours, again?”

Paulina grabbed her toothbrush and stuffed it into the duffel bag that she hadn’t noticed Gerard had with him. She also grabbed the perfume and deodorant from the counter, throwing them into the bag as well. Gerard zipped the bag up, a change of clothes and pajamas already packed in. They walked out of the bathroom and seemed to be headed for the stairs.

“So, are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” Paulina asked.

“Oh, my dear,” Gerard said while he gripped her scalp and slammed her head into the wall a few times for asking a question. “I’m not taking you anywhere.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, where another resident of the house was waiting. “Frank is.”

“Are you ready?” he asked, gesturing to the door. “We do have to get to the plane on time.”


WHERE COULD THEY BE GOING WITH A PLANE?

Oh, and how cliche do you think I am, readers? Pregnant? Really? Please. You underestimate my originality. I'll tell you this: Paulina is NOT pregnant. I'm not one to spoon-feed my audience the symbolism, but I don't think it'll hurt this once. Think what happened when it was said that she'd gained weight. More than one person remarked that she looked healthier/was eating healthy/looked better/etc. Could it be...MAYBE...that being in the house is GOOD for her? Hmm? Maybe? Contemplate on that. How might it be? What else could it mean? Just think of it. Ponder. Please.

Anywho, go comment and subscribe, please. I'll update again as soon as possible. A'ight. OverAndOutxx