“I don’t know if I can get used to this.” Rachel angled her head and blow-dried her hair. She used her fingers to comb through it and isolate its sections. “Me neither,” I said, staring back at my reflection in the tiny excuse of a mirror in the bathroom of our hideout. I was crammed in with Rachel in a space the size of a linen closet. I rustled my fingers through my jet-black hair, and every time I glanced at Rachel it was like I was looking at a different person. The black accentuated... even more of her Hispanic side, but it was fitting. Her new hair color looked natural. Mine made me look like more of a goth with my paler skin. Every other second I was having flashbacks of the dream I awoke from. I hadn’t dreamed of my mother in over six months…and it was so vivid. Rachel said I was shaking in my sleep, and that I was very distressed. She said I kept muttering ‘I will’ over and over again. I didn’t tell her the details of the dream, only that it was about my mom.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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