I put argan oil in my hair today. It’s meant to nourish and restore your hair back to original glory, whatever that means. Like most of the stuff I buy, I got this from a cheap superstore that also stocks products such as ‘Chanel’ tea sets and hijabs for your cat, so naturally, this must be the best version on the market.
As I put the oil in my hair, I can hear my flatmates doing various activities through the walls. Aneesa pottering about angrily in her room, sorting through the organised mess of her cupboards and drawers, and playing nostalgic music from the 2000s she claimed to have grown up with, despite not hearing these songs until they became popular on social media; I hear Isabella watching yet another law enforcement themed drama, yearning for the thrill and romance portrayed by the first responders in the show to somehow translate into her own virginal life, and then I hear Doris and her friend obnoxiously watching an American sitcom full of brash jokes and cheesy humour to make themselves feel better about their lives… even for 30 minutes.
To them I am a side character; a comic relief, a scapegoat, a handyman, a driver, an expendable. To me, they are temporary. I have no intention of staying in touch with them after I Leave this flat, as they have no use for me, as I have no use for them. It’s merely circumstantial, our friendship. Were all in silent agreement about that. I hold a place in their hearts I would like to think, as that is what I like to do, make my mark. I know for a fact Aneesa will take it the hardest, our eventual distancing, and I can only hope for so much. She likes to take parts of others personalities and pass them off as her own, as do many of the girls I keep company with. Maybe it is a female thing, an innate nature to be someone you are not, but I do not take part in such activities. I like to think that is due to me having to compensate for my looks and weight throughout my life, I have had to build my personality rather than adopt others. Again, this sets me apart from the rest of them, because as I slowly come into my own beauty, both my looks and personality will make me more desirable. Or so I would like to think.
As I finish coating my hair in the £1.99 luscious elixir, I think about him. How he sees me now. We started talking again, just pleasantries, after my graduation on Tuesday. Small anecdotes about our futures and whatnot, but that is how it started last time. The girls cannot know about this, it would quite literally make them explode with anger, but the thought of the slightest chance of sex with him again makes me a little weak at the knees. Aneesa always talks of her experience with men as something to be referred to in any context, as if her experience was the only experience that is worth conversing about, because she is worth conversing about. I let her have it, just because she doesn’t have much else going for her, which is sad, but consider it my charitable contribution to society. I haven’t told any of them about me sending nudes to him yet. I don’t think I ever will, but god help me there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him.
I am enamoured with things I cannot have, because in my mind, everything I want I should get, because my whole life has been like that. The thought of him, distant, touching himself over the thought of defling my body in only ways he could imagine, is something I want because it means in some way, I always get what I want. He thinks he is above me, but I have always been out of his league, it has just taken me a long time to figure that out. But I will always want him, it’s a primal instinct in me. The oil sits on my hair as i get up to check my phone for messages from him, and lo and behold; a notification from him pops up with my favourite phrase:
‘what are you wearing?’
The oil seeps from hair to the nape of my neck, as I remove my t shirt to capture my bare body with my phone camera. I guess I picked the wrong day to nourish my already damaged hair.