Page 42 of The Intimacy of Skin

Snow fell two days after Price took me to the most gorgeous place I’d ever seen. A sudden and harsh cold front shocked the entirety of the Northeast, leaving us with a sudden drop in temperatures nearing the teens.

Both of us had kept up with our story of being sick, staying home for three days before deciding to return to work.

I hadn’t seen him since that day, giving myself time to rummage through my conflicting thoughts.

We texted regularly, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Our topics were always light; some were memories I’d share of my mom or Willow from when we were delinquent teenagers.

What he’d done for me—what he’d shared with me that day—had changed something in me. I couldn’t remember when someone other than Willow had done something so kind for me.

Price had been listening when I divulged that I missed the solitude of nature back in Arkansas. I’d said it at the very beginning of my time at The Arch, meaning he’d hung onto that this entire time.

And then he told me he could read my eyes. He’d seen into the depths of my very soul, and it should’ve made me want to run and hide. I should’ve been terrified of what he’d find, the secrets he could unravel.

But I wasn’t.

Price showed me sides to him that I began to treasure. One was the kind, caring side that took time out of his day to find the most beautiful sight in New York. The other was the deeply lost and lonely soul who craved connection.

I wanted nothing more than to wrap him in my arms, kiss him until I was breathless, and tell him I’d never leave his side.

My heart beat wildly against my chest, aching to meld with his for a lifetime where neither of us felt alone again.

His pain became mine, and I wanted to be his in every sense of the word.

A gnawing, insatiable beast crawled its way into my body, side-by-side with the ice where my heart was meant to be.

The beast yearned for Price’s comfort. It begged for his love.

When I looked in the mirror, I could see the beast was me.

But there was too much holding me back. The memories I couldn’t voice, no matter how hard I tried.

I was exhausted from pretending that I liked what I did.

The punishments clients inflicted on me were just that—punishments.

Ones I believed I deserved, though I hated it with every inch of my being.

The realization and admission had occurred the morning after Price dropped me off at home. I’d known what it was for a long time. I had never wanted something more before, though.

Not until Price kissed me goodnight before letting me walk to the door with a reminder to change my dressings as the last thing he said to me.

Today, I worked a half-shift. I told Price I had an appointment in the morning, so I’d be late, which wasn’t a lie.

There wasn’t a lot of snow, much to Willow’s dismay. We were nearing Christmas time, and she was bound and determined for us to have covered streets all through December.

“Stop wishing that shit into existence, dude. I fucking hate the cold,” I grumbled, watching the world through the passenger seat window.

I could practically hear her scowl. “Oh, so you zone out and refuse to speak more than two words to me all morning and now you decide to be bitchy? Shall I remind you whose car you’re in right now? I could swerve into traffic if you’d prefer that over being nice.”

She was mostly right. “Sorry, I was just in my head. Please don’t kill us.”

“In your head, huh? Thinkin’ about a certain someone real hard, aren’t ya?”

“I have no idea who you’re talkin’ about.” My accent mimicked hers, easing into the southern twang I carried most of my life. It always seemed to come back when she was at her sassiest, my brain deciding all the work I’d put into abolishing it was null and void.

Willow parked on the side of the curb, shifting the car into park. “Sure, you do. I’m tellin’ you, Crew. Y’all would be good together. ”

I sighed and got out of the car, ignoring her comment completely. The shop doors opened just before I got to them, a young woman walking out with a little boy at her side.

Her eyes reminded me of Mom, and the boy clutching her hand reminded me of myself.

For a second, I stood frozen in place. A bittersweet memory rushed at me with full force.

Mom taking me to get my hair done at the only hairdresser’s house in town.

Mom giving me a green apple sucker afterward for being so good.

Mom crying on our way home because her new boyfriend texted her, saying he would be gone by the time we got back.

“Come on, C. Let’s go.” Willow pressed on my shoulder, making me startle.

I shook my head as if that would make the pain go away. It wouldn’t—I knew that—but I tried anyway. The salon was full of life and color, neon pink on every surface. It was almost too much for my eyes.

A kind-looking woman with dark, curly hair skipped her way towards me. Her glasses were large, taking up most of her upper face. They looked good on her, complementing her wide smile.

