" I'm gonna off his rotten heart from his chest..."Ashton hissed at his phone. "That piece of shit! He's not even picking up! I hope he's getting severely fucked by 20....NO! 50 WWE champions at the same time and dies under them!"
He pressed the phone to his forehead, breathing hard, as if he could choke the voice on the other end of the line through sheer will.
" what are you doing? Talking to yourself as if you were possessed by a demon...." a voice interrupted.
Ashton didn't need to turn around to know it was his
Boss." this is none of your business..." he muttered.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "We've got a customer, you know."
Ashton shoved his phone into his pocket, inhaled deeply, and spun around with a dazzling smile .
"Oh, hi! What kind of haircut are we doing today?". Ashton liked this job more than he wants to admit, It kept his hands busy and his mind from wandering to the things he couldn't fix.
Nit to forget the fact that Sam paid him generously, and also put up with his disrespect.
"Your boyfriend screwed you over again?"Mira asked casually as she swept the floor.
Ashton shot her a death glare in the mirror.
"that douchebag probably threw the phone somewhere..." sam added with a shrug. "You're not gonna see him ever again."
"he better hope I don't..." Ashton muttered "because I'll kill him myself."
"Ouch!...hey..."the customer yelped.
"Ah! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Ashton panicked, dropping the comb. "Reflex! That was Totally a reflex! I didn't mean it "
Sam leaned against the counter, watching him. "You'll figure it out.." he said. "You always do."
Ashton forced another smile.
the owner of the shop Sam was older man like wayyyy old, like 70 or something, Ashton didn't really how old he was and Sam refused to elaborate he just kept saying that he participated in ww1 .
That man was an fucking ancient
"So, what did you wanted to study in college?" Sam asked, leaning against the counter.
Ashton didn't answer right away. He kept working, trimming the back of the customer's hair with slow motions the soft buzz of the clippers filling the silence.
Sam waited a minute, thinking Ashton wouldn't respond at all. Then, finally, a quiet voice broke through.
" i wanted to be a writer" Ashton said.
Sam blinked. "A writer? Like, books and stuff?"
"Yeah. I want to major in English.." Ashton replied, his tone light but distant. " love reading fantasy always have...."
He tapped his temple lazily, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It's all up here. Stories. Worlds. I used to think I could create a novel of my own someday like the crazy ones I imagined as a child."
"J.K. Rowling is by far my favorite. What she did with Harry Potter the characters, the world. I wanted that kind of magic. And not just her. C.S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings. They all made something that lasts."
"I want to inspire other kids like they did for me "He shrugged, brushing loose hair from the client's neck. "But that's just a dream now. I don't think I'll ever get there. I'm barely surviving as it is."
His voice softened, half-joking, half tired. "It's fine. I'll just wait for an opportunity, kill that asshole and then surrender myself to the police and retire in prison …ending up up in jail doesn't seems like a horrible outcome...."
Sam frowned. "Jail?.."
"Yeah why not?.." Ashton said with a crooked grin. " think about it, no rent, three meals a day. Sounds like a win-win to me..."
Sam's hand went straight into Ashton's hair, ruffling it.
"You don't need college to be a good writer.." he said.
Ashton immediately slapped his hand away. "Stop touching my hair! I've told you a million times..."
Sam chuckled.
"And anyway.." Ashton muttered, "I'm a shitty writer. I screw up the plot lines, grammar, everything. And if I ever publish something under my name, it's gonna be perfect or nothing."
"Sure.." Sam said with a shrug. But his smile faded as he looked more closely at Ashton's hair. "If you're gonna keep working in my barbershop, you'd better do something with that bird nest on your head."
"What's wrong with my head?" Ashton asked.
"First, brush it. Or wash it. Or something. Second why the hell did you dye it pink?"
Ashton smirked. "It's rose quartz. It's beautiful..."
"That color is for feminists and people with depression."
" and Who said I don't have depression?" Ashton shot back.
Sam rolled his eyes. "At least wear a hat. Don't tarnish my shop's reputation."
Ashton just grinned and went back to work. A few minutes later, he held up a small mirror for his client. "All done! What do you think?"
The man studied the cut, smiling. "Looks great. You're getting better at this."
" i know..." Ashton said, puffing his chest. "I have a blessed hands can't you See?.." He wiggled his fingers dramatically in the air.
Ashton watched another customer leaving satisfied.
Before he could even take a breath, the door chime rang.
Mira, whispered loudly, "Ashton. Twelve o'clock. That creepy guy's back..."
