Ten of Me ✓

Thirty-Four

MIA

There are some things that I look back on and wonder why I ever did it in the first place. If I were to ever rethink the fact that I actually wanted to go and talk things out with Noah, I would have definitely regretted it.

Maybe it was Morgan's death. Maybe that made me not want to do anything hasty or sudden or without considering the consequences first. After all, maybe if I'd thought things through before my transformations, she would have still been alive.

I went straight from apologizing to Dad about my makeovers to sitting back in Mom's salon chair as she snapped on her hair-dying gloves and began to section my hair back in pieces. This time was different, though. It wasn't a transformation I was using to escape from my problems or cause trouble. I honestly did want a solution, and the only way I could ever have closure was if I talked to Noah--and not as Nicole.

So I sat in that chair as let Mom dye my hair and do my makeup, turning me into someone else yet again. When I explained the situation to her, she thought it would be reminiscent if I looked similar to Katherine, so she gave me red hair. The circumstances of the last few weeks were the last things I wanted to remember, but I let her do as she wished because I really couldn't care less what I looked like.

Instead of feeling calm as she worked, I found myself reflecting upon everything I had done. Sitting in that chair became like torture as I was forced to remember all the times I'd been in that chair before, and the things I had done. I'd destroyed my little brother's trust in me, uncovered the truth behind my boyfriend's actions, defied my parents, torn apart my parents' marriage, and killed my best friend.

My breath caught and I squinted my eyes shut tightly, against the sunlight streaming through the windows. I tried to block out the cheerful pop music playing from the speakers, too, but I couldn't make myself not hear. The second Mom finished, I stood from the chair as quickly as possible, not even bothering to look in the mirror.

Mom had told me what she was doing as she worked. I had an enormous spray of freckles painted onto my face, fire-engine red hair, and pale skin. It was enough just knowing--I didn't want to see another girl's face where mine should have been.

I knew Noah was working at Aroma Mocha, so I hurried to drive to the shopping plaza after a quick stop at home to change my contacts and wardrobe. It was a beautiful April afternoon, which seemed contrary to all of the depressing emotions that were flowing through me right now, but I didn't even want to think about that. I just wanted to drive and talk to Noah and then go home, where I'd be one step closer to having this entire mess behind me.

As if to get to the shopping plaza faster, I pressed my foot harder against the gas and sped through an intersection, passing several cars in the lane next to me. When I'd finally swung into a parking spot across the street from the coffee shop and got out of the car, the drive had improved my mood slightly. I'd need all the patience I could possibly muster in order to confront Noah right now.

Taking deep breaths, I crossed the street and then swung open the door to the coffee shop, where the all-too familiar smell of coffee beans and the all-too familiar sight of Noah in his barista's apron greeted me.

I quickly got in the short line by the counter and waited, running my fingers through my long red hair over and over again. I'd had to look at myself in the mirror to put on my blue contacts, and I had seen a girl who hadn't looked like me at all. Instead of feeling relieved, I'd been hurt that I could have ever wanted this. I'd also been scared, because now I finally realized how easy it was to lose myself, and I never wanted to again.

The line advanced, and I was next. Noah was watching me expectantly, his deep brown puppy-dog eyes surveying me with professional impatience.

"Hi," I said, bringing my hand down from my hair so that I didn't look nervous. I worked to keep my voice level and steady, exactly how I'd rehearsed in my head over and over again. "I'm a friend of Nicole Thorn's."