I’d always gone to salons to get my hair cut, never liking a barber shop’s atmosphere. Growing up, we only had Mrs. Melissa in town to do our hair. I got used to the calming energy she exerted, and I’d never found that from a barber.

The chipper hairstylist checked the watch on her wrist before beaming back at me. “Are you Crew Hayes?”

I nodded.

“Great! I’m Camie, it’s nice to meet you. Go ahead and hop on in my chair. Your friend can sit on the side there.” She pointed to her station, a lone chair by its side for Willow to sit on.

Camie threaded her fingers through my hair, her grim expression visible from the mirror I was seated in front of. She popped the gum she was chewing on before meeting my eyes.

“This is a mess, hon.”

Willow laughed from the sidelines.

I glared at her just before snorting a laugh myself. “I’m aware. That’s why I’m here to see you.”

Camie prodded at my head a bit more, sectioning it into awkward pieces. “Did you do it yourself? ”

“Yes, and I fucked it up greatly.”

She pulled a longer piece from the back of my head, looking it over from root to end. “I see that. I like the cut. Fits your face and style. It’s a bit raggedy, though. The color, on the other hand?” She let out a low whistle. “Rough. Tell me what you want to do, darling.”

From the corner, I could hear more than see Willow cracking up at my public shaming. I never should’ve asked her to come with me. “I want to keep the cut but make it better. Make all the blond go away. I want it to match my natural color.”

Camie seemed to ponder my request for a moment. “Are the waves natural?”

“Yeah, but they’re a fucking mess.”

With a tsk, she lightly tapped me on the head.

“Don’t shame your texture. You’ve got some curl going on with the wave, so that can make it hard to know what to do with it.

It’ll work in your favor, though.” She took a few steps back, gazing at me through the mirror once more.

“I’ve got an idea, and then I’ll teach you how to take care of these luscious locks of yours. ”

Maybe it was the no-shit attitude or the desperation in me to get rid of the disaster I called my hair, but the next words out of my mouth had never been truer.

“I trust you, Camie.”

“Dude, it’s literally a six-minute walk,” I argued.

Willow slanted her hands on her hips, popping one to the side. “In December with snow on the ground! You’re so dense sometimes, I swear.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned on my heel. “I’m going now. I’ll text when I get there if that makes you feel better.”

From behind me, I could hear her yelling. “You better! If not, I’m calling lover boy!”

The sidewalks were mostly clear. Every few steps, snow would crunch under my shoes as I walked.

I was desperate to feel the bite of cold against my skin.

Being stuck in the house had been stifling and exhausting.

Willow was fretting over me, refusing to leave me even though she didn’t know I’d cut myself.

When Price contacted her, it had given her a scare. She had a propensity to become quite the mother hen when it came to me. I let her do what made her feel better, even if I was secretly suffocating.

As I walked, I noticed the multitude of bright and merry Christmas decorations people had put out. A lot of businesses had put up wreaths on their doors, along with bright, colorful lights that glowed during the nighttime. Windows were covered in sticky decorations of every festive possibility.

I couldn’t help but smile at them. Mom loved Christmas almost as much as Santa.

We always had a huge tree in our living room with a different theme every year.

It was a fake tree, and over the years, it shed its plastic pine needles and became barer, but it was ours.

Mom had different ornaments and tinsel for a different theme she’d run with.

One year, it’d be blue and silver. The next, red and gold. The house would be covered floor to ceiling in ridiculous, cheesy statues and paintings that made me want to barf. Outside, our porch would be so lit up, planes could land there safely.

I moaned and groaned every year, telling her it was too much. Now, I missed it more than anything. No matter what man she was with, how drunk she was, or how sick she felt, Christmas was as full blast as she could make it.

And when she let me help her make her famous pumpkin pie? Oh, the things I’d do to have that even one more time.

Willow and I didn’t care much for decorating, and it didn’t seem Price did either. We saw it as a hassle, more often than not. I think deep down, it reminded us both of Mom too much. The wound was still fresh, keeping us from attempting something so festivious when it only made us sad to see.