"Ow-ow-ow-is-it-supposed-to-hurt-"
"Jesus Christ, Vic, this stinks," Belch said, leaning away a little. Victor Criss knelt on his bathroom floor, eyes narrowed against the stinging in his scalp. He'd wanted to bleach his hair. He'd thought it would look cool. He'd thought it would look kinda, maybe, Billy Idol, who he thought was pretty cool, at least. Ever since he'd heard the 'Rebel Yell' for the first time, he'd kinda wanted to be Billy Idol.
"Yeah, try having it on your head," Victor said through clenched teeth. Belch had agreed to help him. He hadn't really known what to do, but he'd slunk around the girl's section of the drugstore for a while, feeling conspicuous in his big army green jacket and camo pants and combat boots and penis, until he found a box of hair bleach for only a couple of bucks. There were instructions inside. He'd enlisted Belch to help him out; he figured Belch was probably his best friend, and when he'd called Henry up, Henry had cussed him out and said something about chores and at that point Victor had just wanted to hang up and bleach his head, so that's what he did.
"I missed a spot," Belch said, and Victor winced a little as he felt the cold of more bleach hitting his scalp. Belch pulled it through; Victor didn't know what he'd do if it looked shitty, they'd already gone through a box and Belch and run down to get more, because his hair was too dark and it had just looked kinda shitty orange, and he wanted yellow, pale, it's-a-nice-day-for-a-white-wedding.
He was starting to feel a little funny. Kinda like he might pass out. He hadn't felt this bad the first time around, but Belch had kept it pretty far away from his actual skin the first go-around, and now he was feeling kinda like he might pass out, kinda like he might puke, definitely like whatever Belch was saying was getting echo-y and definitely like his vision was clouding over. He stuck one leg out, locked it around the toilet in an attempt to do something, ground himself, he didn't know. But he just felt like shit.
By the time he felt like he was totally there again, Belch had already put a plastic bag on his head and was heading out of the bathroom, and Victor shook it off, stood, and followed him. His head still stung, still hurt like hell, like he was getting third-degree burns from this, but he followed Belch.
Forty-five minutes later he washed it out, brushed it out, let it fall over one eye, and found himself kinda liking the look of dark, almost-black eyebrow under light blond hair. He maybe wasn't Billy Idol, but hell if he didn't look cool. It was cooler than Henry's mullet, cooler than he'd looked earlier, cooler than Hockstetter's fucking Prince Charming hair.
It was cool.
He looked cool.
what's up it trailer dropped and that was cool but what was cooler was the picture of the bowers gang and goddam do I like vic's look. mostly because I dress like that, only with more feminine touches, and let me tell you, this is a completely accurate first-time-having-an-unqualified-friend-bleaching-your-hair experience.