I know it’s for the best, though.
When I arrive home from class, Jace is already gone for work.
Hallelujah.
I drop my backpack on the floor and kick off my black Converse. I pad across the room to the kitchen and fix a bowl of cereal.
Silence echoes around me. It’s been my friend and enemy for the last two weeks since we got back from Florida. My friend, because it means I don’t have to be worried about being swayed by something Jace says. My enemy, because I miss talking to him.
I know I did this to myself and I’m to blame, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
I hop up on the stainless-steel counter, letting my legs dangle as I eat my cereal.
I’ve been living off cereal and Pop-Tarts the last two weeks. Jace normally does all the cooking, and he still does, but since I’ve been avoiding him that means he hasn’t been making enough for me to eat too.
I think he’s trying to force me out of my dungeon—and by dungeon, I mean my bedroom.
It’s where I spend the majority of my time.
Jace is working today, so I know he’ll be gone until the wee hours of the morning.
It gives me a chance to hang out in the apartment and do my own thing.
Like dye my hair.
Normally, I stay with one color for a few months before moving on, but lately I’ve been restless and changing it every few weeks.
I bought a new color while I was at the drug store today.
Green.
I’m not sure how I’ll like it, but the blue needs to go.
Every time I look in the mirror all I can hear is Jace telling me how much he loves it. It’s driving me insane.
I finish my cereal and wash the bowl and spoon, leaving them on the towel on the counter to drip dry, then I pick my shoes and backpack up and carry them to my room.
Unzipping my backpack, I pull out the hair dye.
I figure there’s no time like the present.
I head into the bathroom and begin the tedious process of changing my hair color. I would be better off going to a professional and getting it done, but part of the original rebellion the first time I did it was doing it myself, so I’ve kept up the tradition since then.
Hours later, I stare at my reflection and my green hair. It’s a darker green, not a minty one, and I love it.
It’s getting late, after ten, and I’m tired from classes and work. I had late classes today so I picked up an early shift, and now I’m regretting that, because I’m too exhausted to enjoy my evening to myself.
If you weren’t ignoring Jace then you wouldn’t be too tired to go to the bar and hang out with him.
I wince at my own thoughts because they’re true.
I walk into my room and collapse onto my bed. “God, I’m pathetic,” I mumble out loud.
I grab my notebook and pencil, figuring writing a letter to Owen will keep me sane.
Owen.
My dirty secret.