Long hair was always her, yet as I lie in bed, watching her straighten her new length to perfection, I feel like she may have been a different person all along.
The little confidence that Amira has shines through as she finishes up in the bathroom. Her eyes have a bit of a sparkle, shining brightly against the dark mascara coating her lashes. Her skin, for once, isn’t clammy and grey but beams with the last remaining specks of life.
Amira has always reminded me of a wilted rose. Still beautiful.
Always beautiful, but dying.
At this moment, I swear I can see her flourishing and the bits of hope I had squashed down spring to life once more.
“Whose ass do I have to kick?” I shout, running my fingers through my hair to push it away from my face.
Fuck, I have to get this mop cut.
“What are you talking about?” she asks, staring at me through the reflection in the mirror, a sharp eyebrow crooked as she waits for my response.
“Who’re you getting all dolled up for, angel? Sure as shit couldn’t be me since I love your ass in my clothes and not those tight ass jeans you got on.”
Although, that ass does look fucking mouthwatering. Maybe I should shut the fuck up and enjoy the view.
She considers herself in the mirror for a second before spinning around, hands braced behind her, gripping the counter as she crosses her ankles and tilts her head to the side.
“Me, I guess… I just wanted to dress up for me,” she says, gnawing brutally on her lip as she waits for me to get upset.
The fear on her face has me springing from the bed, my large feet pounding on the carpet until I cross the hallway, gripping her face in my palms. “Good. Don’t ever do that shit forme. You feel good foryou, babe.”
A bashful smile lights up her eyes as she turns back to face the mirror. Before I can stop myself, I swing my hand out and give her ass a firm swat. Her yelp makes me wince, but I couldn’t help myself. She’s just so damn perfect.
Sauntering back into the bedroom, I pull my shirt over my head and throw it in the dirty pile in the corner of the room. Then, stealing one of Amira’s rubber bands from the drawer, I tie my hair back, feeling like a fucking idiot.
“Angel!” I shout, grabbing a clean sweatshirt from the closet and fresh jeans.
“Yeah?” she asks, slinking into the room, arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the doorframe.
“I am going to run to the next town and go get my hair cut! This shit is pissing me off.”
Her features pull down into a slight frown as she looks at me through the mirror.
“It’s always in my fucking face, angel. It’s gotta go,” I say, dropping to my knees to search under the bed for my phone.
I’m startled out of my fucking mind when I spring from the floor, and Amira is there, waiting for me by the door.
“I kind of like your hair like that… it’s messy and cute.”
“I fucking hate messy and cute? Fuck that,” I tell her, slipping past her on my way to the living room, looking for my phone, along with my wallet and keys.
She follows me out, her light steps barely making a sound.
I’ve let my senses slacken since Amira and I have been together. She has a way of making me feel safe, but it bothers the fucking shit out of me that I can’t even pick up the sounds of her footsteps when they’re right behind me. In prison, that shit would get my ass beaten until I couldn’t move on the floor. I have to get my shit together and be back on my game. Technically, I’m not a free man. I should stop acting like it.
Ah. There they are.
Swiping my shit from the counter, I give Shadow a ruffle on the head and head toward the door.
I’m just about to slide my feet in my boots when I look up and catch Amira’s pinched face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Want me to come?”
