Growth, Chapter 2

[cw: unexpected hair loss]

Sarah woke up a few times throughout the night, every time dragging herself unwillingly to the bathroom to pay the consequences of the half-gallon of water that Zoë had insisted they both drink before retreating to their rooms. Every time muttering dire and insincere epithets aimed at the roommate who had done this to her, every time drinking, as instructed, another cup of water, every time chasing her face to the pillow and succumbing to oblivion as fast as she could manage.

In spite of those ordeals, Sarah rose the next morning with no headache, no nausea, and no discomfort at all. When she emerged from her bedroom and walked down the hall to the living room, she found Zoë already there, draped over a chair, basking in the morning sunlight with her eyes closed.

“Hiiii,” Zoë called dreamily, not opening her eyes.

“Hi yourself,” Sarah replied, yawning and rubbing her eyes as she wandered into the kitchen. She grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and wandered over to get a glass from the cabinet. “How’s the head?”

“Oh, it's just fine,” replied Zoë, “cuz I had lots of water. You did too, so how're you feeling? Better’n most mornings after, I bet.”

Sarah paused to glare at Zoë, who couldn’t see. “I feel great,” she grumbled, “except my roommate is a pain in the ass who bullies me into not having a hangover. Anyway I’m not the one who bumped her head on the fridge last night. How bad’s the goose egg?”

“Oh, I haven’t checked if it’s still there. Doesn’t hurt, though that might be because I took some NSAIDs this morning.”

“Lemme take a look, make sure it’s not too bad,” Sarah mumbled through another yawn. She put the carton of milk back and carried her glass over towards Zoë, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the window. “Mornings should be banned.”

“They’ve been growin’ on me,” Zoë murmured.

“You can have ‘em,” Sarah muttered. She set her glass down on the windowsill and peered down at Zoë’s head, inspecting and (very) gently probing. “Well, looks like things weren’t too bad after all. This isn’t nearly as big as I thought it’d be.”

“Yeah, even that barely hurts. I guess I didn’t hit it that hard after all. Sorry, I’m kind of a crybaby.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Zo. Bumping your head always feels like it hurts worse than it is, I get that.” She grabbed her glass and flopped gracelessly onto a chair. “Hey, speaking of getting knocked around, I was thinking about checking out that roller derby thing. One of my coworkers was talking about it, it seemed cool.”

“Oh! That absolutely sounds like your thing!” Zoë turned, fixing her golden-brown eyes on Sarah’s. “I could never get the hang of skating. It feels like my boobs throw me off balance. You should totally do it though!”

“I’d buy that excuse if I didn’t keep mixing our bras up in the laundry,” Sarah snarked, blinking and rubbing her eyes again. “Ugh, stop looking so bright and cheerful. No one should be that happy at this hour.”

“C’mere, I’ll smear some of my bright and cheerful on you,” Zoë said, opening her arms wide and leaning toward Sarah. “You love it. You love the sunlight.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, not moving from her seat. “Oh my god, Zoë. Sure, sunlight is nice and all, but I’m not about to swipe right on it or anything.” She took a swig of milk and peered at it appreciatively. “A nice glass of cold milk, on the other hand…”

“Well, I’m glad you and your cow juice have each other.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Sarah said, caressing the glass. “No one understands our love.”

“Star-crossed lovers,” Zoë said. “Hey, last night was fun. Thanks again.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to do it again, for sure,” Sarah agreed. “How are you doing in general, anyway? You feeling better?”

“Think so. I might spend some time outside today. Maybe the sun’ll warm things up a little. What about you?”

“Eh, I dunno. I’m off work today, maybe I’ll go see a movie or something?” She shrugged.

Zoë giggled. “Hit up one of your Tinder Boys to go with you!”

Sarah laughed. “I dunno, I’m feeling kinda Slob Mode today, we’ll see I guess.” She leaned back and spread her arms wide, showing off her unbrushed hair, her bleary eyes, and her pajamas. Voice dripping with irony, she asked, “What do you think, roomie? I look dateable?”

