Pulling out Savannah's hair becomes an interesting form of revenge.
Tears seeped from Savannah’s eyes. With each strand of hair pulled between her finger tips her scalp became number. An ambiguous hot tingling sensation permeated her head. The long dark strands littered her flower print bed spread.
She brushed them all onto the floor. She’d have to vacuum later. Everyone knew that she suffered from trichotillomania however she still went through the effort of hiding her deviant behavior. A scarf and hat combination always kept her balding head from judging eyes.
No one could understand why she did it. Not even Savannah was entirely sure of her reasoning. She felt the longing throughout every day. She had to lock herself in her room and pull out her hair until her scalp felt the familiar burning painful sensation.
She would hold a random strand between her fingertips and delicately bite off the follicle. That was her favorite part of the daily ritual. The small soft gooey texture had a calming effect on her. The miniscule white blob dissolved on her tongue and she felt as if she could live another day. She wasn’t sure why she had to do it but maybe Bobby Willer from down the street knew.
Her mother felt sad for her daughter. She ignored the locked door with the youthful decoration of stickers every afternoon. She had asked her to stop but Savannah had refused. It was her choice. Her concern was mainly cosmetic. Without hair her daughter was ugly and the world was a difficult place to live if you were ugly.
Savannah had stopped spending time with her friends months ago. Not long after Bobby had asked her over to his place one Friday night while his parents were away. Not long before she had started to rip out her hair.
Savannah pulled the last of her hair from her head. She blissfully consumed the white globules at their ends. A feeling of accomplished contentment washed over her form.
She glanced in the small ornately framed mirror on the wall. Her eyes bared the dark baggage of sleepless nights. Yet she was not forlorn over the visage. Her now complete baldness suited her. There was a pristine beauty to her nicely shaped and naked head.
The young woman put herself to bed. She closed her eyes as the first of them began to sprout. She could see the wood paneling of the foreign bathroom walls, feel the cold tiles of the floor and hear the adroit zipping of his pants as she drifted off to sleep.
These were not pleasant memories but she would not need to worry over them for much longer. The appendages were even now grown longer then her hair had ever been. A gentle smile graced her lips. She would sleep tonight. She hadn’t slept in such a long time.
The tentacles sprouting from Savannah’s head were now trundling out her bedroom window. Smooth and slick they meandered down the street towards Bobby Willer’s house.