For half an hour, I stand under the water. I get out briefly and google How to stop hair-removal cream from working?
Water and shampoo remove hair-removal cream.
I go to use my shampoo, and then I eye the bottle suspiciously. Fuck that. I reach out and throw that bottle into the trash as well. Who knows what that shit of a kid has done to anything? I use the hotel’s cheap and nasty shampoo.
I rinse my hair for another twenty minutes, and then I get out and look in the mirror. My hair feels like fairy floss-some places worse than others . . . but all in all, it’s fucked.
I dial Jameson’s number.
“Hey,” he answers.
“Meet me out front of the building in ten minutes.”
“I can’t.”
“Jameson,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “Meet me, or else prepare to bail me out of prison tonight for killing a minor.”
“What?”
“That kid.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, unable to believe it. “He put sugar in the gas tank of my Aston Martin.”
“What?”
“Oh, it gets better. He also put hair-removal cream in my fucking conditioner bottle.”
“He did not.”
“Jameson,” I whisper angrily. “My hair looks like singed pubes, so you either take me to a fucking bar, or that’s it . . . I’m going crazy.” My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “And I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” I snap.
He bursts out laughing. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Deadly.”
“Jesus Christ, Tris. Who is this fucking kid?”
“Someone on my hit list. See you in ten.” I hang up and look in the mirror at my fuzzy hair. I try to part it and push it to the side, but it’s all fuzzy and sticking up on end.
I make a fist at the mirror. “When I get ahold of you, kid . . .” I storm out and grab my bag. I take out my toiletry bag and throw the entire thing in the trash.
Who knows what that fucker has done?
I sip my beer and glare at my infuriating brother across the bar table.
Every time he looks at me, he bursts out laughing. He’s been doing this for half an hour.
I shake my head in disgust. “If I could run my fingers through my hair in dismay, I would. But I can’t . . . because it will fucking fall out.” I sigh deeply. “This is not going to work for me. My hair is an asset,” I splutter. “How will I walk around like this?” I widen my eyes as a vision comes through. “How will I face people in meetings?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Hi, I’m here to take over your company. Don’t mind me. I got fucked up by a thirteen-year-old.”
Jameson puts his head into his hands and laughs hard. His shoulders and back are racked with giggles.
I sip my beer, unimpressed. “Go ahead; laugh all you want,” I mutter dryly. “This is fucking hilarious.”
“It actually is,” he says with a laugh. “I would say hysterical.”
I glare at him, and when he finally stops laughing and comes back to earth, he says, “In all seriousness, what are you going to do?”
“Well, I want to go over there and rip him a new asshole.”
He laughs again.
“But I won’t, because Claire will kick me out.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Yes. It’s a fucking problem. This woman has me by the balls,” I whisper angrily. “You know what I’m doing tonight?”
“What?”
“Unbeknown to Claire, I’m driving an hour to watch movies with her youngest boy . . . who is actually a pretty cool little kid, mind you, but whatever. While I pretend to the other two kids that I am just her friend.”
He frowns.
“Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll be allowed to sleep on the concrete lounge so that the Muff Cat can piss on my head.”
He drops his head and laughs once more.
“Will you stop fucking laughing?” I snap.
“I can’t help it.” He chuckles. “So this kid is the one who attacked you with the underpants?”
“No, this is the kid who hanged the teddy . . . the serial-killer one.”
Jameson puts his hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh once more. “This is fucking hilarious, Tris. I swear to God you’re being punked or some shit. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.”
I run my fingers over my lips as I agree with his theory. “It’s like an elaborate plan to set me up to fail.”
“Well, that’s what he’s doing. He wants you to stop hanging around. He’s effectively pushing you out. Quite smart, if you ask me, and very effective.”
I narrow my eyes and punch my fist.
“Anyway, it’s easily fixed.” He shrugs as he sips his beer. “Leave. Move on. She sounds like more trouble than she’s worth.”
“Nope, not happening.”
He screws up his face. “You really like this girl?”
I shrug. “I do.”
“Realistically, though, where is this going to go? I mean, long term you aren’t going to be with her. Why put yourself through hell with her kids if you and she aren’t suited anyway?”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with us, but I do know that I want to be with her in the right now, and a fucktard little kid isn’t winning and keeping her from me.”
“What would happen if you go over there accusing him and going out of your mind like you want to?”
“She’ll kick me out. Hands down, I come second to the kids. Actually . . . I probably come third after Woofy. No, fourth, after the Muff.” I sip my beer. “It’s not even a question. I don’t even have a fucking rank.” I take another sip. “I am rankless in that house.”
He smiles into his beer, and we both sit there for a moment in silence as we think.
“You know, we would have pulled this shit when we were kids if Mom tried to date someone else. Can you imagine what we would have collectively done?”