“How would I know that? I’d much rather be in jammies and at home than on a date, where I’m expected to look good and be interesting.”

“What’s up with that, anyway?” Sarah asked lazily. “Why don’t you wanna date?”

“I dunno, I just…” Zoë turned back to the sun, closing her eyes again. “I can’t see myself dating. I don’t think I’d get anything out of it except a disappointed acquaintance.”

“Really? Why not? I mean, you don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t want.”

“Hmn.” Zoë drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly over several seconds. “Okay. You confided in me, I may as well do the same. I think there’s, like… something wrong with the way I’m wired.”

Sarah looked at her, first in confusion, then worry. “What do you mean, Zo? Why do you think there’s something wrong with you?”

“I can’t imagine myself… being sexual,” Zoë murmured. “I love imagining sex, or reading sexy stories, or writing sexy stories… but when I imagine my own body in there, my own self, um, I just go cold. Not sexy at all. Can’t get turned on.”

“Huh,” Sarah mused. “I mean, I can’t really identify? But like, I don’t think that makes you broken? Like, it’s okay to not want sex.”

“It’s not that. I thought I might be… asexual?” A frustrated huff. “But… I’m not. I really want to want sex, I experience desire, I get attracted to people. But the moment I think about myself being in that situation… nope. I’d have to pretend I was someone else, and that feels weird.”

“Huh,” Sarah repeated. She scratched her head, then brushed her hair back over her shoulders. She stared out the window for a few seconds. “Like, who would you pretend you are?”

Zoë shrugged and shook her head. “I dunno. I don’t really want to try to find out, either. I can just… do without.”

“That sounds rough, Zo,” Sarah said quietly. “I still don’t think you’re broken, though. Do you want me to like, I dunno, stop talking about dating stuff?”

“I hear it’s healthy to talk about stuff,” Zoë replied, “so no, it’s okay. And I haven’t actually talked about this with. Um. Anybody.”

“Hey, that’s. Um. Thanks, Zoë. I really appreciate the confidence. And like, I appreciate you being cool about the whole para thing, too? I wasn’t sure what to expect when I went looking for a roommate, but I feel like I really lucked out.”

“Same.” Finally opening her eyes, Zoë turned to Sarah and smiled gently. “We get each other.”

Sarah smiled back, then finally leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, letting the morning sun wash over her face. “Yeah. ‘Swhat roomies are for.”

---

Last she checked, Sarah’s alarm tone was not a horrified shriek.

And yet, that is what woke her up.

“What th’...” she mumbled, clawing her way up out of a dream of stacking way, way too many boxes. She thrashed until she found her way free of the covers, then staggered up onto her feet and in the vague direction of the door.

“Zoë?” Her voice was barely more than a croak. “What’s wrong? Something on fire?”

She could faintly hear a muffled crying from the bathroom. “Zoë? What’s wrong?” she called again, her voice a little stronger as she stumbled out of her bedroom. She knocked on the bathroom door, but got no reply beyond more crying. “I’m opening the door, okay?”

Her roommate was curled into a ball in the bathtub, fully clothed and dry, hiding behind her knees and making small whimpering noises.

In the sink was a very large clump of brown hair.

Sarah stared, her gaze shifting between the sink and the tub. “Zoë, what happened?” she whispered. She crouched next to the tub, laying a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Did that just… happen?”

“Yes!” Zoë sobbed, shivering violently. “I was just finger combing my hair and it just, it came out in a big clump! What’s wrong with me! Do I have cancer? Am I gonna die?”

“I… I dunno, Zo?” Sarah said uncertainly, putting an arm across her roommate’s shoulders. “I mean like, you probably don’t have cancer, unless someone’s been giving you chemo without telling you? Um… do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“Are you sure? Why would my hair be falling out like this?” wailed Zoë. “I’ve been trying to remember to eat something every day! I’ve been getting as much sleep as I can!”

