My Fated Mate Can Have Her-Chapter 183: A New Face II

Violet

I obeyed, my eyes fixed on the cold brown tub beneath my feet.

His fingers slid into my hair, lifting a section near the nape of my neck.

I nearly flinched, but remained still... just so the blade wouldn’t accidentally cut me.

The touch was light, careful, just the barest graze of his fingertips against the choppy strands near my ear. But his knuckles grazed the back of my neck as he worked, and I sucked in a breath, my shoulders tensing.

’I don’t understand...’

The blade whispered, and a few strands drifted down onto the cloth around my shoulders.

"Is—is that not too much?" I asked him, my eyes widening at the chunk that had dropped to my feet.

"It’s fine. I am just trying to even it out. It will turn out good, I promise," he said, grabbing another section of my hair.

"Alright, alright."

"You have thick hair," he murmured. "It usually holds its shape well, so that will help."

Even as he gently pulled my hair taut to cut, my skin still prickled where his fingers had brushed, particularly the nape of my neck. And I could feel the warmth of him standing so close behind me.

A few more scraped, and more strands of hair drifted down past my shoulder.

I forced myself to breathe.

I kept watching strands of my hair drift to the bottom of the tub, trying to focus on anything other than the gentle tug of his hands, the warmth radiating from his body, the way my pulse seemed to flutter every time his skin touched mine.

This was not normal.

’I don’t understand... or is this because he’s so close?’

"The colour," I spoke up. "The dye for my hair. What colour is it?"

"Reddish brown..." He paused and he suddenly sounded apologetic. "Sorry, I should have asked. I just thought it’d go best with your eyes," he whispered.

"It’s alright."

His thumb grazed my ear as he tilted my head gently to one side to cut more hair. "It should be different enough to throw off anyone looking for your dark hair."

His hand settled briefly on my shoulder.

My breath caught in my throat and I fought the urge to push him away.

Then it was gone.

"Almost done," he said quietly.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

A few more scrapes, and his hand finally cupped the back of my head briefly, tilting it forward again so he could check his work. His palm was warm against my skull, his fingers splayed gently through what remained of my hair.

The touch felt almost... tender.

My throat tightened.

When he finally stepped back, I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.

"There." He seemed to dust his feet and get out of the tub. He then moved around to face me, his eyes sweeping over my hair. His eyes softened and he smiled. "Better."

"Really?" I asked.

He nodded. "You look different." His eyes searched my face before softening. "But it suits you."

Something flickered in his gaze and I tore mine from his, looking away.

Why did he smile like that?

I reached up to touch the ends of my hair. They felt neater now, more even. Still short, still strange, but a whole lot better.

"Thank you," I murmured.

[ - ]

He still had me remain in the tub, and I had to crouch low this time so he could apply the dye to my hair.

However, before even doing that, to my shock, he neatly packed up my hair I had cut in the sink in the clothed bundle and placed it in my bag back in the room. Then he had proceeded to check the bathing floor for more strands of my hair, which he rinsed off, pouring water over every surface of the floor.

This bathing room apparently had another drain aside from the one in the tub.

Only when he was done did he finally prepare the dye and apply it to my hair.

As his slicked fingers slid into my hair, I had closed my eyes and tried very hard not to think about anything at all.

But he kept touching, and touching, and touching.

And it got to a point I started to wonder if it really was that necessary to massage my scalp just to apply this.

But when I brought it up and he had said that was how it had been done, I couldn’t complain.

I still felt uneasy.

Especially at how my body reacted.

It almost felt as if he was doing this on purpose.

Once he was done rinsing my hair, he left me in the bathing room to dust my clothes and wash myself again. I had bundled my clothes up, some parts of it unfortunately stained with dye, and had wiped myself with the towel there before eventually stepping back into the room to put on a fresh change of clothes.

[ - ]

I stood hesitantly before the bathroom door, running my hands through the hair that was left on my head.

It was so small.

To the point, I could constantly feel my scalp just from placing my palm on my head.

All while I had washed myself and left the room, I had refused to look in the mirror, and now...

But I did like how light my head felt.

I made my way in and finally stood in front of the small mirror.

The woman staring back at me was a stranger, and I barely recognised myself.

My hair was short now. Very short. It hugged the shape of my head, with slightly longer pieces at the front that swept across my forehead. The style was clean and sharp, framing my face in a way that I wasn’t used to.

It made my eyes look larger, my jaw sharper. I looked like a young boy.

And the colour...

I reached up to touch the unfamiliar strands, watching the stranger in the reflection do the same.

I ran my hand through my hair.

It didn’t look so bad.

I almost looked like someone else entirely.

Even if that was the point.

’This is me now.’

The thought was strange. Unsettling.

It almost made me... sad.

___

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