Burn CDs & Bedroom Hair

 

Burn CDs & Bedroom Hair

The room smelled like vanilla body spray and something faintly electrical—probably the old CD burner whirring on the desk, spitting out another mix labeled in Sharpie. The speakers hummed with the opening chords of Hanging by a Moment, just loud enough to drown out the sound of her gum snapping between her teeth.

She sat on the edge of her bed, barefoot, wearing an oversized hoodie that barely covered the tops of her thighs. Her legs swung lazily, toes brushing against the shag carpet, but her focus was elsewhere—on the long, dark strands of hair sliding through her fingers, thick and smooth, catching the glow of the lava lamp on her nightstand.

Her hair was everywhere, spilling over her shoulders, down her back, pooling onto the old comforter that was still patterned with faded sunflowers. She twisted a thick section around her wrist, watching it coil tight before letting it slip free, unraveling slow, soft, lazy.

She leaned back, her head tilting, and just like that, the weight of it shifted. The strands cascaded down, tumbling over her shoulder, brushing the bare skin of her thigh, tickling against the hem of her hoodie. She sighed, reaching up to gather it, pulling it all to one side, twisting it into a makeshift bun at the base of her neck.

The soft pull against her scalp sent a shiver down her spine—comforting, familiar. She held it there for a second, fingers wrapped tight around the heavy mass, before—no, not yet.

With a slow exhale, she let go.

The strands collapsed, unraveling, falling down her back, over her arms, over her legs. The weight of it settled again, warm and thick, like a second skin, like something alive.

A notification lit up her old Nokia on the nightstand, the screen flashing a new text. Probably something dumb. Probably him.

She ignored it.

Instead, she ran her fingers through her hair one more time, biting her lip, smirking just a little.

Because she knew—knew—this was the kind of hair that looked like trouble. The kind of hair that someone would die to get their hands tangled in.

And tonight?

Maybe she’d let them.