Why I Love Him

Chapter Nine

The drive to Wayne's place was mostly quiet. We stopped at the department store first, but Wayne was the only one to get down to buy the dye. I stayed in the car, thinking about what I was getting myself into as I listened to the radio. Wayne hadn't turned the car off. I looked around, feeing the car seat. He had a nice car. He had nice clothes. He's really done some good for himself. I thought as I let the tips of my fingers make a beat on the dashboard. Wayne came back soon after, throwing the white nylon bag with the dye box in the back seat before flashing a smile at me before returning his attention to the steering wheel. He drove out of the mostly empty parking lot, humming along to the song on the radio as he drove.

The horrible pop punk. The stupid stuff he only listened to when he was alone or around me.

A smile made its way to my face as I thought about it. It felt nice to have things Wayne only did with me.

After the next thirty minutes on the road, we made it to his place. We came to a final stop in the driveway of one of the small identical flats on the streets. I wasn't sure what to think as I looked at the tiny house with a flat roof and a tiny parking space/lawn area. I guess I assumed Wayne's house would be a lot bigger, but then I realized it didn't make sense to have such a big house when you were just one person.

"Come on." Wayne's voice and the sound of the driver's door closing shut brought me out of my thoughts. I realized he had gotten out of the car, so I got out too, watching as he checked the back doors before locking the car doors with his central key. He made his way to the tiny porch, and I followed behind him.

I couldn't make out the colors of the house, but I noticed it was a light color lined with black at the edges of the walls. I liked the small start-up garden Wayne had going on in the lawn. He's always loved plans, he kept a lot in his room in university, and I used to water them when he had to leave for an extended period of time to attend to things at home. I liked plants too, and I also wanted a garden, but I couldn't really afford anything that wasn't a tiny apartment in a large building complex because of my rent.

"Come in," Wayne urged when he unlocked the door and stepped into his house. I walked in, immediately noticing how bare the place was. It was expected. He had moved in just a month ago. I liked the expensive flooring and ceiling design. It wasn't the worn-out carpet in my apartment covering the cheap wooden flooring. I felt awkward standing at the corner, but I didn't know if I should let myself sit on one of his sofas, they were still covered with a cover as if waiting for him to use them.

Wayne disappeared into the hallway with the nylon bag of dye before walking back into the living room with and waving a book over his head as he grinned at me.

"We can look at our graduating yearbook as I dye your hair," he said as his grin widened. I rose a brow at him, wondering why he still had that. Maybe it was normal to keep things like that. It was sentimental I guess, but it was different for me. I didn't have good memories attached to when we were in university, so there was no point keeping things that reminded me of it.

"Hmm, I was expecting a more enthusiastic response," he said with a small chuckle before sighing. "Come on, I'm dyeing your hair in my room," he said, disappearing into the hallway again. I followed him, hurrying my steps so that I was trailing behind him.

We got to his room soon after, and I had a good look of it when Wayne unlocked the door and stepped in. I followed him n, staring at the newspaper sheets he had scattered under the chair propped in front of one of the bedside tables.

"I have no idea how to scrub carpets, so let's not risk that," he said offering me an explanation as he urged me to take a seat. He draped a towel around my shoulders before disappearing into the bathroom that was connected to his room. He came out with some bowls, a mixing spoon, an application brush, a comb, and a hairdryer. He dropped everything on the cleared bedside table before sectioning my hair and doing a quick strand test after making the dye mix. He said he didn't need to bleach my hair first since it was the same color.

I had the yearbook on my lap, but I didn't bother opening it. I just stared at the black hardcover, my gaze blurring from staring too much from time to time as Wayne continued to work on my hair.

"You're not going to look at the yearbook?" Wayne's voice scared me a bit. For a while, I had zoned out and the feeling that I was alone had engulfed me.

I opened my mouth to answer his question but closed it and itched my neck with my index finger as I thought of a better way to say what I wanted to. "To be honest, I'm really not sure I want to look at it." Sure, after graduation the hovering idea that I was ugly was erased from my mind by all the attention I got from men when I properly entered the gay scene, but I guess a part of me still believed that I was — or that I was when in university.

Bullying does some messed up things to how you see yourself.

"Why not? You had such a cute picture." I'm not sure why Wayne was saying that. He of all people should know, but I guess he was trying as much as possible to walk around bad memories for my sake — for his sake.

Wayne reached out, opening the book and flipping the pages until he stopped at the page with my picture. It shocked me a bit. It was like he memorized the page location.

"Yes, I memorized the page," he said, answering the question I had in my mind. For a long time, all I had to remember you by was this picture and your name. You stopped updating your social media. You deleted some of them. You moved, you changed numbers, your siblings and parents refused to talk to me because everything was my fault—"

"You talked to my parents?" I asked, cutting him off. No one had told me, but it wasn't like they had my number to tell me if they wanted to. I also didn't use any of my social media anymore, so if I got any messages everything from at least three years back was unread.

