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"I like your hair the way it is," you say, looking back at the floor. "Was this here yesterday?" you ask. "This scratch." You put your hand beside it so she can see it better.
Candi stares down at you, her eyes flicking to the gouge and back to you, mouth slightly open in disbelief. Finally she says, "Kyle, what the fuck are you talking about? A scratch? Really?"
"Was it here yesterday?" You press.
"What, are you fucking tearing up my floors? Jesus, I don't know! Maybe! I ask about my hair and all you care about is the stupid fucking floor? God. Get a grip. Go get some fucking wood filler and fix it or something. Be a man," she huffs.
Great, you pissed her off.
"Relax," you say. Your reply comes automatically.
"I'm trying to relax," she says, holding her hands up like she can't even. "I'm trying to get ready. I'm trying to do <span class="mu-i">so much</span> stuff right now. Sorry that I'm not worried about a <span class="mu-i">scratch</span> on the <span class="mu-i">floor</span>.
You roll your eyes and sip your beer again. Although maybe she's right. Maybe you're being schizo. You're not the most reliable of narrators after all. "Forget it."
"Oh, are you sure?" Candi asks sarcastically. "You want me to forget it?"
You glare up at her silently. "Candi," you say, tone oozing glacial patience. "I said I like your hair like it is. It's nice. Blonde looks good on you. Is that what you want to hear?"
"Something like that," she sniffs with mock indignation.
"So don't waste your time coloring it. Leave it as is."
Candi surprises you by crouching down beside you, studying the scratch. She puts her arms around her knees, holding the towel in place. "Did you do this? For real."
You shake your head.
"So what is it?"
"Was it here yesterday?" you ask again.
She looks at you, expression unreadable. "No? I don't think so."
You stare at each other. You're trying to figure out what she's thinking. Is she really still upset about your relative lack of reaction to her hair? Or was that an act to get more attention? Is she staring at you wondering something similar?
"Why?" She asks.
You shake your head and stand back up, offering a hand to her. She takes it and gets back to her feet, adjusting her towel again.
"Just wondering," you say.
"Kyle, what's going on?"
You shake your head again. "Not sure yet. Nothing to worry about." Maybe that second part was a lie, but the first one wasn't.
She looks at you dubiously. You see worry in her expression, maybe a hint of fear. You can't tell if she thinks you're going nuts or is genuinely worried about something else.
>Tell me about that triangle. Where did you learn about that?
>Seriously, your hair looks great. I like it.
>You'd better finish getting ready
>Write in