Ashton turned toward the door. The man who walked in was about 5.9 middle-aged, his face marked with tattoos and silver piercings. But what unsettled Ashton were his eyes there was no soul whatsoever behind those eyes, almost as if he was dead.
The man sat in the same chair the last client had vacated. Facing the mirror, he removed his hat and glasses, his dead eyes meeting Ashton's reflection.
Professional as ever ( and in desperate need of money ) Ashton forced his trademark smile. "Hey, Doug. Long time no see. How are you?"
"Fine.." the man said curtly.
Ashton set to work. Doug wasn't here for a haircut this time, just a beard trim. He reclined slightly as Ashton wrapped a towel around his neck and began shaping the rough stubble with slow, careful strokes of the razor.
The hum of clippers mixed with the low murmur of conversation around them.
When it was over, Doug stood, smoothing his chin." Looks good.." he said, dropping a few bills on the counter.
Ashton and Mira both exhaled in relief until Doug paused at the door.
"I heard you're in desperate need of money.." he said, glancing back at Ashton. "If you want to make quick cash, I know a place. Pays at least five hundred a night..."
"Words travel fast ...."
"I know everything that happens in neighborhood" said Doug with creepy smile in his face.
"So?....Am I selling my kidney? Or ..." Ashton asked flatly.
Doug laughed. "Nah, nothing serious like that. Just… come and see for yourself. You've got nothing to lose, right?"
He pulled a small white card from his pocket and handed it over. Ashton frowned, taking it carefully between two fingers. Lately, everyone seemed to be handing him cards. First in the office, now this.
The card was plain no logo, no phone number, just an address and a strange name printed neatly in the center.
Sticky & Crusty.
Weird name. Weird as hell.
Ashton raised an eyebrow at Doug, who just chuckled. "I know what you're thinking. Just go check it out. You've got nothing to lose..."
With that, Doug turned and left. The door shut softly behind him, and the bell above it gave a light, chiming ring one, two, three notes fading into the hum of clippers and low chatter.
Ashton stared at the door a moment longer. Behind him, Mira leaned over his shoulder, peeking.
"So? What's it say?"
"Nothing much.." Ashton muttered, flipping the card. "Just a name and an address."
"What do they even do there?"
"No idea..." He slipped the card into his pocket and grabbed a broom, sweeping the scattered hair from the floor.
The rest of the day crawled by, then drifted into evening. By the time Ashton stepped outside, the city was wrapped in cold. The rain had stopped and Every breath came out in small, ghostly clouds.
He buried his hands in his jacket pockets, ready to head home then he froze when his fingers touched something.
The card.
He pulled it out and looked again at the address. It wasn't far. Maybe a forty-minute walk. It's not like he have money for a cab anyway.
"Fine.." he muttered. "Let's see what the hell this is..."
He started walking.Every now and then he stopped to ask for directions, following the scattered glow of neon signs until he found it.
Sticky & Crusty.
The name was even stranger on the building's sign bold letters lit in red above a heavy black door.
A large man stood guarding the entrance, his arms crossed, his expression carved from stone.
Ashton tried to go inside but he was blocked by the big guy,
The man didn't even glance at him. "Go home, kid. There's no place for you here..."
Ashton's didn't argue. He knew better than to pick a fight with a guy who could probably lift a car. He reached into his pocket and held out the card.
"Someone gave me this. Said I should come here that I'd be able to find a job..."
That got the man's attention. His head turned slowly, eyes sweeping over Ashton like a scanner.
"How old are you?" he asked finally.
"Nineteen."
The guard didn't move. Ashton sighed and pulled out his ID.
The man grunted, taking the card. "Looks real enough.." he muttered.
He stepped aside, nodding toward the door. Ashton pushed it open and stepped inside.
At first, everything was dark. He could barely make out shapes laughter, muffled voices, footsteps. Then, suddenly, the lights came on.
The first thing Ashton's eyes landed on were asses, naked asses everywhere. Some shaking, some bouncing, some doing moves he didn't even know were humanly possible. The amount of shaking was insane.
His brain went blank for a second before he started screaming at full volume inside his mind.
What the actual fuck? Is this a strip club?
Before he could even process the madness in front of him, someone clapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him into a tight, almost choking hug.
Ashton froze, eyes snapping to the side Doug.
Doug's grin was wide, a little too wide, his eyes gleaming with amusement and delight.
"Ah, so you came.." he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. "What do you think?..."
Something clicked in Ashton's head. Then shouted "Bitch, I'm broke but not that broke!"