Stormi's POV

I pulled the beanie farther over my ears and zipped up my hoodie a little higher. It was a chilly day. Well, for summer time in New Jersey. The cool wind blew back my shield of hair, causing an array of goosebumps to break out along my skin. I was currently downtown, searching for the local hairdressers. As much as I hated to part with my long, teal locks, I needed a change but I had absolutely no clue what I wanted it to be.

As soon as I located the quaint and familiar franchise, I eagerly shoved open the old, battered, wooden door that had obviously seen better days and was greeted by a welcoming bell. A gust of warm air surrounded me and I touched my strands of aqua, silently bidding them farewell.

Angie sat me in the black, squeaky, leather chair and struck up a conversation, which I nodded along to with false interest. Angie, or Angela way a tall, middle-aged woman with a blonde bob. She was almost always sporting a striped turtleneck and coloured jeans, Ang had a little extra meat on her bones and everything about her screamed jolly.

I glanced down at my own apparel. I adjusted my eyes as I took in today's outfit, not having to squint at my muted colours as I did with her head-ache inducing, peppy-as-always clothes. Today, I was sporting a black zip-up with skeleton bones, it was one of my favourites because when I saw one of my mother's friends and was feeling particularly antisocial, I would fully zip it up and put my head down, appearing as a half skele-person. I paired it with my best, grey acid wash jeans and one of the two fingerless, skeleton gloves I found laying around the house to match. I had been in a rush to get ready today, with avoiding Frank and all, as well as trying to be in time for my appointment here and hadn't really had time to take in my outfit. Not bad, I thought, fully inspecting myself once more, staring at the rim of black eyeliner I had applied on my way out the door.

Turning my attention back to the hairdresser, I smiled. Don't let her looks fool you. Even though she could be annoyingly happy, she was also annoyingly real with all of her customers. It was annoyingly refreshing.

I had been her client since I was about 8 and decided to play hairdresser myself when I got alone with a razor and needed a quick fix. At the time I couldn't understand why my mother flipped, I thought I had created a masterpiece and was the first participant of a future trend. My mom took me in to see Angie, who, at the time was the only place in town accepting walk-ins. She informed us that when you shave off all the hair down the centre of your head, there is no haircut to fix it, but that she would see what she could do. She also assured me that it could very well be the next big thing. Ever since then, I refused to go anywhere else for my hair experiments.

"Kay Tori, what's the damage today?" Her raspy voice interrupted my flashback. I shrugged. "Surprise me."

&&&

"Okay," Angie chuckled. "You can open your eyes now." They shot open, greeting my with a visual of a ghostly pale teenager with dark, no, light, no… both coloured hair. My locks were much shorter, only reaching about mid-back now. One side was blonde, the other was an ordinary ebony colour. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen before, it was so regular, yet so uncommon. A smile broke out on my face. I loved it.

"I take it I did good, then?" "As always." I grinned.

I paid her, saying my thank-you's as I shoved open the creaky door, and resumed shivering. I turned the corner and leaned up against the brick wall, pulling out my pack of Marlboro Reds. I flicked my lighter and put the cancer stick to my lips. I glanced across the abandoned roads, wondering why the hell it was so cold. "The fuck, Jersey?" I muttered under my breath.

I saw a man exit the strangely well-kept barber shop on the opposite side of the street, I checked him out. Nice sweater. The guy was wearing practically the same sweater as me. I jutted my head out to get a better look. He appeared to display a similar glove to mine. That's uncanny. I squinted, finally taking a look at the guy's head.

There was no way that this was just a coincidence.A million thoughts raced through my mind.

Is he stalking me? Did he steal my other glove? How did he know what hair I was going to get when I didn't even know? Why did he get the same one? Did he have the same teal hair too?

And most importantly,

Why is he wearing Frank's face?

No.

It couldn't be.

No. No. No. No.

And even worse, he leaned against the wall, exactly parallel to me. Propped one leg up behind him, on the wall, just like me. I saw him pull out a pack of Marlboro Greens, kind of like me, and put it to his crusty, fucking lips. Flick. This was the last goddamn straw. He put the cigarette between his thumb and index fingers and withdrew it from his mouth to exhale, just like me. And, at last he looked across the street, how I had, his mouth dropped.

All I saw was red. He can wear matching outfits with me any day of the weekk. We can be identical, right down to my battered combat boots, and look like we hopped right out of Tumblr, but nobody who knows what's good for them will steal my hair.

That was it. I strutted to his side of the road sassily, no caring if I looked like a prissy bitch. Actually, it was my intention. "Frank, you asshole." I called out. "Stormi, what the fuck?" He questioned, motioning at my hair. Bullshit. "Looks great, huh?" I spat, slapping him.

If this were any normal day, I wouldn't have slapped him, I would've punched him. But, I guess would wouldn't be in this situation and I guess that I wouldn't be mad about something as petty as hair. And I guess if we're being hypothetical, then I'd say that maybe I have a soft spot for him.

Maybe I liked that we had matching hair because it made us look like we were together.

He smiled. He fucking smiled.

"You know," He began, taking a few steps closer to me and creating another one of our famous, intimate moments. Leaning down, he brought his face dangerously close to mine. I could feel his warm breath fan out against my face as he spoke, momentarily warming me up.

"You're hot like this. Angry, I mean. And, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad to be the cause of it." He finished, winking and making my blood boil. "I should get you angry more often."

Before I knew it, I felt a large hand, roughly cupping my right asscheek, squeezing. Hard.

Notes

So there ya go, I figured with all of the sexual frustration (you know who you are) in this fic that I may as well give Stormi some indirect fluff with Frank, because there always needs to be a reason for feelings to get in the way. Please Vomment, rate, and subscribe! :)

Emily