Page 72 of The Comedown

“You’d be surprised.”

“Would I?” He lets that hang in the air while we both wipe our hands dry. “Why the wigs, Collette? Why don’t you let anyone see the real you? Maybe you’re hiding.”

That was never the intention. Women in this industry are expected to constantly reinvent themselves if they want to stay relevant, and changing my hair every day gives me that edge, that newness everybody’s always looking out for. The wigs were only supposed to set me apart, not make me blend in, or hide myself entirely. I didn’t know that’s how they came across. My fans even wear them to my concerts, and I’ve always felt a sort of camaraderie seeing all the different colors and styles staring back at me. Are they doing it as a way to hide? To mask who they really are? Is that the message I’ve been sending?

Is that the message I want to send?

“Exactly. Don’t preach about being authentic when you’re as fake as the bubblegum-pink hair on your head.”

He tugs a strand, and I slap his hand away, telling him, “It’s rose-quartz pink. And now you have to wash those again.”

Without taking his eyes off me, Julian turns the water back on and starts washing his hands aggressively—so aggressively water sprays all over the place, dousing the front of my navy-blue jumpsuit.

“Stop,” I practically shriek, pushing the handle down again.

Abandoning the sink, Julian lunges for me and grabs my arms, dragging me forward with his soaking wet hands.

“I hate you.”

“I don’t think you do,” he says as he looks down at me.

“I’m not the liar here.”

Heavy breaths entangle between us, pushing, pulling, goading.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I whisper. “I don’t have another outfit to wear.”

“You’re gonna go out there and you’re gonna be you.” His head lowers as does his voice. “The you that I know, the you that isn’t dressed for appearances all the fucking time. And everybody’s going to fall for you just the same, because while I steal thoughts, momentary thoughts that mean next to nothing, you… You’re the one that steals hearts, Collette, and you don’t need a wig or dry clothes to do it. You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

I shake him off, frowning at the large handprints now staining my sleeves, and tell him, “Don’t even think about touching my hair again. I’m keeping it.”

“Today.”

“I’ll take the wig off when you play the guitar…”

Julian shrugs arrogantly, grinning.

“…during a show.”

The smug smile melts off his face so quick I’m surprised he’s got any lips left to frown with.

I sidestep him and go back out into the hall—wet, but at least I’m not the only one. Julian’s shirt and leather jacket are spattered with water, too, as he follows close behind.

Sue gives us an assessing look but doesn’t mention the state of our clothing. After last week’s headlines about us, she’s probably just relieved to see us still wearing clothes.

With a swipe of her keycard, she leads us through the double doors and everything before this moment becomes utterly inconsequential. Nothing else matters when you’re about to face an innocent child that may not make it to adulthood.

Collette

“Mine? You like my hair? Collette’s got bubblegum hair, but you like mine best?” Julian asks, pointing at the two little braids bouncing around on his head as he moves about, sketching a picture on the dry-erase board by the door.

“It’s rose quartz,” I correct through a smile so wide a clothes hanger could fit between my cheeks with room to spare.

The young girl we’re visiting, Paisley, nods faintly, trying to smile just as big. She’s exhausted though. She can barely lift her little head off the pillow, but she’s been giving it her best since Julian and I strolled into her private room. Julian continues talking to Paisley like they’re old friends as her mother and I sit and watch. Even though Paisley’s one of the sickest ones here, Julian hasn’t treated her like it once. For the past couple hours, he hasn’t pretended to be the bad boy he’s reputed to be either, nor has he been morose, lethargic, or adrift. He’s been…effervescent. Absolutely teeming with life and fun and charm. So much damn charm.

This is what I meant about him stealing hearts. Nobody’s safe from this Julian. Nobody.

He finishes with his drawing, then takes a step back, revealing two stick figures. They’re better than any stick figures I could ever come up with, but they’re pretty basic compared to what else I’ve seen Julian draw, even with only using a dry-erase marker. He’s that talented.