The Witness

The Makeover

I felt like I had only shut my eyes for a second but I must have fallen asleep due to exhaustion.

 The killer has yet to say a single word to me that's not an order. She's quiet and keeps to herself. She threw the trash out while I was asleep and left for the convenience store across the street.

I didn't even know she was gone until she woke me up.

Words cannot describe the dread I felt knowing I missed my chance to escape and get help.

"Go to the bathroom." She ordered.

So I did.

"Get in the tub."

I did.

"Take your shirt off."

I did.

She plugged in men's hair clippers and turned them on. The Buzz made all my hair stand up. On the counter, she slammed down a box of hair bleach. I looked back at her.

"Turn around." She ordered.

"No, please, not my hair," I begged.

This time she pulled out a gun.

I didn't even know she owned a gun.

"Turn around." She said again.

So I did.

She walked over to me and I closed my eyes and held back tears as I felt my hair fall past my shoulders into the tub below. I had been growing my hair out for years. For my mom. She has cancer and I was going to cut it and donate it to her.

Having her cut my hair hurt worse than having her stab me.

When I had a buzz cut she turned the clippers off.

All my beautiful coffee brown locks of hair lay on the floor of the tub at my feet.

I sat on the edge of the tub while she mixed up the hair bleach. She had on a new pair of black latex gloves. The bathroom quickly filled with that chemical smell. Then without warning, she slapped a big glob down on my head.

I felt her fingers press into my scalp as she spread it all around, being sure to get every little hair. She put a shower cap on my head and had me sit on the toilet while she cleaned up the hair in the tub.

I eyed the gun on the counter.

Then I looked back at her bent forward into the tub.

I went for it.

I grab the gun and pointed it at her and pulled the trigger.

It was plastic.

A toy.

She stood up and turned to me.

I pulled the trigger again and again and cried as nothing happened.

She walked over to me, ripped off my bandage, and then dug her fingers into my wound, with her gloved chemical hand. The stitches ripped wide open and I screamed out in pain. She stopped and examined my wound before pulling out a hair she accidentally got in there.

Warmblood ran down my arm to the toilet and floor below.

"Get in the tub." She ordered.

So I did.

"I just fucking cleaned in here!" she threw the hair-dye stuff against the wall.

I flinched.

She closed the shower curtain and left me in there while I could see her shadow moving around the bathroom cleaning everything up.

When the curtain opened again the bathroom looked like it had before. She kneeled down in front of me and examined my wound.

She let out an annoyed sigh before looking me in the eyes.

"Look what you made me do." She said.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed.

She shook her head and got up and left the bathroom. I stared at the doorway until she came back and put a rag to my face. For the second time, I was knocked out. When I came too my wound was once again stitched shut with a new bandage and my hair was officially bleach blond.

I hate it.

It clashes badly with my dark brown eyes.

On the bed next to me were men's pants and sneakers as well as a flannel shirt and a chest binder. I looked up at her, she stared at me from her bed.

"Put it on," she said.

So I did.

My chest looked extra flat. It hurt.

She took my earrings out and then did my makeup, made me look like a skinny boy. She gave me douche bro shades to pull the look off.

Outside I could hear a dump truck taking the trash away.

All the evidence, gone.

She definitely planned this out perfectly.

"Okay, let's go." She said.

"W-what?" she got up and grabbed her bag, ready to check out.

She pulled out a gun and this time she showed me how real it was by loading in some bullets.

"If you so much as say a single word or peep, I'll blow your fucking head off." She said.

"Okay."

"What!?" she pushed the gun against my head.

I nodded in silence.

So we walked out to her car, which was actually a dark grey Nissan versa. Which only further made me want to cry. She put her bag in the trunk and we walked to the front office, the gun pointed against my back, under my shirt the whole time.

"Leaving already?" The front desk woman asked.

"Yeah, my boyfriend got called into work this weekend."

"Bummer." The lady sighed.

I feigned a smile.

She turned the keys in and then we left.

When we got into the car she said,

"Now what?"

I looked at her.

"A witness wasn't really part of the plan." She turned the car on.

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

She rolled her eyes and pulled out of the parking lot.

We didn't make it far as we got pulled over by a cop. My heart leaped for joy until I saw her grab the gun and put it in her jacket pocket, pointing at me. With one hand in her jacket, she rolled the window down.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am, have you seen this girl?" the cop held a picture of me up to her.

"No, I'm sorry. What happened?" she asked.

"She was kidnapped, what about you sir?" she bent forward to look at me.

I pleaded with my eyes for help but shook my head no. She eyed me for a moment before sighing and saying,

"Alright. Move along." With a pat on the hood of the car, we drove forward.

The killer rolled up the window and then she laughed.

She looked at me and she laughed.