"Yes," Wayne said with a sad smile. "Look, you looked cute," he said, pointing down at the yearbook page and changing the conversation. We all got full-page pictures, and it was a little unnerving to stare at myself.

"You haven't changed at all," Wayne whispered, making me stare down at myself — at the slight exhausted smile and blue hair peeking from under the black graduation cap.

Yeah, I haven't changed at all.

"Wayne?" I called, feeling a sudden push to ask a question.

"Hmm?" he hummed, removing the weight of his gloved hand from my shoulder.

"What happened to Yvonne. Like, what's she up to now?" My question made Wayne go quiet as his hands paused putting the dye on my hair. I bit my bottom lip, worried about his incoming answer. Yvonne had been the girls Wayne had been dating before he graduated college. Rumors spread that they got married, and when Wayne cut me off completely, I was completed to believe them. Yes, he told me that it was just a rumor and they had broken up, but I wanted to know how she was doing now. She really liked him, and she pinned over him with desperation. Wayne's parents liked her too. I wonder how they treated their breakup.

"I'm not sure," Wayne muttered, stumbling over his words a bit. The way his words came out made me frown a bit. His voice was shaky, and I wasn't sure if I was imaging things or if Wayne was trying to keep details from me. I crossed my legs, taking a deep breath as the silence in the room choked us both.

"Oh, okay," I said, staring down at the newspaper sheets that were now stained with dye. I didn't want to drag this with Wayne, maybe I was better off not knowing the details. "So, did you do that masters program you want to?" I asked, changing the topic to something light and exciting to talk about.

"Yes!" Wayne jumped on the conversation, welcoming the change. He told me about specializing in civil engineering and moving out of state to manage one of his father's many tech branches. I just sat there and listed as he returned to tending to my hair. I tried not to think about how my depression had limited my yearning for advancement. I had a good degree, but I was too depressed to concentrate on specializing, and I was too unstable to hold down a decent job with my undergraduate degree. I had moved away from home and taken down most of the means people could reach out to me with. I haven't been in contact with family members for a few years., and now that I think about it it was partly because of my mental state, and partly because I was ashamed of what I'd deteriorated to.

"Okay, we have to wash your hair before drying it," Wayne said, stopping the gist about his career. I let my gaze wander to the clock hanging by the bedroom door. So much time had passed. It was already ten P.M. I wondered how much more time I would spend at his place before he drove me home.

I got up and followed Wayne to the bathroom. He washed my hair over the sink. It was a little cramped, but we made it work. He was quick, he dried my hair with a towel before leading me back to the bedroom to dry my hair with a hand dryer.

"You look great," he said, handing me a mirror for the first time since he started working on my hair. I stared at my reflection, raising a confused brow when I realized my hair was now a teal color — almost green — in other words, not the dark blue I often sported. He changed the color. I looked over at him and noticed he was smiling at me — his lips drawn over his straight white teeth. Rich people teeth. The smile you could afford if you could pay a cosmetic orthodontist out of your pocket. I've always admired them and was strangely self-conscious about mine because of Wayne and the people he surrounded himself with in college.

"It looks good on you," he said, restating his previous words. We stared at each other until Wayne looked away and decided to clean up. I turned my gaze to the mirror again, touching my hair as I tried to decide what I thought about it.

Why would he do that? I wondered as I continued to touch my hair, twisting it between the tips of my fingers as I examined the color. It was different, but not so grossly unfamiliar that I hated it.

I liked it.

"You like it, right?" Wayne asked, making me nod as I looked up from the mirror. He walked to the bathroom, opening the door before going in.

"You should try new things." His voice echoed from the bathroom. I heard some rustling, and soon he was out again, this time empty-handed. He closed the door behind him before looking at me.

"Take a picture, revive your dead social media page and post it..." he trailed, letting his suggestions flow out of him.

"I'll drop you off," he said before turning away and walking towards the bedroom door. "Go out more. You'll feel good—" he paused as if he realized he was explaining away a 'just be happy' stance to a depressed person. Though rude, I still felt like I needed the push.

"I'll drop you off," he said before looking away from me and heading out the bedroom door.

New things. I kept repeating to myself as Wayne drove me back to my apartment complex. The words were still in my head as I walked upstairs to my floor and fished for my keys in my pocket when I was in front of my apartment door.

I should try new things. I told myself as I got into my room and turned on my phone.

And for the first time in years, I took a picture and made an update on f*******:. I tried to calm myself down, telling myself that it wasn't a big deal, but as the comments from family members poured in it reminded me of how much I'd isolated myself.

There was a weird feeling brewing in my chest. It seemed weird when I thought about it, but it felt nice to know that so many people had been worrying about me — it felt so good that I had one of those my painful smiles plastered on my face. I almost started sobbing when I read my mom's message.

I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand, remembering another reason why I loved way. He had odd quirky ways of getting his points across, but they were effective.