Page 56 of Stay Toxic

She washes, conditions, and dries it without letting me take a look. Ari yelps excitedly three times, but I'mwincing by the time she brings a hand mirror in front of me.

"Well?" Lauren prompts after a long moment, likely because I haven't reacted one way or another, too shocked to say anything.

I look…I don't have words for how I look. At least none that I would have used to describe myself until now.

I look like I go to parties. I look like I have friends, lovers, maybe a tattoo, or at the very least a piercing. I should have one, really. Lauren does give the best advice—along with the best hair color.

I look my age. Young, and naughty, and above all, free.

My wavy hair's somewhere between aqua and powder blue, bright but with silvery tones. Between the plain T-shirt and that, the doll-like little girl my mother has always wanted me to be is long gone. Christ, I should have called my brother before doing this; he'll barely recognize me now.

"I love it," I half laugh, half cry. "I'm never going to do my hair another way."

"Now, now, don't break my heart again. You'd look amazing in purple, too," Lauren replies. "Now, given the volume you're working with, and the waves, I recommend putting some of it up so it's out of the way."

She shows me different twists and knots, patiently demonstrating how to do them on myself. My favorite is two buns on top, although it makes me think of Sailor Moon.

We spend the rest of the evening at the Stewarts’, and frankly, I'd never leave if I could. But I have one uncomfortable phone call to place before it's too late by New York time.

I know my brother is a night owl, but I don't want to call after midnight.

After we drive back to the dorm, Ari hops in the shower, and I start a video call to Caleb.

Given the age gap, we've not really lived together. When he left for boarding school, he was twelve and I wasn't yet walking. By the time I was eight, he had that little incident with a wannabe starlet who worked in one of the TV shows produced by Cole Industries, and although it turned out she wasn't pregnant, just trying to trap a wealthy heir, his already frayed relationship with our parents had dramatically deteriorated. Unlike me, he wasn't interested in keeping the peace: he fucked off to England on a scholarship, and Dad formally disowned him, believing that would get him to come back.

Except he died, and Caleb never bothered to attempt to challenge the will, now considering me the sole heir. He was doing okay back in England, bartending through college, then working in management in night clubs. Our grandfather never felt right about his split from the family, so he made him an offer: if Caleb could write a decent proposal, he'd invest some of his dividends into it. Caleb started his company, and he’s been doing great.

He and I…well, he's a nice brother. He sends me presents on my birthday and at Christmas. But I can honestly count the times I've seen him in person in my adult life on my fingers. Asking him for a favor, when I am the beneficiary of his inheritance as well as mine, is fucking uncomfortable.

That's the main reason I haven't involved him until now. And maybe I still shouldn't, but I've had enough.

My other option is calling my grandfather, but I know he'd confront Mother, which is another can of worms I'm not ready to open.

Although it's late, he answers on third ring. From the dark surroundings, he's in a club.

"Tia," he says, with a smile. "One minute. I just need to get out of here."

He starts walking, although I hear voices around him calling him back. "Are you seriously leaving in the middle of this?"

"My sister called," he replies simply, cutting off all protests.

I flush, feeling guilty I don't call more often.

He's entered a room that looks like an office. "How are you doing, princess?"

"I'm twenty-two. When are you going to stop calling me that?"

"Never." He shrugs. "It's not like you to call without warning. Is everything okay?"

I bite my lip.

"Wait. That's not lighting, is it? What happened to your hair?" His green eyes, so much like mine, are wide as he watches me.

"I…I guess that's why I'm calling. I've had enough of Mother. You know. Her rules. Her—" I don't know how to say it to him out loud.

"Abuse," he finishes. "What she does to us is psychological abuse, Tia. Took me a fair few hours on a shrink's couch to accept that."

I don't point out that in my case, it was also sprinkled with actual physical abuse."Yeah."