Chapter 3 Putting on My Mask
Putting on my mask
I sleep like the dead, but I still wake up with a slight headache from too many tears shed. I pull myself out of bed and head to the small bathroom attached to the main living space, I lean my hands against the basin and look at myself in the mirror.
My blue-grey eyes are puffy. My dark ash-brown hair desperately needs a brush, it’s so long that when it’s down, it falls past my nipples. Hopefully a quick curl and some makeup will make me feel more human at work today.
My makeup will be my mask, hiding how I’m really feeling inside. I remember I need to message Danielle back, I forgot to message her last night. She’s tried to call me and left a couple of texts asking if I was okay.
Me: It’s done. I’m safe. Staying at the Central Lane Motel. Love you x
Danielle: Thank fuck. I was so worried when you didn’t get back to me last night, I was about one minute away from calling the cops. I’m glad you’re safe. Please tell me if you need anything < 3
Me: I just need you ready to move in as soon as we can find a place. Wish we weren’t so busy with work this week, I want to see you already. I’ll see you next week xxx
Danielle: I will be ready girl! I know :(
It couldn’t come soon enough. Love you < 3
I set my phone on the bathroom bench and put on “Just Pretend” by Bad Omens.
As I start getting ready, I’m interrupted by Gizmo clawing at the door, clearly busting to go for a wee.
I quickly take her outside. She trots to the small patch of garden in front of my room, does her business, then comes back to weave herself through my legs.
I plan to drop her back home on my lunch break, so she’s not cooped up in this motel room all day.
Thankfully, I bought some puppy pads and food to hold her over until then.
I just need to finish getting ready and head to the salon for my 9 a.m. shift.
I keep reminding myself, to just get through the next week of work, and then I’ll finally get to see Danielle—my closest friend and coworker—next Friday night at our bar job.
She’s the only one who knows about Sean and I having issues.
I haven’t even told Dad yet.
I walk into the salon for my shift at Snips and the smell of perm solution is overpowering, it’s a smell you think I’d be used to after hairdressing for 10 years, but I’m still not.
The salon is outdated in that early-2000s-never-left kind of way.
The walls are painted black, with a bright red feature wall at the back, there are faded posters of celebrity hairstyles from at least a decade ago hanging on the walls.
The gloss white floor tiles have cracks, some have stains on them from years of colour spills.
The chairs are worn black faux-leather with duct tape covering the rips, and the mirrors have that telltale silvering around the edges.
Even the music plays from an old stereo—there’s a radio station on that never changes.
I put my bag away in the back room and say hey to Sandy and Louise, my fellow hairdressers.
They’re older ladies, they both have bleach blonde hair and thin bodies from way too many cigarette breaks and not enough lunch breaks.
I’ve been working here for a year and they still don’t include me in their chatter, in their eyes I’m still the younger newbie who steals their chance at commissions.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been here a year, or how friendly I am, I will never fit in with them.
I never understood why but I always remain polite, even if it’s not reciprocated.
My boss Rhonda isn’t in yet, she’s not a hairdresser but she normally does the reception work. I check the computer, I’m fully booked out.
Great. I love the work, I really do, but it means a whole day of keeping my mask intact. Forced small talk and fake smiles.
I sigh and set up my station. My tools gleam in contrast to everything else here. My scissors are sharp, my brushes clean, sectioning clips are lined up like soldiers.
My job grounds me. I get to be creative, to transform someone, make them feel good, even when I’m struggling to hold myself together.
My first client takes a seat in the chair. I run my fingers through her hair, letting her soft waves slip between them like silk. She’s been coming to me every eight weeks since I started here, and today she says, “Surprise me.”
God, I love those words.
It’s like someone just handed me a paintbrush and a blank canvas.
I pull swatches out and we scroll through my phone for inspo pictures.
Once we come to a decision, I head out to the back room.
I mix up bleach and grab the foil, ready to take her a little lighter—a bit creamier.
Her eyes are deep blue, so I want to bring out that colour and make her feel luminous.
As I section her hair and start foiling, the world fades. It always does when I’m in the zone. The ticking of the wall clock, the faint hum of the blow dryers, even Sandy and Louise’s muffled gossip—all of it disappears. It’s just me and my brush, and the quiet thrill of transformation.
When I’m creating like this, I feel like myself. Like maybe I’m not just surviving the day. I’m adding something beautiful to it.
I clean up after finishing my client. I’m grateful to have a job I care about, I really am.
There’s something soothing in the rhythm of scissors snipping and colours transforming.
But pretending to be cheerful for hours is exhausting, like every polite smile pulled a thread loose in me, threatening to unravel what I’m trying so hard to hold together.
I let Rhonda know I’ll be heading out for my lunch break today.
I drive on auto pilot, listening to Sleep Token, until I pull up at my house.
My old house, I guess.
I don’t even know what to call it anymore.
The small old Queenslander sits sun-faded at the end of the cul-de-sac, a leftover from the 1800’s with its tin roof and mismatched yellow and green exterior. The paint’s peeling around the windows and the yard is covered in dying grass from the summer heat.
