Page 5 of His Darkest Obsession

“Okay,” he grunts. “Just don’t forget to hit the lights on your way out. ConEd is jacking up prices again.”

I smile at him. “I got it, Marcus. It’s not the first time I’ve had to close up.”

He raises an eyebrow as if he doesn’t believe me. Then, he gives me a slight nod, and steps out from the door, leaving me by myself with nothing but the worn vinyl flooring and a re-run ofEl Señor de los Cieloson Telemundo from the tiny TV hanging in the corner as company.

I know Marcus is worried about letting me close up on my own.

It’s not because he doesn’t trust me to do a good job. It’s because he still remembers the first time he met me.

That was two years ago when I was still coming to terms the trauma of everything that took place that awful summer. It was also the same time that I lost both my parents in the matter of weeks. The same time that I became the sole caretaker for my younger sister Amara.

Which meant I had to face an impossible choice between pursuing what I want, and doing what I need.

So, instead of returning to finish my final year at Columbia University, I started looking for jobs. But everywhere I looked, people raised their eyebrows and asked why an ex-Columbia student was trying to get a job at their business.

Everyone except Marcus. He just handed me a pair of scissors and said, “Show me what you can do.”

And after I proved myself right then and there, he told me I can start the next day.

In the two years since, Marcus has become like a second father to me. He gave me more than a job so that I can put food on the table and the lights on.

He made me feel like I can be a person again—to face the world even when it feels like everything has collapsed. And behind all the frown lines and what seems to be a permanent scowl on his face is the kindest man that I’ve ever met.

I look up at the clock hanging above the shelves stocked with combs, clippers, and half-empty bottles of styling gel.

Just another ten minutes, and I can leave.

I sweep the last bits of hair on the floor into a neat little pile.

Tonight, Amara will probably ask me if I still have my old application to Columbia, and if she can read over my essay so she can compare notes.

Even though Idon’twant her to follow my footsteps in attending the same place that sent our lives crashing down and left us both orphans, I know that it’s not up to me to stop her from trying.

God, has it been two years already?I sigh and look up to catch my reflection staring back at me. Dark blue hair instead of my natural red frames my face, and a few strands fall in front of my right eye.

Some days, I barely recognize myself.

But that's good. It’s what I want.

The bell above the door chimes, and I respond without looking up from sweeping. “We’re closing soon.”

“This won’t take long.” A deep voice replies.

It sends a thrill rushing down my spine, and something warm and tingly follows in its wake, demanding that I turn and see the source of the voice.

When I do, my breath stops and my heart leaps to my throat.

A pair of piercing blue eyes—just a few shades lighter than my hair—finds me. Tall and wide-shouldered, the man standing there has a face made up of nothing but harsh angles that looks even more pronounced under the bright lights of the barbershop. The expression on his face is a halfway mix between brooding and questioning, like he’s trying to figure out everything about me with a single stare.

Everything about him screams precision and control. Two deliberate crease lines run down the exact front of each pant leg. There isn’t a wrinkle anywhere on his charcoal-colored suit. Even his collar manages to wrap around his throat like it’s made just for him.

And every strand of his whiskey-colored hair is exactly where they should be.

He looks like he belongs on the cover of a GQ magazine instead of this dinky little barbershop in the Bronx.

I want to tear my eyes away, but there’s a hypnotic quality about him that commands me to keep looking. And somehow, I get the feeling that if I dare to look away, bad things might happen.

Finally, I break the silence. “You sure you’re in the right place? You don’t look like you need a haircut.”