Page 39 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
‘I promise you that a haircut can’t take away any of my beauty.’
I blush again, realizing I just inadvertently called him beautiful, and tap him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I’ve never cut a man’s hair before. I seriously don’t know where to begin.’
Rather than answering, he turns around in the chair to pick up the scissors on the rusted side table, placing them in my open palm. His fingers are gentle around my hand as he pulls me down towards him. I’m fairly certain he can hear my heartbeat by how loud it’s pounding and, before I realize what’s happening, he brushes his hand through my hair and gives the ends a little tug.
‘Good, I’ll be your first.’
I open my mouth and close it again, words completely lost. My stomach clenches deliciously at his words. Standing back up, I clear my throat and decide to not overthink for once. ‘Alright, fine, friend, one haircut coming up.’
22
THEO
Oh, this was a bad fucking idea. Promises to Dante and myself broken because of a bathing suit and a stupid pair of scissors. I’ve never lied to Dante before and now I can’t fucking stop. Did I know she would be here when I opened the gate to the garden? Did I wait for Dante to go into town to check if she was home? Coward. But the guilt doesn’t outweigh how much I want her, so here I am.
‘Is that okay?’ she says as if repeating herself, and I snap out of my daze.
‘Sorry?’ I glance at the gate, feeling like a child caught stealing a cookie. ‘What’d you say?’
‘I’m going to have to get your hair wet, so is it okay if your shirt gets wet?’
She stands behind me, leaning over my left shoulder to look at my face, her long hair falling in waves over my skin.
‘Ehm, I can just take it off – if that’s okay?’
She shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear, and comes back around to face me, the faint smell of lavender and honeysuckle disappearing with her. Peeling off the shirt, I’m suddenly aware that I’m half-dressed while all she wears is a pair of faded tennis shorts and an agonizingly small pink bikini top. If this bothers her at all, she makes no sign of it. Her eyes scan my torso, slightly squinting to make out the tattoo that spans across my chest. I wonder if she realizes how much her eyes give away.
‘Checking me out?’
‘I didn’t know you had a tattoo.’
Giving a tight smile, I sit back down in the chair, absentmindedly brushing the symbol on my chest. ‘Just the two. I got them done when I was eighteen.’
Memories of Egypt immediately fill my mind, the smell of kindling fireplaces and oud, aching muscles and a sleeplessness bordering on lunacy. Other memories blur and focus, fixed in black and white, hazy from the beers that seemed to grow from within the sand, the only things strong enough to flourish against the heat of Egyptian summers. I barely remember getting the tattoo. The initial sting, perhaps. I woke with a rope tied around my stomach propping me against a nearby boulder while Youssef finished the trail ending on my lower back.
‘What the fuck is this?’ I jerked against the rope. ‘I said small. This thing goes across my whole fucking chest!’ Fear struck me unexpectedly, like sand being poured down my throat. Examining the tattoo on my chest, I could tell it was an ankh. The ancient symbol for the key to life. There could be worse things.
Youssef only pinched my bicep and patted my head. ‘Snooze and lose,’ he scolded, and continued the tattoo by the dim light of a single lantern until the first streak of orange was visible in the sky.
‘Is it an ankh?’ Magdalen asks as her fingers press gently on my shoulders, guiding me back against the chair. I jerk at the slight touch of her, awakened from the buried memory. She seems to realize, and her hand quickly slips off.
It’s not you, I want to say, it’s that I want you to keep touching me and I shouldn’t. But instead I shrug, pretending I wasn’t even aware of her touch in the first place, and roll my lips together.
‘Yeah, it is, but it was done while I was unconscious, so don’t read too much into it.’
She snorts as she grabs the hose. Why am I being so harsh? I was the one who asked for the fucking haircut and now I’m treating her like it’s a nuisance to be around her. As she adjusts the pressure of the water, I fight the urge to glance at the smooth lines of her leg while she bends towards the pipe, thighs flexing while she struggles to turn the faucet. Gripping the sides of the chair, I look forward, wondering why I would ever think this was a good idea. She lets out a frustrated moan when the stream remains weak and I close my eyes, silently cursing myself. This was a horrible idea. Truthfully, I came here to see if the night with Chiara had done the trick, satisfied these urges before I did something stupid. But with her bent over and moaning... I make to stand up and excuse myself before this gets any further, just as her gentle hands come run their fingers through my hair as she stands behind me, gripping the base of my neck to tilt my head back. I stifle a groan, melting into the chair, and I accept that I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.
‘Tell me if it’s too cold,’ she whispers, continuing to massage my scalp while pouring soft water onto my hair.
‘No.’ My voice comes out strained. ‘No, it’s really okay.’
Time slows. A car drives by in the distance. A slight breeze whistles through the tree branches and for a moment I feel so content that my heart constricts. She comes around to step in front of me, wrapping a towel around my shoulders protectively, and parts my hair with a comb.
‘Can you...’ She bends down to my eye level, tilting my chin up to make sure the parting is even. ‘Ehm, can you just...’ She opens her mouth and closes it again.
‘Yes?’
‘Open your legs, please?’ She cringes at her own words, but the purity of her request makes my heart swell.
