He Drugged Me And Let Her Cut My Hair Chapter 08

He Drugged Me And Let Her Cut My Hair Chapter 08

After Sabrina’s hysterical voice message, my world finally went quiet. 

She never tried to add me again, and nothing else came of it. Later, bits and pieces drifted back to me via the grapevine. 

Apparently, she and Ethan had a massive fight. She had cried over the phone, screaming that he still had feelings for me. 

He had hung up on her and told her to stop acting 

insane. 

The gossip faded quickly. 

My life filled itself with more concrete things 

instead: papers for my major, the debate team’s upcoming intercollegiate tournament. 

As for Ethan, he became like a muted 

channel,present in the background, but devoid of 

sound. 

During winter break of sophomore year, I went 

home for the holidays. 

On New Year’s Eve, the house phone rang. 

My mother went to answer it. After listening for a 

moment, she turned toward me with a 

complicated look on her face. 

“Clara, it’s Ethan. He said he wanted to wish you a happy New Year.” 

I was helping my dad make homemade pastries for dinner, flour dusting my hands. 

I shook my head. “Tell him I’m asleep.” 

My mother sighed, said a few words into the receiver, and hung up. 

Outside, fireworks boomed, painting the sky. I lined the ravioli up neatly on the tray, my heart 

calm and still. 

On the third day of the new year, there was a high 

school reunion. 

I hadn’t planned to go, but a few girls I used to be fairly close with kept asking, saying it had been too long and everyone wanted to see me. 

So after thinking it over, I agreed. 

The gathering was in a large private karaoke suite. 

When I pushed open the door, the room was packed. The moment they saw me, everyone froze for a beat, then a few awkward greetings rose up 

at once. 

“Clara? Wow, that’s really you.” 

“You’ve changed so much. I almost didn’t 

recognize you.” 

“Come sit over here.” 

I smiled, answered politely, and found a seat off to 

the side. 

I could feel people glancing at me now and then, curious, measuring. 

My hair was loosely braided over one shoulder, 

and I was wearing an oatmeal–colored sweater with light makeup. 

Sabrina wasn’t there. 

No one seemed to know where she was. 

People sang, played drinking games, and made small talk. Inevitably, the conversation turned to 

who was at what university. 

Someone asked how Redwood State was, and I 

said it was good, that I’d gotten used to the 

weather and classes kept me busy. 

The room was thrumming with noise when the 

door opened again. 

Ethan was standing there. 

The chatter died down instantly. 

Everyone’s eyes started moving back and forth between us, their curiosity barely disguised. He had lost a lot of weight. 

That easy, bright confidence he used to wear so naturally was gone, and his shoulders slumped slightly now. His hair had grown shaggy and 

unkempt. 

His gaze locked onto me. 

Then he just stood there, staring. 

The air seemed to tighten. 

One of the guys tried to break the tension. “Hey, Ethan’s here. Late again, man. You owe us a drink.” 

Ethan acted like he hadn’t heard him. He walked straight toward me, and the crowd parted on its 

own. 

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I 

caught the faint smell of cigarette smoke on him. 

“Clara,” he said. 

His voice was terribly hoarse. 

I didn’t answer. I only looked up at him calmly. 

His throat worked once. There was something almost pitiful in his eyes now, something pleading and stripped bare. 

“Can I talk to you alone for a few minutes? Just a 

few.” 

The room had gone dead silent, save for the tinny pop song on the monitor. 

I set down my glass of juice and stood. 

“You can say it here.” 

My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly. 

A flash of humiliation crossed his face, then vanished behind a wall of desperation. 

“I’m sorry.” 

His voice came out rough, every word sounding like it had been dragged painfully from his throat. 

“I know saying sorry over and over doesn’t change anything. But I really… I really know I was wrong. Clara, I regret it. Every day. Every minute, I regret 

it.” 

He spoke fast, too fast, as if he were afraid I 

would leave before he got it all out. 

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just want… one chance. Let me make it up to you. Let me be good 

to you. Let me spend the rest of my life paying you 

back. Please.” 

By the end, his eyes were bloodshot, his voice 

thick with tears he was trying and failing to hold 

back. 

Around us, everyone was holding their breath. Their expressions were complicated. Some looked sympathetic. Some looked shaken. Some were 

clearly enjoying the spectacle. 

I listened quietly until he finished. My face gave 

nothing away. 

When he finally stopped and looked at me with 

that terrible mix of hope and despair, I spoke at 

last, very softly. 

“Ethan.” 

“Are you done?” 

He nodded once, lips pressed so tightly they had 

gone pale. 

“Good. Then listen to me.” 

I made sure I spoke slowly, clearly, so that he heard every word. 

“Please leave my life completely. Don’t come looking for me again. Don’t contact me again. And 

don’t ever say things like you’ll spend the rest of 

your life making it up to me.” 

“Keep your life for yourself.” 

The color drained from his face so fast it was almost visible. By the end, he was white as paper. 

His mouth gaped. It was as if all the strength had been pulled out of him at once. His shoulders gave way completely. 

I picked up my bag and gave a small nod to the stunned onlookers. 

“I’m heading out. Have fun.” 

Then I stepped around Ethan, who remained 

frozen like a statu, opened the door, and walked 

out. 

As the door shut behind me, I caught the muffled sound of a man breaking down. 

But I wasn’t sure. 

( 

And I didn’t want to be. 

That was the final period at the end of a ten–year 

sentence. 

Whatever roads lay ahead, they no longer needed 

to cross.