“I dunno, Zoë,” Sarah repeated, her voice shaky. “I know you’ve been eating, I’ve seen you. I… we should probably have a doctor look at you?”

“I… I guess.” Gingerly prodding at the small spot of skin visible on her scalp, Zoë snuffled, looking a bit calmer. “I think it’s where I hit my head. Does… does it look bad?”

“Never heard of that happening from hitting your head,” Sarah murmured, taking Zoë’s head and pulling it into the light to get a better look, poking gently at it. “Does it hurt at all?”

“No. How bad does it look?” 

The skin was shiny and pink where the hair had fallen out, and didn’t have any visible injury at all. It didn’t seem to be swollen, and was cool to the touch. “It looks fine,” Sarah answered. “Like, it doesn’t look like you’re hurt or anything, there’s no bruise. This… this is weird, Zo, but I’ve got your back, okay?”

Zoë sniffled, tears in her eyes, but she nodded and smiled. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“C’mon,” Sarah said, helping Zoë to her feet. “Lemme throw some clothes on real quick, and I’ll drive you to the urgent care, okay? You can wear that newsie cap of yours, it looks good on you and no one will know the difference.”

“Um. Okay.”

---

When Zoë emerged from the urgent care office, she didn’t look frightened any more—she looked pissed.

“It’s good to know that East Coast doctors are just as useless as midwest ones,” she spat.

“Ugh.” Sarah bristled. “What’d he say?”

“He barely looked at it!” Zoë blurted. “He just said it was probably stress, and I should get more sleep and eat more regularly. He was such a… a man about it!”

Sarah practically growled as she walked back to the car with Zoë. “What an asshole. Listen, you feel fine, right?”

“Um. Yeah, I feel good.”

“Then maybe it was just, like, some weird skin reaction and it’ll just grow back? We could just wait and see what happens.”

“That seems okay. Now that I’ve calmed down, it doesn’t seem like such a big deal.” Zoë sighed, rolling some of the tension out of her shoulders. “If it gets worse, I can schedule an appointment with my PCP.”

Sarah nodded, unlocking the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. “Hey, worst case scenario,” she said with a grin, “maybe you’ll turn out to be one of those girls who can rock the bald look.”

“Oh God, my parents would die of heart attacks, don’t even joke.”

That evening, they both huddled on the couch against the unseasonable cold in their inadequately-heated apartment, watching trashy television about a bunch of people fighting and dating each other in a remote compound.

“Do you ever wish your body were different?” Zoë asked out of nowhere.

“Different like… how?” Sarah clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders, mesmerized by the screen. “I guess it’s not really something I’ve given much thought? Why?”

“Different like, a different shape, or with different parts, or, I dunno, different. It’s something I think about a lot. I was wondering if it was everybody, or just me.”

“I mean, I don’t think it’s me but that doesn’t mean it’s just you? Isn’t there like, a word for that or something?” Sarah finally looked away from the TV, peering at Zoë with concern.

“Freudian Complex?” Zoë guessed.

Sarah snorted. “You’re the college student. Wasn’t he some asshole, though?”

“Sometimes assholes have a point. Which I hate.” Huff. “Like that doctor. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should just… be extra careful. Schedule my meals, schedule bedtime and up time. Get my stress levels down.”

Sarah gave a dismissive grunt. “Maybe you should concentrate really hard and become a paranormal so you can grow your hair back. Seems about as good a plan to me.”

“You don’t think that’s it, huh.”

“Whatever gave you that idea.”

Zoë heaved a long sigh. “I’ll call Dr. Arams tomorrow.”

“Good.” Sarah was quiet for a moment, then jerked her head towards the TV. “Hey, at least we’re better roommates than all of them, right?”

“That’s a low bar, Sarah.”