Finding The Write Words

Chapter Seven

"Can you make sure you don't get any on my skin?" Virgil asked the hairdresser as he sat down in his chair.

"Absolutely. I'll be sure to keep it away from the roots. Are we going for a trim today as well, or just a color?"

"Just the color."

The black cape draped around him, covering him, and Virgil avoided his gaze in the mirror. It was already too much just sitting here with this stranger touching him in an echoey room with other strangers listening in on anything he said.

The stylist wasn't altogether unattractive, with long pink hair tied in a bun on the back of his head, skinny jeans that hugged his hips, and espressive eyes that Virgil caught himself looking at in the mirror for just too long.

Pat was a guy.

One of his soulmates was a guy.

Possibly more of them.

Maybe all of them.

Virgil hadn't stopped to think in all 18 years of his life the kind of person he was attracted to. He had just brushed aside any thought of attraction, knowing that everyone else had their soulmates and there was no way they would even blink in his direction, and he hadn't wanted anything to do with his soulmates. He still didn't.

He continually told himself that, but he wasn't so sure anymore.

After he had accidentally made his presence known that afternoon, he threw on his hoodie, and he hadn't taken it off since. He refused. He didn't want to know what they were saying.

He still couldn't believe that Pat was a guy. He had had an hour to try to wrap his head around it, and still...

He was destined to be with a man.

But looking at the stylist as he sectioned off his hair and clipped it aside, he understood why. Men were so attractive.

"What color are we wanting to do today?" the stylist asked with a smile.

"Purple," he mumbled in response, not wanting his voice to echo through the salon any more than it already did.

He nodded and disappeared into the back to go get the hair dye. Virgil could feel the tingling on his skin. He wondered what they were saying about him. He wondered if Pat had somehow known that he was their fourth.

He wondered if the others were male, too.

By the time he left the salon, Virgil had purple hair, and the tingling in his arms had stopped. He could barely believe it. After months of nonstop writing, they had finally stopped. As he walked home, he glanced around him, making sure there was nobody who would see him. And he lifted up his sleeve.

It had grown into a sick fascination, his curiosity with the writings. He had to know what they were saying, even if he didn't want to participate in the conversation. As he read over the messages, another few came in on his left hand this time. Pat was going to meet Ro.

Virgil was happy for them.

He told himself that and he swore it was true.

Virgil was happy that these two were going to be happy together.

He was happy with Lo was coming to town next week and the three of them would be happy.

He was happy that they hadn't said anything about him.

He was happy that they seemed to have forgotten he existed at all.