This used to be home. Now it just looks… tired. Like it’s been absorbing the tension inside its walls for too long.
Sean’s car is still in the driveway.
Music blares from inside. Some thumping, angry beat that makes the front window vibrate.
I sit there, engine idling, pulse climbing.
Someone’s definitely home. I sit there for a few minutes, watching, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Then I see him through the front window. Sean. He lifts a cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. His shoulders are relaxed. His face is blank.
And suddenly I can’t breathe.
I slam the car into reverse, my hands shaking as I back out of the driveway fast, heart hammering. My head is spinning.
He saw me, didn’t he? Shit. I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not.
“Fuck,” I whisper, gripping the wheel tighter. “Fucking fuck.”
That’s another night I have to stay at the motel. Another grocery run for Gizmo. Another dip into savings I don’t want to spare. I feel it… tight in my chest, like everything’s slipping through a crack I can’t seal. Money. Time. Energy. It’s all draining out of me, and I don’t know how to fix it.
I glance in the rearview mirror as I drive away, heart still racing. That house might still have some of my things, but it doesn’t have me. Not anymore.
Not if I can help it.
The day’s almost over, and my last client Tyler just took a seat.
He is about the same age as me, and I’ve been cutting his hair since I moved to Coevey Bay last year. He’s one of my favourite clients, even though Sean would never allow me to actually be his friend.
Tyler is gorgeous inside and out, with his dark blonde cropped curls, piercing blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, lean muscular build, and tattoos crawling up his arms. He’s a classic surfer-tradie type, a massive flirt and a bit of a player, but he’s always been genuinely kind to me.
“Hey, Cammie,” he says as he sits in the chair.
“You after the usual, Ty?” I run my fingers through his curls.
“Of course. I trust you to do whatever you want,” he gives me a charming smirk.
I start his haircut, a bit quieter than usual, hoping he won’t notice I’m off today. The sound of my scissors cuts through the silence.
“Cammie,” I look to his hair, avoiding eye contact. “Cammie. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Ty. I’m just tired. I was up really late last night,” I yawn, still cutting.
He taps the armrest, his tone firm now.
“Cam. I’ve known you for a year now. I know when you’re not okay.
You’ve been crying, haven’t you?” Shit. I knew he’d notice.
I hesitate, focusing on his hair, wondering whether to tell him.
Beyond Danielle, I haven’t talked to anyone about this.
Sean practically cut me off from friends when he moved us here. He hated when I tried to make new ones.
“Okay. You’re not wrong,” I finally admit. “But I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it.”
“I get it,” his voice is gentle. “But just know, this is a safe zone.”
He pauses, his voice hardening slightly. “Unless Sean did something to you—then it’s not a safe zone for him. Just… tell me if you’re okay.” He looks so sincere I almost burst into tears.
“Tyler… you’re sweet. To be honest, I don’t know if I’m okay. Sean and I broke up. I’m just trying to figure out my next steps.”
“That fucker,” he mutters. “He never deserved you. Just say the word if you want me to go punch him.” I laugh despite myself.
“No, no. It’s okay. I left him last night.
He didn’t get physical or anything. Just…
said some awful shit. It was rough, but I’m used to it.
I’ll be okay once I figure out where I’m going to live.
I was hoping to grab the rest of my stuff today, but he was home on my lunch break.
He was supposed to be gone.” I probably shouldn’t have let that all spill out, but I must’ve needed to talk about it.
“Are you safe, Cammie?” his brows furrow. “I’ll come with you. Make sure he’s gone.”
“No. Don’t do that. He’d flip if I showed up with another guy. It’s easier if I go alone. I’ll just drive past. If he’s still there, I’ll leave. I’ve still got my motel room from last night.”
“You’re staying in a motel? Which one?” He looks concerned. “Again—are you safe?”
“I think so. He doesn’t know where I am. I’m at Central Lane Motel, it’s four-star rated. It’s fine, just until I can find a rental.”
“Cam… I really don’t like the sound of this. You call me if you ever need anything. You have my number. I’m a call away.”
“Thanks, Ty.” I smile as I lead him to the basin to wash his hair.
We sit in silence, both unsure of what to say next. I can tell he wants to offer more, but he’s holding back. I want to ask for help, but I need to do this on my own.
As I finish drying his hair, he finally says, “I’ve been thinking. I’m staying with my boss Emerson, while I do renos on my place. He’s a good guy. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you needed a place for a bit. Want me to—”
“Ty,” I interrupt gently. “I’ll be fine. Really. I’ve got this.”
“At least let me add his number to your phone in case you change your mind.” I nod and hand him my phone. His touch is warm and steady as he enters the contact.
“Thanks, Tyler. I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if I need anything,” I lie.
He pays, gives me a hug, and heads out.
Now my shift is over, it’s time to drive by Sean’s again and see if he is finally gone.
Spoiler: he’s not.
What the actual fuck.
Why is he still here?
Why hasn’t he left?
I don’t have time to deal with this, I have to get back to Gizmo. I bet his flight got pushed back a day or something. Yep, I’m sure that’s all it is.
I guess Gizmo and I are spending another night at the motel for now.